Murder by Misrule: A Francis Bacon Mystery (The Francis Bacon Mystery Series Book 1) Read Online Free Page B

I suppose that's why your uncle's here. I had no idea Smythson was so well connected." Shiveley had a tonsure of red hair and a freckled complexion that gave him a trustworthy mien.
    "Nor had I," Francis admitted. "Although some of his clients had affairs that reached into high places."
    "Sir Amias Rolleston." Welbeck nodded sagely. Sir Amias was as litigious as he was wealthy. He'd employed Smythson as chief counsel for his endless series of property suits.
    Humphries leaned forward and hissed across the table. "I hear he's suing Lady Rich for unrecovered debts."
    "Is he?" Francis was impressed. Née Penelope Devereux, Lady Rich was the sister of the Earl of Essex and the wife of one of England's wealthiest men. "I had no idea Rolleston's affairs extended into such lofty circles."
    "You see, Bacon," Welbeck said, "one learns many things when one troubles oneself to dine in commons." He tore a piece from his loaf of bread and chewed it as if displaying his masticatory prowess. Welbeck was handsome in spite of a long, spondulate nose. He had a convivial manner that drew men — especially shallow, striving men — into his circle. Francis found him irritating beyond tolerance but was determined to repress that reaction in public.
    "I had a most interesting conversation with Sir Amias at Westminster this morning." Shiveley treated his messmates to a satisfied smirk.
    "You did what?" Welbeck glared at him. "You poacher!"
    Humphries shook his head, jowls wobbling. "It's too soon! It's unseemly! It's not fair! Smythson hasn't even been buried."
    Shiveley shrugged, unchastened. "I could hardly refuse to speak with the man. Sir Amias has so many suits in play he can scarce afford a period of mourning for his counselor. He needs constant, ready, expert advice." That last was delivered with a pointed glare at Humphries, who frowned at the slight to his abilities.
    Francis thought Shiveley was stooping to bait a man whose gifts were so limited. But neither had he any sympathy for Humphries. A man should know his own worth: his weaknesses as well as his strengths. Humphries was one of the more marginal members of Gray's Inn. He dined in commons every day, thereby maintaining his place in the Society, but his cases were limited to minor disputes among tradesmen. He had barely squeaked past the bar and more nearly resembled a pettifogging attorney than an ancient of Gray's.
    "Did he choose you to replace Smythson?" Humphries asked, a tremble in his voice.
    Shiveley deflected the question with a flick of his fingers. "We found ourselves much in agreement."
    Welbeck's retort was mercifully forestalled by the appearance of the servers. The discussion of Rolleston's affairs ceased as dishes of green pottage, eggs in mustard, conger eels in souse, and turbot pie were set upon the table. The men served themselves with the economy of interaction engendered by long familiarity.
    They ate in silence for a while. Francis picked at his pie, eschewing the eel altogether. His stomach was jumpy with the tension of his uncle's request for a private conversation. What could he want from him? Would it be good news or bad?
    He was startled from his thoughts by Shiveley's voice. "What are you reading, Bacon?" His messmate nodded at the book beside his plate.
    Francis briefly laid a hand on the leather cover. Why had he brought it? He wouldn't dream of reading through the meal in his uncle's presence. "It's a new work by Giambattista Della Porta, the Italian polymath. A treatise on natural magic." He shrugged as if reading obscure scientific works were as commonplace as playing at bowls.
    Francis savored the look of incomprehension on Welbeck's face for a moment then realized that he'd left Shiveley blinking like a cornered hare. He should have lied and mentioned another author — Seneca, Rabelais — anything that would stimulate conversation instead of killing it dead. Another social misstep. He'd cut Shiveley's friendly gesture short.
    Welbeck gamely