Wheel of Fate (4 page)

‘You're not going away again, Father?' Elizabeth clutched at my sleeve with an imploring hand.

I stooped and kissed her. ‘Don't worry, sweetheart. I'm taking you with me. And Hercules.'

‘You'll not be dragging that child all the way to London!' Margaret protested. ‘That dog can go with you and welcome, but not a child of her tender years.'

My daughter bounced off her stool and flung her arms around my neck. ‘Oh yes! Oh please do take me, Father! I've never seen London, and it isn't fair that the boys should see it and me not. I don't mind walking if we have to, and I shall have Hercules.'

Hearing his name, the sagacious hound, stretched out beside the fire, gave a perfunctory thump of his tail, but was too replete with rabbit stew to do more.

‘I'm taking Elizabeth,' I stated firmly and received another hug for my pains.

Margaret looked as though she would protest again, then hesitated, thinking things over, before nodding briskly.

‘You may be right,' she conceded. ‘Nicholas will be delighted to see her.' She did not add that the doubtless ecstatic reunion of stepbrother and -sister would be bound to disarm Adela and perhaps smooth my path to a reconciliation, but I guessed it was what she was thinking. I was thinking it myself.

‘I'll pay Jack Nym a visit straight away,' I said. ‘If I can find him.'

My luck was in. Jack was outside his cottage, loading his cart with bales of Bristol red cloth, a speciality of the city and sold all over the country. Without even bothering to greet him, I asked where this lot was going.

‘London,' was the blessed answer, and I had to restrain myself from seizing his dirty face between my hands and kissing him. He tilted his head to look up at me. ‘Why? You wanting a ride to London, then, Roger?' He gave a knowing chuckle. ‘I took your wife and sons up there a few weeks back. You been a bad lad? I did hear a rumour. A woman, is it?' He regarded me enviously.

‘It's all a mistake,' I said. ‘A misunderstanding.'

He grinned disbelievingly. ‘It wouldn't be a mistake if I got the chance, I can tell you. All right! All right! I'll take your word for it. So you're going after her, eh? Well, I don't know as I blame you. A handsome piece, that lady of yours. If it were my Goody, now, it'd be a different matter. Anyway, I'm off first light tomorrow morning. Be round here promptly at daybreak. I received an urgent message by old Hugo Doyle, who got back from London yesterday afternoon, that the mayor and aldermen want this stuff as soon as possible for the new king's coronation. Word is, apparently, that the queen – Queen Dowager I suppose I should call her now – and her family have fixed the date for May Day.'

‘They can't do that!' I exclaimed, horrified. ‘I doubt the Duke of Gloucester will even have reached the capital by then.'

‘Why? Where is he?'

‘Hundreds of miles away, in Yorkshire.'

Jack grimaced. ‘Shit! So he couldn't have been there when the old king died.' He eyed me suspiciously. ‘How do you know all this?' When I had explained, he grimaced again. ‘Reckon there's going to be trouble, Roger?'

I shrugged. ‘Could be! But how would I know?'

But I did know. Well, I knew something, that was my problem. I knew why Duke Richard had sent me to Paris in the autumn of the previous year, so, unlike most people, I also knew some of the thoughts that must be going through his mind at the present moment. Naturally, I didn't mention this to Jack, but I told him what else I had learned from the town crier.

He was as uneasy at the news as I had been.

‘The Woodvilles are taking the crown treasure from the Tower? Can they do that?'

‘I don't rightly know who could stop them,' I answered. ‘If the young king can be conveyed from Ludlow to London before the Duke of Gloucester has a chance to get there, he'll endorse anything his mother and Woodville uncles tell him to.'

Jack chewed a grimy thumbnail. ‘Didn't the late king name Gloucester as protector?'

I shook my head. ‘I don't know. No one's said anything about that. But once the new king's been crowned and anointed, he won't need a protector. He can rule in his own right.'

‘You mean the bloody Woodvilles can!'

‘Unfortunately, yes.'

‘Bugger!'

