Wheel of Fate (26 page)

‘Not even in the cellar?' Ginèvre mocked. ‘Or didn't the brave lawyer go down there for fear of the rats?'

‘What do you mean?' I asked sharply. ‘Mistress Ireby, the doctor's sister, told us that the house has no cellar.'

My companion looked startled, raising a hand, childlike, to her mouth, plainly regretting this unguarded remark. Then she shrugged fatalistically. ‘I don't know why Mistress Ireby should have said that. All the houses in Old Dean's Lane have cellars.' We regarded each other significantly for a moment or two before she laughed. ‘Oh, come on, Roger! You can't read anything into that! The poor woman just wanted you both out of the place. You had no right to be in there anyway, without an invitation. She didn't want Lawyer Godslove rampaging down to the cellar and disturbing whatever bottles of wine Roderick keeps there.'

‘I suppose not,' I said slowly, trying to look convinced, and turned the conversation back to other things.

Ginèvre seemed more than willing to follow my lead and we chatted desultorily for a while longer about the death of the late king, about the uncertainties of a minority reign and of the unpleasantness that was obviously brewing, stirred up by the Duke of Gloucester's sudden preference for his cousin, Buckingham, instead of for Lord Hastings, who undoubtedly, in his own mind, had cast himself in the role of the duke's right-hand man. But after a while, when I realized that the dinner hour was past and that Ginèvre was not asking me to stay, I took my farewell. She made no effort to detain me, but, having accompanied me outside, she laid a hand on my arm.

‘Take care, my dear,' she said. ‘Don't do anything foolish.' With which somewhat cryptic utterance, she returned indoors, closing the door firmly on both me and on the crowds milling around St Paul's.

These were still thick, the service not yet being over and the women anxious for another glimpse of that seemingly angelic face with its thatch of blond hair encircled by a golden filet studded with rubies and sapphires, the latter emphasizing the intense blue of the young king's eyes. I contemplated the possibility of forcing a passage the length of Paternoster Row into Old Dean's Lane, but then abandoned the idea. If, when I got there, Mistress Ireby refused to let me in, what could I do? There were far too many people about to overcome her resistance by forcing an entry, as Oswald had previously done. And even if the lady were out, enjoying the Sunday holiday, making one of the excited press that continued to throng around the church, the same reasoning applied: I could hardly search for a way to break in with so many onlookers to observe me. So I decided that, for the present, there was nothing to be done but to return to the Arbour, where at least I would be fed. Wearily I made my way back along Cheapside to the inn where I had stabled Old Diggory.

By the time I passed through the Bishop's Gate, having been held up for a good five minutes by the increased activity outside of Crosby's Place, I was debating with myself whether or not to tell Oswald of Ginèvre Napier's revelation concerning the houses in Old Dean's Lane. If I told him, I could guess his probable reaction. He would almost certainly read something sinister into Mistress Ireby's deception and insist on returning at once to Roderick Jeavons's house. But I was too tired, too bone-weary and still feeling the effects of my recent illness to undertake the ride and brave the crowds again. I could, I supposed, let him go on his own, but in his present state of mind, he was liable to do something violent if Mistress Ireby refused him entry. And, if there was truly nothing to find, it would be disastrous for one of his profession to be taken up by the Watch and brought to court. I owed him something for his unstinting hospitality of these past two weeks and for the weeks before that during which he had housed my wife and sons. So I decided to say nothing, but to return to Old Dean's Lane the following day and see what I could discover for myself.

I looked forward to spending the rest of Sunday as quietly as circumstances would allow, helping Adela to keep the children and Hercules in check in a house that was now plunged into renewed mourning, something of which the Godsloves had had more than their fair share in recent years. But alas for such plans! As I stepped across the threshold into the hall, I was met by a distressed Adela with tears in her eyes.

I groaned inwardly as I folded her in my arms. ‘Sweetheart, what's amiss?' I nearly added the word ‘now' but thought better of it.

