Wheel of Fate (28 page)

I waited for a minute or two until the ducal procession, obviously heading for Westminster, was out of sight before proceeding on my way, the length of East and Westcheap, in the direction of St Paul's and Old Dean's Lane.

There was all the customary early-morning bustle of goodwives sweeping yesterday's dirt and stale rushes out of doors, throwing slops and excrement into the central drain, shaking dusters out of windows, so I was able to station myself opposite Roderick Jeavons's house without being too noticeable and watch while Mistress Ireby, like her neighbours, busied herself making the place habitable again for the new day. She seemed, for the moment at least, to have no assistance, although I would have expected the good doctor to employ at least one maid. But it was possible that the girl (or girls) lived out and would eventually appear full of excuses as to why she had overslept and was late. For now, however, it was the doctor's sister who plied the broom and disposed of the rubbish, but with such an irritable expression on her face, and with such constant glancing up and down the road, as to suggest that my theory was probably correct.

I was just pondering how to insinuate myself into the house and persuade Mistress Ireby to show me the cellar which she had denied was there, when the wheel of fortune suddenly spun in my favour. A neighbour, a stout goodwife, from a house a few doors distant came squawking along the street, obviously in some distress and begging for Mistress Ireby's help. I was unable to hear the exchange of words between the two women for the crash and rumble of a passing cart, its iron wheels screeching over the cobbles in a more than usually ear-splitting fashion, but whatever the problem, it was of sufficient urgency to cause the doctor's sister to drop her broom and hurry away with her friend, leaving her door wide open.

I didn't hesitate, but was across the street and into the house in almost less time than it takes to tell. If Mistress Ireby returned quickly, then I should have to make up some story of having been unable to get an answer to my knock and, finding the door ajar, entering to see if she was inside. A feeble enough tale and I doubted if she would believe me, but I wasn't prepared to pass up this golden opportunity to lay Oswald's suspicions to rest once and for all. I felt certain I should find nothing, but convincing my host, once I had informed him of the cellar's existence, was another matter, and only my sworn assurance that I had investigated it for myself would suffice.

Locating the cellar door took me a little longer than I had anticipated as it was not where I had expected it to be, under the stairs leading to the second floor or somewhere in the entrance passage. I finally discovered it in the kitchen, at first mistaking it for a cupboard until, having looked everywhere else, I at last opened it in desperation. It was locked, but there was a key hanging on a nail beside it; and there, facing me, was not, as I had assumed, some precious family silver or other treasure, but a flight of steps leading down into the darkness.

A hurried search of the kitchen provided me with a candle in its candleholder, and having lit it at the fire and descended the steps, I found myself in what seemed to be a surprisingly capacious cellar for the size of the house above it. Needless to say, it was empty except for a few barrels of what was probably wine or ale, along with various pieces of broken furniture: two-legged stools, chairs with no seats and the like which householders invariably dispose of in such places. But of Celia in chains, or in any other form of restraint, there was no sign. Nor had I ever expected to find one. This, I thought grimly, would put an end to Oswald's nonsense and allow me to make enquiries elsewhere. (Although to be honest, where exactly I had at that moment no notion.)

I started to mount the steps again, hoping that I might be lucky enough to get out of the house before Mistress Ireby returned. But just as I was halfway up, I heard a girl's voice calling, ‘Mistress! Mistress! Where are you? I'm sorry I couldn't get here earlier, but one o' the little 'uns was sick this morning.'

My guess about the maid who was late had proved to be unnervingly accurate and I hesitated, loath to make a sudden appearance which would most likely send the poor girl into a fit of hysterics. But that hesitation was my undoing. I heard the girl muttering angrily to herself, something about leaving the door open again, about it being dangerous and about someone falling down the stairs one day and breaking her neck. A second or two later, the cellar door slammed and I heard the key grate as it was turned in the lock.

I was a prisoner.

