Chapter Twenty-two
I WALKED SLOWLY home. It had been a long day, even by the standards of this last week. I was utterly weary. It was still afternoon, but the shadows were beginning to lengthen. Looking down a narrow street leading to the river, I saw a fisherman in a boat, casting a long net that turned the water silver as it splashed into the Thames, sending swans flying to the bank. Normality. I remembered Guy’s words. Why did I keep walking into danger, taking others with me? My feelings for the Queen had led to my involvement in this case; yet it had been the same even before I met her. It went back to Thomas Cromwell, my association with him that first brought me into contact with the high ones of the realm who, like Cromwell himself, sought to use my skills and exploit my obstinate refusal to give up anything I had started. I thought, if I get through this, perhaps it is time to move out of London. Plenty did. I could practise in one of the provincial towns: Bristol, perhaps, or Lichfield, where I had been born and still had cousins. But I had not been there for years; it was a small place and not all of its associations were happy for me.
My musings reminded me of young Timothy and his reluctance to move on. I decided to speak to Josephine; she was fond of the boy. And I resolved, as well, to ask her directly what was the matter between her and Martin Brocket. My steward did not seem like a bully, but I did not see all that went on in my home. No master does.
I arrived home towards five. Martin opened the door to me, his expression deferential as always; I asked if there had been any messages and he told me none. I thought, perhaps I should visit Barak, then decided, better for him to establish a story first with Tamasin. Damn all the lies.
JOSEPHINE WAS IN THE PARLOUR, dusting with her usual care. She rose and bowed as I entered. I looked longingly through the window to my little resting place in the garden, but as I had caught her alone I should take the chance to speak to her. I began in a friendly tone. ‘I have had little chance to talk to you of late, Josephine. How go things with you?’
‘Very well, sir,’ she said.
‘I wanted to speak to you about Timothy. You know I have suggested that when he turns fourteen he should go for an apprenticeship, as Simon did?’
‘That would be a good thing, sir, I think.’
‘And yet he is reluctant to go.’
Her face clouded. She said, ‘He did not have a happy time before he came here.’
‘I know. But that was three years since.’
She looked at me with her clear blue eyes. ‘I think, sir, he sees this house as a refuge.’ She blushed. ‘As do I. But it is not good to cower from the world too long, perhaps.’
‘I agree.’ I paused. ‘What do you think I should do, Josephine?’
She looked at me in surprise. ‘You are asking me, sir?’
‘Yes.’
She hesitated, then said, ‘I should go carefully, sir. Slowly.’
‘Yes. I think you are right.’ I smiled. ‘And you, Josephine, will you be seeing Goodman Brown again soon?’
She blushed. ‘If you are agreeable, sir, he has asked me to walk with him again on Sunday.’
‘If he is agreeable to you, so he is to me.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
‘If I remember, you met him at the May Day revels. At Lincoln’s Inn Fields.’
‘Yes. Agnes persuaded me to go with her, and to wear a little garland of flowers she had made. Master Brown was standing next to us, he said it was pretty. He asked where we worked, and when he found it was for a barrister he told us that he did, too.’
‘The law was ever good for establishing friendships.’ I thought of Philip Coleswyn. Was he a friend? Perhaps, I thought. I said to Josephine, gently, ‘I think Master Brown is perhaps the first young man you have walked out with?’
She lowered her head. ‘Yes, sir. Father, he did not want me – ’
‘I know.’ There was an awkward silence, then I said, ‘Make sure you behave in a ladylike way, Josephine, that is all I would say. I think you will not find that difficult.’
She smiled, showing white teeth. ‘He asks nothing more, sir.’ She added quickly, ‘Your approval is important to me.’
We stood for a moment, both a little embarrassed. Then I said, ‘You get on very well with Agnes.’
‘Oh, yes,’ she answered brightly. ‘She advises me about clothes. No woman ever has before, you see.’
‘She is a good woman. Martin, I suppose, did not come with you to the revels.’
She wrinkled her nose. ‘No, sir. He regards such things as silly.’
‘But he treats you well enough?’
‘Yes, sir,’ she answered hesitantly. ‘Well enough.’
I pressed her, gently. ‘Josephine, I have sensed an – unease – between you and Martin.’
She put the cloth down on the table. Then she took a deep breath and lifted her head. ‘I have been meaning to speak to you, sir, yet I did not know if it was right – and Agnes Brocket has been so good to me – ’