‘The ring you bought for me, it's missing. The children and I have searched every inch of the bedchamber, but we can't find it anywhere.' She added, ‘I don't want to say anything to the others until I'm absolutely certain that it's nowhere to be found.'

‘When did you see it last?'

‘Earlier this morning. It was in its little box on top of the clothes chest. The box is still there, but the ring has gone.'

‘Have you worn it today?'

She shook her head. ‘No, because after breakfast I was playing with the children in the garden. When we came indoors, I went to put it on, but the box was empty.'

I accompanied her upstairs to our bedchamber, where the children were still hunting for the missing ring. Judging by the state of the room, they had entered into the spirit of the thing with enthusiasm, but the search had yielded nothing.

‘It's not here,' Elizabeth announced as we entered. ‘We've looked everywhere.'

‘Looked everywhere,' confirmed Adam, while Nicholas just nodded.

They had even stripped the bed of its coverings, tossing them on the floor, and Hercules emerged from beneath the pile, barking delightedly at my return. He obviously thought it some new game, devised expressly for his enjoyment.

I hushed him and began my own search of both our and the children's chamber, but after almost an hour, hot, thirsty and extremely dusty, I was forced to admit that they were right. The ring was nowhere to be found.

‘It's no good,' I said. ‘We shall have to tell Clemency and Arbella about it.'

My wife looked unhappy. ‘They'll think we're accusing one of the maids.'

But when we descended to the dining parlour, where we had all been summoned for a belated dinner, no one expressed any surprise, only dismay.

‘What else has been taken?' Oswald demanded, staring about him. ‘I've told you women time and again about leaving the doors unlocked. You know perfectly well how many thefts there have been in this neighbourhood in the past few years.'

Clemency nodded sadly. ‘It's true,' she said. ‘Even the church was broken into. A valuable pyx was taken from St Botolph's, and a man living near the Bedlam, who kept all his savings in a secret hiding-place under the floor had them stolen. It was a shock to us all because no one I've ever spoken to was aware that he had a penny to his name. But someone knew and robbed him.'

‘And now,' Oswald shouted furiously, ‘that same someone has walked all over this house, taking what he wanted, while you precious three were no doubt gossiping in the kitchen.' He slammed his hand down hard on the table, making everyone jump.

Sybilla burst into tears.

FIFTEEN

T
hat night, in bed, snuggled within the shelter of my arm, Adela expressed a strong desire to go home.

‘This house is becoming no place for children. Nor, indeed, for dogs,' she added with a little catch of laughter in her voice, as Hercules, who had made our bed his own, snuffled and grunted and wheezed as though in the midst of an uneasy dream. She went on, ‘I'm sorry for my cousins, that goes without saying, but the wheel of fortune has spun so low for them, I'm beginning to be afraid that some of their ill-luck will rub off on us.' She shivered. ‘After all the other things which have happened, I don't know why losing my ring and this story of the robberies has upset me so much. But it has. The thought that someone, some stranger, has been roaming at will around this house, fingering our belongings, makes me feel that I can't possibly stay here another day.' And to my great consternation, she started to cry. She made no sound, but I could feel the shaking of her body as it pressed closer to mine.

I tightened my hold. She was right; the wheel of fortune, of fate, of life, whatever you want to call it, had spun so low for the Godslove family that the good luck sign must almost have reached its nadir. I had no wish for my wife and children (and, of course, dog) to be touched by such misfortune. Moreover, the resultant gloomy, despondent atmosphere was depressing us all: it could do no other. Since Celia's disappearance, the house was like a tomb, and Adela felt it increasingly necessary to suppress Elizabeth's and Nicholas's high spirits and to keep Hercules from barking at any stray rat or cat that ventured into the house or garden.

I kissed her gently on the forehead.

‘I'll visit Blossom's Inn tomorrow,' I promised, ‘and try to find a carter going to Bristol. It may take a day or two, but I'll pay the landlord to send me word as soon as he knows of one.'

Adela propped herself on one elbow. ‘Oh, Roger, we can't. We can't just run away and leave Oswald and Clemency and Sybilla in such distress. You know they're counting on you to solve the mystery for them.'

