‘And no more shouting,’ I added. ‘I will not have a brabble in my house. Josephine, perhaps you could get me some bread and cheese. I missed my lunch.’
I walked out. It was not done to support a junior servant against a steward in his presence, but Martin had annoyed me. I wished I understood what was the matter between him and Josephine. From the window, I saw Timothy leave the kitchen and cross the yard to the stables. On impulse, I followed him out.
THE LAD WAS SITTING in his accustomed place, atop an upturned bucket beside Genesis. He was talking softly to my horse, as he often did. I could not hear the words. As my shadow fell across the doorway he looked up, flicking his black hair from his face.
I spoke casually. ‘Master Brocket seemed much angered with Josephine just now.’
‘Yes, sir,’ he instantly agreed.
‘Has he ever shouted at her like that before?’
‘He – he likes to keep us in order.’ His look was puzzled, as though to say that is the way of things.
‘Do you know, is there some cause of enmity between them? Come, I know you are fond of Josephine. If there is a problem I would help her.’
He shook his head. ‘They do seem to dislike each other, sir, but I do not know why. It was not bad at first, but these last few months she is always giving him unpleasant looks, and he never misses a chance to chide her.’
‘Strange.’ I frowned. ‘Have you thought any further about what I said, about your maybe going for an apprenticeship?’
Timothy spoke with sudden vehemence. ‘I would rather stay working here, sir. With Genesis. The streets outside – ’ He shook his head.
I remembered how, until I found him, he had spent most of his early years as a penniless urchin. My home was the only place of safety he had ever known. But it was not right, a young boy knowing nobody his own age. ‘It would not be like before you came here,’ I said gently. ‘I would ensure you had a good master, and you would learn a trade.’ He stared back at me with large, frightened brown eyes, and I went on, a little testily, ‘It does a lad your age no good to be alone so much.’
‘I am only alone because Simon was sent away.’ He spoke defensively.
‘That was to ensure his future, as I would ensure yours. Not many lads get such a chance.’
‘No, sir.’ He bowed his head.
I sighed. ‘We shall talk about it again.’
He did not answer.
I WENT TO MY ROOM, where Josephine had left bread, cheese and bacon, and a mug of beer. I sat down to eat. Outside, the garden was green and sunny; at the far end my little summer pavilion was pleasantly shaded. A good place to go and set my tumbling thoughts in order.
I saw there was a new letter from Hugh Curteys on the table. I broke open the seal. Hugh had been promoted, I read, to a permanent position with one of the English trading houses, and was now thinking of a merchant’s career. The letter went on to give the latest news of Antwerp:
In a tavern two days ago I met an Englishman, glad to find someone who spoke his language. He had been tutor to a Wiltshire family, well-connected folk, for some years. He is a radical in religion, and the family, though they had no complaint of him, feared that association with him might do them harm in these days. They gave him some money and arranged for a passage here. I marvel, sir, at what is happening in England. I never remember such times. I hope you are safe.
I wondered if Greening’s three friends would also make for the Continent. Lord Parr should arrange for a watch to be kept at the docks, though I reflected gloomily that it might already be too late. I read the rest of Hugh’s letter:
I was in the counting-house by the wharves yesterday, and a man was pointed out to me, standing with some others looking at the ships. He had a long grey beard and dark robe and a clever, watchful face, set in a scornful expression. I was told it was John Bale himself, the writer of plays against the Pope and much else; if King Henry got hold of him he would go to the fire. The Inquisition dare not interfere too much in Antwerp because of the trade, for all the Netherlands are under Spanish dominion, but I am told Bale does not parade himself publicly too often. Perhaps he was arranging the export of more forbidden books to England. I was glad to see him turn and leave.
I put the letter down. I thought, John Bale, Bilious Bale. Indeed he was a great thorn in the side of Gardiner and his people. As well for him that he was safe abroad.
I went into the garden, with pen, ink and paper and a flagon of wine, and sat in the shade of the pavilion. The shadows were lengthening but the air was still warm, and it would have been a pleasure to close my eyes. But I must get my thoughts in order.