‘I agree, but there's nothing the likes of us can do about it.' I clapped him on the shoulder. ‘I'll see you in the morning then, at sun-up. Oh, I nearly forgot. I'm bringing my daughter and Hercules with me.'

Jack turned a dismayed face towards me. ‘I don't mind Elizabeth. She's a good enough little soul, but I'm danged if I'll have that wretched dog of yours fouling my cart. He's a menace, he is.'

‘I'll pay you extra,' I offered.

‘How much extra?' he asked warily.

I named a generous price. Jack thought it over and finally, if reluctantly, agreed. ‘But I'm holding you responsible for that hell-hound,' he snapped.

‘He'll be as good as gold,' I assured him with what I trusted was a confident smile.

Jack snorted and turned back to his task. ‘I'll keep you to that. And don't forget. I'm leaving first light. If you're not here, I shan't wait.'

‘We'll be here,' I said.

During the short journey back to Margaret's cottage, I was accosted by at least three people, including Burl Hodge – who had been none too friendly these past four or so years, ever since Cicely Ford had left me her house – all of whom appeared to be labouring under the impression that I knew more about events at court than I was prepared to say. They all seemed offended by what they regarded as my secrecy and looked sceptical when I said they knew quite as much as I did.

‘All right! If you want to be like that, Roger!' Burl grunted, and stomped off more out of charity with me than ever.

‘Why does everyone think I'm in Duke Richard's confidence?' I demanded angrily as I closed the cottage door behind me with a bang.

‘Well, aren't you?' Margaret countered. ‘Twice in the last two years you've been hauled off up to London at his behest, once by no less a royal personage than the Earl of Lincoln. And that spy of his, that Timothy Plummer, or whatever his name is, is for ever lurking around in corners. And on top of it all, you were missing from May until nearly Christmastide this past year. How did it happen that you, a common pedlar, became so friendly with a duke, and the king's brother to boot? That's what I'd like to know.'

‘There's no secret about it,' I answered, sitting down on one of the stools and taking Elizabeth on to my lap. ‘Twelve years ago, on my first visit to London, and not long after I'd left Glastonbury, it just so happened that while I was trying to trace Alderman Weaver's son, I accidentally stumbled across the hiding-place where the Duke of Clarence had concealed his sister-in-law in order to prevent his brother, Gloucester, from marrying her. Duke Richard was very grateful, as you might imagine, and has made a friend of me ever since. Well, “friend” might be overstating the matter, but he's always trusted me and has—'

‘Used you to do his dirty work,' Margaret interrupted, setting her spinning wheel in motion.

I was about to protest at the phrase ‘dirty work', but my daughter, who had been trying to make herself heard ever since my return, clamped a small, none too clean hand across my mouth and asked, ‘When are we going to London, Father?'

‘We start first thing tomorrow morning, at sun-up,' I said, removing her hand. ‘Carter Nym has to take a load of red cloth urgently to the mayor and corporation, ready for making up into new robes for the young king's coronation. So he's agreed we can ride along with him.'

‘At a price, I'll be bound,' Margaret commented drily, but her voice was partially lost in Elizabeth's shouts of joy.

‘And Hercules?' she demanded.

‘And Hercules, on condition we keep him strictly under control. Jack's none too keen on dogs.'

‘And who can blame him?' Margaret muttered. She added, ‘You'd better check that the child has everything here she needs for the journey. Her things are in that box under the bed.'

I shook my head. ‘No need to check. All the clothes chests at home were empty, bar mine, and my stuff I've brought with me.' I nodded towards the canvas sack which I had dropped in a corner, alongside my cudgel. ‘I'll put Bess's in with mine, later on. As for tonight, Hercules and I can sleep on that pile of brushwood over there and be quite comfortable.'

‘I daresay,' Margaret snorted. ‘If you don't mind, I don't, though it's probably full of fleas. That dog of yours can add a few more.'

Hercules grunted and snuffled, a stupid grin on his face as he pursued his canine dreams. They were obviously happy ones.

