14 - The Burgundian's Tale Read Online Free
my travels for a week or two. So’ – it was my turn to shrug – ‘I might as well be in London as anywhere.’
I was delighted to note his look of disappointment. But he made no comment apart from asking me where I would choose to stay. ‘I daresay a room can be found for you in Baynard’s Castle. You’ve lodged there once before.’
I had indeed; which was how I knew the servants’ dormitories to be cramped and overcrowded, some poor fellows sleeping three or four to a bed, others having no bed at all but forced to spend their nights on the draughty floor. Since becoming a house owner I had grown soft and used to my comfort.
‘I’ll find a room at St Brendan the Voyager in Bucklersbury,’ I said. ‘I know the landlord, Reynold Makepeace: an honest man, who won’t take advantage of a country cousin like me by charging outrageous prices.’
Timothy’s face brightened. ‘I know the Voyager: it’s tucked in among all those grocers’ and apothecaries’ shops. I also have a nodding acquaintance with Innkeeper Makepeace. But what’s even better is that Needlers Lane is a turning off Bucklersbury, about halfway along on the opposite side of the road to the inn. You’ll be a mere stone’s throw from the Broderer workshops.’ He rose and clapped me on the back, the same shoulder favoured by the Earl of Lincoln. I winced. ‘And now, if we’re not to keep the King’s nephew waiting – and I wouldn’t advise it, in spite of all his good humour and friendly ways – you’d better make your farewells. We must be at the castle by noon.’
We spent three nights on the road (the young Earl refusing to travel on the Sabbath) and entered London around midday on the sixteenth day of May, which, by coincidence, was the Feast of Saint Brendan the Voyager. Timothy, the least superstitious of men, nevertheless took this as a good augury for my success.
‘It’s going to prove an easy case for you to solve, Roger. Come and find me at Baynard’s Castle this afternoon, when we’ve both had a chance to settle in. Duke Richard and his Duchess are staying there. They decided against Crosby’s Place so that His Grace could be more in the company of his sister. If he’s not too busy, he’ll be pleased to see you. But he won’t be able to afford you much time.’
I didn’t take this amiss. I knew from what Timothy had told me during our journey that this rare visit to London by the Duke of Gloucester was not simply to greet his youngest sister, but also to hold urgent talks with his brother concerning Scotland’s violation of her truce with England. Egged on, I learned, by the wily French King – who, typically, was also sheltering James III’s rebellious brother, the Duke of Albany, at his court – there had been almost daily raids across the Border throughout the past autumn and winter. Four days earlier, the Duke of Gloucester had been appointed the King’s Lieutenant-General in the North, authorized, so the Earl of Lincoln had informed us, to levy the men of the Scottish marches, ready for war.
It said much for the Duke’s family feeling that, in the midst of all this turmoil and uncertainty, he could find time to worry about Duchess Margaret’s probable grief at the death of her favourite’s son, and to want to have something done about solving the murder. I could understand why Timothy was so anxious not to let him down, and secretly determined that I would do my utmost to discover the culprit – although I naturally had no intention of telling Timothy this. Let him think me still resentful: it would keep him on his toes.
The Earl of Lincoln left us even before we entered London, making his way to Westminster where the King and Queen and most of the court were lodged. Timothy and I parted company outside St Paul’s, he riding south to Baynard’s Castle, between Thames Street and the river, I jogging along West Cheap to the Great Conduit, where I took the right-hand fork to Bucklersbury. And here,
I was delighted to note his look of disappointment. But he made no comment apart from asking me where I would choose to stay. ‘I daresay a room can be found for you in Baynard’s Castle. You’ve lodged there once before.’
I had indeed; which was how I knew the servants’ dormitories to be cramped and overcrowded, some poor fellows sleeping three or four to a bed, others having no bed at all but forced to spend their nights on the draughty floor. Since becoming a house owner I had grown soft and used to my comfort.
‘I’ll find a room at St Brendan the Voyager in Bucklersbury,’ I said. ‘I know the landlord, Reynold Makepeace: an honest man, who won’t take advantage of a country cousin like me by charging outrageous prices.’
Timothy’s face brightened. ‘I know the Voyager: it’s tucked in among all those grocers’ and apothecaries’ shops. I also have a nodding acquaintance with Innkeeper Makepeace. But what’s even better is that Needlers Lane is a turning off Bucklersbury, about halfway along on the opposite side of the road to the inn. You’ll be a mere stone’s throw from the Broderer workshops.’ He rose and clapped me on the back, the same shoulder favoured by the Earl of Lincoln. I winced. ‘And now, if we’re not to keep the King’s nephew waiting – and I wouldn’t advise it, in spite of all his good humour and friendly ways – you’d better make your farewells. We must be at the castle by noon.’
We spent three nights on the road (the young Earl refusing to travel on the Sabbath) and entered London around midday on the sixteenth day of May, which, by coincidence, was the Feast of Saint Brendan the Voyager. Timothy, the least superstitious of men, nevertheless took this as a good augury for my success.
‘It’s going to prove an easy case for you to solve, Roger. Come and find me at Baynard’s Castle this afternoon, when we’ve both had a chance to settle in. Duke Richard and his Duchess are staying there. They decided against Crosby’s Place so that His Grace could be more in the company of his sister. If he’s not too busy, he’ll be pleased to see you. But he won’t be able to afford you much time.’
I didn’t take this amiss. I knew from what Timothy had told me during our journey that this rare visit to London by the Duke of Gloucester was not simply to greet his youngest sister, but also to hold urgent talks with his brother concerning Scotland’s violation of her truce with England. Egged on, I learned, by the wily French King – who, typically, was also sheltering James III’s rebellious brother, the Duke of Albany, at his court – there had been almost daily raids across the Border throughout the past autumn and winter. Four days earlier, the Duke of Gloucester had been appointed the King’s Lieutenant-General in the North, authorized, so the Earl of Lincoln had informed us, to levy the men of the Scottish marches, ready for war.
It said much for the Duke’s family feeling that, in the midst of all this turmoil and uncertainty, he could find time to worry about Duchess Margaret’s probable grief at the death of her favourite’s son, and to want to have something done about solving the murder. I could understand why Timothy was so anxious not to let him down, and secretly determined that I would do my utmost to discover the culprit – although I naturally had no intention of telling Timothy this. Let him think me still resentful: it would keep him on his toes.
The Earl of Lincoln left us even before we entered London, making his way to Westminster where the King and Queen and most of the court were lodged. Timothy and I parted company outside St Paul’s, he riding south to Baynard’s Castle, between Thames Street and the river, I jogging along West Cheap to the Great Conduit, where I took the right-hand fork to Bucklersbury. And here,
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