SIXTEEN

O
f course, all I had to do was hammer on the door and shout for the woman to come and let me out. But would she? There was always the chance that having assumed she had captured a thief, she would rush out to get assistance and I would find myself facing an angry, probably armed, mob whose members would attack me first and ask questions afterwards. There was also a possibility that, on her return, a furious Mistress Ireby would refuse to recognize me and hand me over to the law. And the consequences of that could be disastrous, for there was no disputing the fact that I was trespassing; and although I had no doubt that Oswald Godslove would come to my aid, I wasn't sure that even so I would not be clapped up in prison.

I stared around me from my position halfway up the stairs and pondered what to do for the best. The ghostly light from the flickering candle-flame filled the cellar with shadows, making deep hollows of darkness that seemed to stretch into infinity beneath the vaulted arches. Once again it occurred to me that the cellar was far too large for the house, and in the same moment I remembered houses in Bristol which shared cellars with a neighbour, with no intervening wall below ground to mark the division between the two dwellings. I wondered if that could be the case here and what it could avail me if it were.

I recollected that while I was standing opposite Roderick Jeavon's house, watching, I had had a vague impression that the one next to it on the right-hand side was empty. I tried to recall what had given me that feeling, but was able to conjure up no good reason except that the shutters were firmly closed, just as they had been on my previous visit with Oswald. But even if the place were empty, it would be the greatest stroke of good luck if the cellar door should have been left unlocked. Could I really expect the wheel of fortune to spin in my favour twice in one day? Well, there was only one way to find out.

I descended the steps for a second time and made my way across the dusty floor space, walking, ridiculously, almost on tiptoe as though afraid to make the slightest sound. I didn't for a moment believe in my own reasoning, and it was with genuine astonishment that I found myself standing at the foot of a flight of steps identical to that on the other side of the cellar and leading upwards to a similar door at the top. I mounted swiftly, my heart pounding, and cautiously raised the latch, anticipating resistance, but, miraculously, the door gave under my hand.

It was unlocked. The wheel of fortune had favoured me again.

I must have stood there for several seconds trying to conquer my sense of disbelief before quietly pushing the door open and stepping, not this time into a kitchen, but into a narrow passageway that appeared to run the length of the house from front to back. The street door was only a yard or two from me and, even in the dimness of the shuttered gloom, I could see that it was not just unbolted but that the key hung on a nail beside it. I immediately froze where I stood. This was too much good fortune not to have some catch attached to it – and I was right. A man's voice spoke from a room on the other side of the passage, almost opposite the cellar door.

‘You'll get word to everyone on that list by tomorrow afternoon, Will. Arrange a meeting here for the morning after if possible, or whenever it will be convenient for them all to come. You must be sure to tell them to enter by the back way from the lane that runs close to the city wall. On no account must they try to enter from the front. You understand that?'

‘I do, my lord. And can I assure them that they are unlikely to be disturbed here?'

‘Most certainly. This place belongs to a kinsman of mine who is at present residing in the country and isn't likely to return to London for some months. You have the list safe? Good. Now, off you go.'

I stepped back behind the cellar door, almost closing it, but not quite. There was something going on here that had the smell of treasonable activity about it, and I was curious to see who might be involved. But no one appeared immediately.

‘I see you haven't mentioned Lord Howard,' the second voice said; the voice belonging to the man addressed as ‘Will'.

There was a scornful laugh. ‘There are times, my lad, when you're not very astute for a lawyer. For a start, John Howard was never a close friend of mine nor of King Edward's.' There was a sudden break in the voice as the speaker mentioned our late sovereign, but it was quickly mastered. The tone became harsh again. ‘And Howard wants nothing more in this life than to regain the duchy of Norfolk for himself and his family. He won't risk anything. He'll be toadying to Gloucester, flattering him for all he's worth. And also –' and here the voice spoke with such quiet venom that it made me shiver, grown man as I was – ‘he'll be licking the arse of that misbegotten son of a viper who's wormed his way into Gloucester's affections, Henry of Buckingham.'