I snorted. ‘That's in God's hands. But no! I wasn't intending to come with you. I feel I owe it to your cousins to make a further effort to discover what lies at the root of this mystery. Would you be willing to go without me? You'll have Hercules for protection.'

The dog suddenly sat up, gave a little bark and then lay down again. I always have an uneasy feeling that, even in his sleep, he understands exactly what I'm saying. Ridiculous though it may seem, I often find myself guarding my tongue in front of him.

Adela clung to me. ‘I don't want to go and leave you here.'

I was tempted to point out that no such scruples had weighed with her when she quit the Small Street house on the flimsiest evidence of my infidelity – I felt a glow of totally unmerited and unjustified self-righteousness – but decided it was foolishness to rake over dead ashes. Besides, I loved her.

‘It's for the children's sake,' I urged. ‘You said yourself that this is becoming no fit place for them. And it may not be for a day or two – maybe even a week or two – because we must wait for a carter going all the way home. I won't have you stranded in some strange town looking for another carter to take you the remainder of the journey. Now, will you promise me that you'll go if I can arrange it?'

After a pause, she finally nodded, her long dark hair tickling my bare chest. ‘Yes, if you wish it,' she agreed. ‘I'll tell Clemency in the morning. Somehow, I don't think she'll mind. Indeed, I think she might even be relieved. I'm sure Oswald and Sybilla will be. When will you go to Blossom's Inn?'

‘Sometime tomorrow. I'm going into the city to keep a further watch on Roderick Jeavons's house. But first, I must ask for the name and direction of this man who was robbed of all his money and then visit Father Berowne at St Botolph's.'

Adela raised her head. ‘You think these robberies have some bearing on what's been happening to Oswald and the others? But how can they?'

‘I don't know,' I answered. ‘I just have a feeling in my bones that they could. I've no idea why.' But I did. It was God putting it into my mind. I had no doubt by now that He was behind my coming to London. He could never keep His fingers out of my sauce dish: He was constantly stirring. It was His revenge for my having abandoned the religious life. ‘Go to sleep now,' I added. ‘Perhaps I can prevent the wheel of fortune turning any further for Oswald and Clemency and Sybilla before they all drop off the bottom.'

Next morning, I left Adela and the children (and, needless to say, the dog) sleeping the sleep of the just and went downstairs to break my fast with Oswald who, looking like Death at a wake, was forcing himself to eat prior to setting out for his chambers near the Strand.

‘I'm glad you're up early,' he said. ‘I was hoping for a word with you before I left. Today, you're to go back to Old Dean's Lane and keep an eye on the house.'

It was more a command than a request, and he had no need to specify which house was meant. I had no difficulty in giving my promise as that was already my intention; but before reassuring him on that head, I told him of my plan to return Adela and my family to Bristol, forestalling his angry protest by revealing that I would stay on. After that, he was all compliance, even going so far as to say he thought it for the best, as he believed the children were growing homesick. And Arbella, coming into the parlour at that moment with a plate of freshly baked oatcakes, agreed wholeheartedly with the scheme as soon as she was made aware of it.

‘You really ought to go with them, Roger,' she said. ‘You can do no good here. I think we're all cursed.'

This remark not only drew a very strong refutation from Oswald, but also a spiteful rider to the effect that the family misfortunes were nothing to do with her.

‘You're not a Godslove,' he snapped, ‘and never will be!'

The housekeeper's face flushed crimson with hurt and embarrassment, and I tried to distract her attention by asking for the name and direction of the man who had been robbed of all his life's savings.

‘Why would you want to know that?' she demanded ungraciously. ‘In any case, it was some years ago. It has nothing to do with us.'

‘If Master Chapman wants to know, tell him!' Oswald shouted. Then, moderating his tone and turning to me, he said, ‘The man's name is Peter Coleman and he lives two doors away from the Bedlam. He's a woman's tailor, and to the best of my recollection, the robbery took place at the beginning of last year.'