London - Edward Rutherfurd [283]
It did not take him long to tell what he knew, after which Chaucer summed up once more, but rather differently.
“From the words of a witness of unimpeachable character,” he told Silversleeves, “we now learn that you have given us a false name, that you come from London, not Oxford, and that you were suspected of exactly this crime before. We have, therefore, your word against the word of this miller. And I must tell you that this court believes the miller.” He turned to the sergeant-at-law. “Is that good law?”
“Good enough.”
“Then,” pronounced Geoffrey Chaucer, Justice of the Peace, “I sentence you to repay this miller the entire sum he says you owe, and to spend tomorrow morning in the stocks.” He thought for a moment. “With a crucible hung round your neck.” English justice was commonsense, if nothing else.
It was in a cheerful mood that Gilbert Bull the merchant rode back towards London and his house on the bridge. He had not told them he was coming.
She had forgotten how angry he could be. As Tiffany stood before her father, three days after his sudden arrival, in the big upstairs room of the house on London Bridge, she felt almost like a child again. Red-faced, his blue eyes glowering, he seemed even larger than she remembered him. And he was in a towering rage.
“Treachery!” he roared. “Your husband’s a Judas. I was right all along. Never trust a foundling. Bad blood.” He pointed at her. “You’re no better though, you little Jezebel!”
“It’s not treachery,” she protested. “Our children are still your grandchildren.”
“Oh but it is treachery,” he cried. “It’s the fortune of Bull you expect to inherit, not of Ducket.”
“I did not realize you felt so strongly, Father.”
“Then why did you do it behind my back?” he roared.
It had been when the cook had referred to Geoffrey as “Master Ducket” that he had discovered. “You mean Master Bull,” he had corrected. “Oh no sir,” she had said, “he’s Master Ducket now.” And it had all come out.
It was hard for Bull to say what had hurt him most: the deception they had used, the loss of his name – his immortality – in future generations, or the fact that thanks to Ducket’s brilliant business success, they no longer needed him. He would have scorned, in any case, to say such things. But there was one thing he could say, the most terrible indictment that any Bull could make of another man.
“He broke his word,” he cried. And then, as Tiffany went very pale, he told her exactly what he intended to do.
“At his age?” At first Ducket did not believe it.
“Why not? He’s still vigorous.”
“But to start all over again?”
“It’s my fault,” Tiffany said. Her father’s sudden arrival had caught her off-guard. She had meant to break the idea of Ducket’s name change to him gently, at the proper time. But there was no excuse. She had been so busy thinking of pleasing the one man that she had grown careless of the other.
“Does this mean I have to go back to being Bull?”
“No good,” she said. “He doesn’t trust us any more. He thinks we’d change it back again, after he’s gone.”
“Perhaps he’ll alter his mind?” But Tiffany shook her head.
For Bull intended to marry again. “And if I have a son,” he had told her coldly, “it is he, and not you and Ducket, who will inherit.”
But it was now, to his surprise, that Ducket saw a side of his wife that he had never seen before. For she shook her head, and her soft brown eyes suddenly went very hard.
“I don’t think you quite understand,” she said quietly, “how much money we’re talking about.”
“What can we do then?” he asked.
“We’ve got to head him off,” she said.
Dame Barnikel was rather surprised towards the end of the first week in August, to receive a visit from Tiffany. Since she only knew her slightly, Dame Barnikel was equally surprised when the girl indicated that she wanted to speak to her confidentially. But they sat down at a table, and after a little small talk, Tiffany broached the subject.
“I’m worried about my father,” she began.
Her description of the rich merchant