‘Not Lord Howard, then,' replied the voice of Will, a faint edge of sarcasm informing his words.

Evidently ‘my lord' heard it, too, because he answered sharply, ‘Be careful of that tongue of yours, Master Catesby. I can easily find another lawyer. Members of your profession are ten a penny.' I wondered fleetingly what Oswald would have said to this sentiment before concentrating once again on what was being discussed in the room opposite. The first man went on, ‘You'd better buy some wine. Rotheram and Morton are both particularly fond of malmsey.' He gave a short laugh. ‘There must be something about it that appeals especially to the clergy.'

There was an infinitesimal pause. Then, ‘You want me to purchase and bring this wine along the day after tomorrow?' the lawyer enquired in a flat little voice that should have warned his companion that he was not best pleased. ‘No doubt you would like me to serve it, as well?'

‘Good idea,' ‘my lord' agreed. ‘It'll save having another servant present.'

I grimaced to my self. That ‘another' was not going to sweeten Master Catesby's mood.

I was right. The lawyer's voice, when he spoke, was cold enough to have frozen a monkey's balls in summer. ‘How many of us?'

A brief silence ensued while the first man must have made a swift calculation. ‘If everyone accepts my invitation there should be eight of us. Jane – Mistress Shore – will be present. She's agreed to be the messenger between us and Westminster Sanctuary.'

I caught my breath. This, then, that I was overhearing was a plot involving the Queen Dowager and her family. If I were to be seen now, I didn't doubt that my life would be worth less than a groat. I drew back further behind the cellar door, but still keeping it open a crack, enough for me to peer through and see without being seen.

The door opposite was flung open and to my astonishment Lord Hastings, the Lord Chamberlain and lifelong opponent of the Woodvilles, came out. And yet, at the same time, I was not astonished. Only the previous day I had noted his expression of angry discontent and affronted dignity as he was forced to ride behind the king and my lord Gloucester, while the position he had expected to occupy was usurped by the Duke of Buckingham. But what did genuinely astound me was the speed with which he had turned his coat.

He spoke over his shoulder to the lawyer Catesby, still within the room. ‘Follow me out the back way and be sure you lock the door and take the key with you. Don't forget to send me word of what's happening and if the morning after next is convenient for all. If it is, you'll be here in advance of the appointed hour with everything ready for our arrival.' He added viciously, ‘If you're not, I'll have your guts for garters. I mean that, Will. We dare not risk people like the Bishop of Ely and the Archbishop of York being caught skulking around a back alley.'

‘I shall be here, my lord. You need not worry.'

‘Damn well see to it that you are,' was the ungracious response.

And a moment later, Lord Hastings, one time boon companion of his sovereign in all the excesses of his hedonistic life and now fallen from grace, brushed past my hiding place on his way to the back door with never a glance in my direction. I stayed where I was, hardly daring to breathe, and after a short delay, the lawyer emerged into the gloom of the passage.

From the little I could see in that dim light, I judged him to be somewhere around forty, perhaps more, perhaps less. He stood, briefly, staring towards the back door of the house through which Hastings had vanished, with a total lack of expression on his small, tight face. Then he, too, let himself out of the house by the same way and I heard him lock the door behind him. Breathing a sigh of relief, I gave him a few minutes start before slipping out of the front door as unobtrusively as possible, pausing only to replace its key on the nail, and closing it, unlocked, behind me. Then I walked up the street and turned right into Paternoster Row.

I sat on the grass in St Paul's churchyard, resting my back against a tombstone, contemplating the conversation I had just overheard, what it meant and what, if anything, I should do about it.

The answer to the second question was simple. Nothing: I refused to get involved. I had no doubt at all that Timothy Plummer would greet me and my information with open arms, but before I knew it I should be up to my neck in the spy's schemes and everything else would be subordinated to them. My own affairs would have to wait and there would be an even longer delay in getting home to Bristol. Guilt consumed me but I hardened my heart. I had been embroiled enough, more than enough, in the fortunes of my lord of Gloucester.