Paget looked at me again, that stony unblinking stare, and ran a hand down his long forked beard. ‘A great pity the thief could not be caught, and hanged,’ he said, a note of reproof in his voice. He patted his thick leather folder. ‘If you would excuse us, your majesty, the King has just signed some important letters, and they should be immediately dispatched.’
‘Of course.’ She waved a hand in dismissal. Wriothesley and Paget bowed low, then passed through a small door leading into the labyrinthine depths of the palace. The Queen, Mary Odell and I were left standing with the impassive-faced guards. In their presence the Queen’s face remained regally expressionless, giving away nothing of how she had felt at thus encountering Wriothesley and Paget. She knew that Wriothesley, at least, would have had her in the fire.
With a formal smile she said, ‘Farewell, then, Matthew. I thank you again.’
I bowed low, touched her hand briefly with my lips; a scent of violets. In accordance with the rules of etiquette I remained bowed until she and Mary Odell had walked back into her quarters and the doors closed behind her. Then, painfully, I straightened up.
I left my robe bearing the Queen’s badge with one of the guards before I quitted Whitehall, my relief tinged with sadness.
Chapter Forty
EARLY NEXT MORNING I SAT at breakfast, morosely studying a printed circular from Paget’s office, which had been sent to me by Rowland’s clerk. It detailed the duties of those who were to wait in the streets to welcome Admiral d’Annebault’s party when it paraded through London. Representatives of the Inns of Court were to take positions with the city dignitaries beside St Paul’s Cathedral, and cheer as the French party passed. We would be present again at the reception of the admiral given by Prince Edward near Hampton Court Palace two days later, and at the great banquet fixed for the day after. I was not looking forward to any of it, and was still in a sad humour after leaving the Queen, my mission unfulfilled. I had been terse with Martin as he served me that morning, snapping because the butter was on the turn. As usual he reacted with a deferential lack of emotion, apologized, and went to fetch some more.
He returned, laying a fresh dish on the table. I said, ‘I am sorry I spoke roughly just now, Martin.’
‘You were right, sir,’ he answered smoothly. ‘I should have checked the butter. Although Josephine set it out.’ I frowned; he could not resist the chance to criticize her. ‘A visitor has called to see you,’ he said then. ‘Master Coleswyn, of Gray’s Inn.’
‘Philip? Ask him to wait. I will be with him in a moment.’
Martin bowed and left. I wondered if this meant Philip had reconsidered investigating the story of Isabel and Edward’s stepfather. I wiped my lips with my napkin and went through to the parlour. Philip, his handsome features thoughtful, was looking through the window at the garden, bright in the August sunshine. He turned and bowed.
‘Matthew, forgive this early visit. God give you good morrow.’
‘And you. I am glad to see you.’
‘You have a beautiful garden.’
‘Yes, my steward’s wife has done much to improve it. How is your family?’
‘They are well. Much relieved that matters of state have – settled down.’
I invited him to sit. He placed his palms together, then spoke seriously. ‘Since our talk last week, I have struggled mightily with my conscience over what to do about Edward Cotterstoke. Considered my duty to God.’
‘Yes?’ I said encouragingly.
‘I decided I could not let the matter rest. If there is any question of my client being involved with his stepfather’s death, that would be a crime against God and man. Not only could I no longer represent him, I would be obliged at the very least to tell our vicar, who ministers to both our souls.’ He took a deep breath. ‘Last Sunday, after church, I spoke to Edward. I explained I had been told the story of his stepfather’s death, and wondered whether that tragic event was in any way connected with his feelings towards Isabel.’
‘How did he react?’
‘Most angrily. He said the old barrister I spoke to had no right to divulge information about matters on which his mother had instructed him, however many decades ago, and that I should not be listening to such tattle.’
‘Strictly he is right.’
Philip leaned forward, his expression urgent. ‘Yes. But the fierce manner in which Edward reacted – you should have seen it. He was angry, but also perturbed. There is something hidden here, Matthew, something serious.’
‘So I came to think when Isabel was my client.’ I paused, then asked, ‘Well, what next?’
‘I believe now that I should talk to the old servant Vowell. Doing so without Edward’s instruction is a breach of the rules, but nonetheless I believe it is my duty.’ He set his lips tight. ‘I will go to him today.’
‘May I come also?’
He hesitated, then nodded agreement, giving a rare slantwise smile. ‘Yes. I would welcome your presence, and if I am to break the rules by taking my ex-opponent with me, I might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb.’ He took a deep breath. ‘Let us go now. I came by horse. We can ride there.’
I got Timothy to saddle Genesis, then sent him to chambers with a note saying I would be in late.