London - Edward Rutherfurd [269]
“Where did you get this book, lad?” he asked.
Ducket considered. If the wretched thing was really illegal, he did not want to get poor Carpenter into trouble.
“I just found it.”
“Evasive reply,” said the lawyer. “Guilt.”
“You rogue,” cried Ducket in exasperation. “What are you up to?”
“Upholding the law and Holy Church,” Silversleeves replied blandly. It was too much.
“You devil,” Ducket cried. “You necromancer!”
“Ah,” Silversleeves smiled. “Necromancer. You Lollards say that the Mass is nothing but magic. Note that, sergeant.”
“I shall know where to find you, lad,” the sergeant said.
When Bull heard what Silversleeves had to say, he was very angry indeed. “Of course you did right to tell me,” he declared.
“I was not sure,” Silversleeves explained. “I wouldn’t have mentioned it at all, but I know Ducket is connected to you, and I feel he may be being led into evil ways. Could you not help him? Personally,” he added, “I think the young fellow is entirely harmless.”
“No,” Bull cried, “you are wrong. There’s been too much. Theft. Insurrection. Now Lollardy. If you’ve a fault, Silversleeves, you’re too kind. And you say he slandered you too?”
“Necromancer.” Silversleeves laughed. “A meaningless word. The heat of the moment. I thought,” he added, “that if it should come to arrest, you might speak up for him.”
“No sir.” Bull shook his head. “Not after this. In fact, I may have to take sterner measures.”
“Oh dear.” Silversleeves looked concerned.
“He is due to receive a sum of money when he completes his apprenticeship,” Bull explained. “I no longer think I should give it to him.” He sighed. “Bad blood, my dear boy. Bad blood.” Then he clapped the lawyer on the back. “To happier subjects. Marriage in three weeks. Get ready.”
That night, very carefully, Benedict Silversleeves destroyed all evidence that he had ever attempted to turn base metals into gold.
Fleming had gone out. There was no one to talk to. As Ducket sat in the George the following morning, it seemed to him that there was an inevitable order in the universe. You could not make gold from a base metal; and a low-born foundling could never rise above his sphere.
He was penniless: cut off completely. Bull had not even troubled to tell him in person but sent a message to Dame Barnikel who had broken the news to him. A young grocer with no money. What could he do? The Grocers Guild sometimes gave reputable young members some capital to help them get started; but what sort of reputation had he now?
“All is not lost,” Dame Barnikel had said. But she had said it with neither great friendliness nor conviction.
He was greatly surprised therefore, a little before noon, to see Tiffany. She was wearing a pale violet gown and a little ruffled cap. Her breasts were just covered and he noticed how charmingly she had filled out. She sat down beside him.
Dear God, how downhearted he looked. She had never seen him like this before. And it’s we, she thought, my own family who have done this to him.
“You probably shouldn’t be seeing me,” he said.
“Probably,” she replied. “But I’m always going to. Always. No matter what.” And she took his hand.
To his embarrassment, he cried. They sat together for an hour. She persuaded him easily enough to explain how he was given the Lollard bible – though he still refused to say by whom. But how Silversleeves had come to know, Ducket had no idea.
“I’m sorry,” she frowned, “that it should have been Silversleeves. I am sure,” she explained, “that he only meant to help you. I will have him speak to Father again and make it all right. We are to be married, you know,” she added, “in three more weeks.”
“You are? When was that arranged?”
“Last evening. Just after he encountered you.”
And now Ducket understood. Of course. The cunning lawyer had broken their bargain; but