London - Edward Rutherfurd [275]
He had wondered if Silversleeves would be there, and had come prepared. The knife was concealed, stuck in his belt under his shirt. As soon as he was sure how things stood, he would use it.
Silversleeves must die. If possible he would follow him out and do it somewhere discreetly, but if, for some reason, he had to, he would do it here. As for his own fate, he shrugged. I’ll swing, he thought grimly.
He was just contemplating this when he saw a latecomer hurrying to the door. It was the priest Bull had invited. And now, with a shock, it seemed to him that he understood. “My God, he’s going to marry them right away,” he muttered. The company were gathered to witness it. His heart beating hard, he hastened to the kitchen door.
He could hear the sound of voices as he followed the fat girl up the familiar stairs. She had given him an old gown of the cook’s and a little linen cap to hide his give-away hair. He carried a platter of food as well. Fortunately he was clean shaven, so if he kept his head down and stayed at the back of the room, people would probably assume he was a serving girl.
At the top of the stairs they paused. The fat girl stood in the doorway, as a signal to Tiffany. Looking past her, Ducket could see that there were at least twenty people in the room.
Then Tiffany came over. She slipped round the fat girl, and a second later, Ducket found himself gazing into her face. She looked pale, her eyes a little frightened.
“Thank God you’ve come.” She was trembling. “I told father I didn’t want to marry Silversleeves. But he said . . .”
“I know. A convent. Don’t worry. It’ll be all right.”
“You don’t quite understand.”
“Tiffany.” Her father’s voice was calling.
“Tell me,” her eyes gazed into his searchingly, earnestly, “tell me Geoffrey Ducket – I have to ask, you see – do you love me? I mean, could you? You see . . .” He cut her short.
“Enough to die for you,” he promised. It was the truth.
She was about to say more, but her father’s voice was heard again. Closer. She gave a desperate little shrug, turned, moved quickly round the fat girl and stepped forward to meet him. A second later they had moved away.
Ducket entered the room. No one seemed to be looking at him. He edged forward. He saw Silversleeves, standing a few paces in front of the table on which the astrolabe lay. Just in front of him, he also saw James Bull, and silently cursed. Another figure who could recognize him. Fortunately however, an alderman and his wife stood between himself and these two. Keeping his head down, he was able to get closer. Holding the platter in his left hand, he reached under the folds of his dress for the dagger. He had it. He wasn’t taking any chances. He prepared to make his rush.
Tiffany and her father had drawn a little apart from their guests for a moment and were standing close by the window. Though her father had looked at her enquiringly, it was Tiffany who had begun the conversation.
“Father, you said that if I could not bring myself to marry Silversleeves, I might choose another in the room?”
“I did.”
“There is a man in the room of whom you have a low opinion. Nor have we ever spoken about him as a husband. And yet, Father, I truly love him. Will you allow me to marry even him? For if not, I shall have to go to the convent.”
Bull glanced around. The only man who seemed to fit the description was James Bull. Could his daughter really have fallen in love with the clumsy fellow? It was certainly a disappointment.
“You are sure? Rather than the convent?”
“Yes.”
He shrugged. At least, he thought, he’s honest. “Very well,” he sighed.
“It is Ducket,” she said. And pointed.
“What?” Bull’s face was red. His bellow shook the room. The whole company had turned, to follow his gaze.
Ducket went pale. They were looking at him. He had been recognized. He clenched the hidden knife.