Elizabeth slipped off my lap and went to play with her doll, a one-armed wonder who rejoiced in the name of Christabelle, happy in the knowledge that within a week or perhaps less, she and Nicholas would be reunited. I could only hope that her confidence wasn't misplaced, and that Adela would not refuse to see me once I had arrived in London. I was relying on the children's delight at being together again to soften her heart long enough at least for me to explain matters, and to reassure her that I had been nowhere near Gloucester in the past twelve months. I could only trust that she would believe me. It's an unnerving fact, as I've noticed on more than one occasion, how the truth can so often sound like lies.

I got up and helped myself, unbidden, to another beaker of Margaret's excellent home-brewed ale, before returning to my stool, which I drew nearer to the fire, for the April day had turned chilly, and settling myself as comfortably as I could.

‘So,' I said, ‘tell me about these Godsloves to whom Adela's gone. You say they're a branch of your father's family, though I've never heard you or Adela mention them before. And yet, I do have a very, very faint recollection that Lillis might once have said their name, but in connection with what, I've no idea. In any case, even if she did, I took no notice.'

‘That wasn't unusual,' Margaret cut in waspishly. ‘You weren't married long enough for the poor girl to make you mind her.'

I could see that, if I wasn't careful, we were going to embark on profitless recriminations about my marriage to her daughter, and I resolutely ignored the lead she had given me, steering the conversation back to the subject under discussion. Well, the subject
I
wanted to discuss.

‘Tell me about the Godsloves,' I said again. ‘I can't go to London knowing nothing about them. For a start, whereabouts do they live?'

THREE

M
argaret sat down again at her spinning wheel, but made no immediate move to resume work. She was quite ready to while away an hour or two in gossip. She frowned a little at my helping myself, unbidden, to her ale, but had obviously decided to overlook the impertinence in the interests of harmony.

‘As to where they live in London,' she said, ‘I believe Adela mentioned that it was out in the countryside somewhere, beyond the Bishop's Gate – wherever that is. But you'll likely know, I daresay. It means nothing to me. I've never been to London in my life, and don't want to. Nasty, dangerous place, or so I've heard. All those foreigners.'

Considering that the Bristol wharves and streets fairly teemed with foreign sailors most days of the week, I thought this a decidedly unfair stricture on the capital. All the same, I knew what she meant. It was not only a larger city but also far more populous than any other in the country, which meant more thieves, more pickpockets, more hustling salesmen and more tricksters per square foot than you were likely to encounter anywhere else.

Margaret continued, ‘I think Adela said the house is called The Arbour, or Harbour, or some such name. From the description of it, it sounds a bit ramshackle; a big, rambling old place. But then it would have to be in order to accommodate all that tribe.'

‘Tell me about the Godsloves, themselves,' I invited, finishing my drink and fetching myself another one.

So she did. But there were so many corrections, so much backtracking, such a deal of ‘No, I tell a lie! That wasn't so-and-so, it was someone else,' that, for the sake of clarity, I will set down the history of the Godslove family as I eventually came to understand it, once I had sorted out the facts in my mind.

It begins with Morgan Godslove, who was a cousin of Margaret's father, William Woodward, and who was born around the year 1400. He married twice. By his first wife – whose name Margaret could not remember – he had four children, three of whom were girls, Clemency, Sybilla and Charity, all born within six years of one another. The fourth child, a boy, Oswald, was ten years younger than the youngest daughter and his mother died in giving birth to him.

The following year, Morgan married again, this time a widow, Alicia Makepeace, whom he met while in London on business, and who already had two sons from her previous marriage, thus bringing their combined total of children to six. To this tally, Alicia and Morgan added two more in very short order, a boy, Martin, and a girl, Celia, with little more than twelve months between them. When the girl was only three, however, Alicia died leaving Morgan and his brood once more motherless. But this time, the widower decided against a third marriage and, instead, employed a housekeeper.

‘Tabitha Maynard, that was her name,' Margaret proclaimed triumphantly, after some cogitation.

But five years later, during the terrible winter of 1455, both Morgan and Tabitha Maynard were drowned when the Rownham ferry capsized in the River Avon during a violent storm.