The Midsummer Crown by Kate Sedley Page B

queen dowager, at present in sanctuary, with Mistress Shore, the late king’s mistress, acting as go-between. All the accused – Queen Elizabeth, of course, excepted – were now in custody. There was no need for alarm. Everything was under control. People were to return to work and proceed with their daily tasks.
    And that was all. The herald and trumpeter departed. Timothy heaved a sigh of relief and turned to me.
    â€˜No mention of any out-of-hand executions,’ he said. ‘There will be some, no doubt of that. But all legal and above board.’
    I nodded, feeling as though a great weight had been lifted from my mind. If Hastings and the other conspirators got what was coming to them that was only a fitting punishment for their crime. But it would be by due process of law and that was what mattered.
    â€˜What do we do now?’ I asked as the crowds, somewhat disappointed at this tame ending to all the excitement, began to disperse.
    â€˜I must get to the Tower as fast as possible. I may be needed.’ Timothy’s little air of self-importance made me struggle to suppress a grin. ‘In any case,’ he went on, ‘I must report your safe arrival to the duke. You and Piers had better go straight to Baynard’s Castle and see if there’s any news concerning Master Fitzalan. If not, Roger, you’d best begin your enquiries right away.’
    I said nothing. He could take my silence for acquiescence if he liked. But I intended to procure myself some refreshment first. Like the rest of my countrymen, I believed in a sufficient amount of rest and recreation.
    The main courtyard of the castle was thronged with guests and servants alike, all avidly discussing the reports from the Tower. I guessed that Gideon Fitzalan’s disappearance and the murder of Gregory Machin had been superseded as the general topic of concern and conversation.
    â€˜Follow me,’ Piers said briskly as he dismounted, at the same time signalling to one of the grooms to come and take our horses. ‘I’ll take you to Dame Copley. She’s bound to be in her room. Or – wait a minute! I can see Godfrey Fitzalan over there. You know, Gideon’s uncle.’
    I shot out a hand to detain him, my mind still running on food, but I was a second too late. Piers was already plunging through the knots of people towards a tall man with a shock of curly brown hair and a pair of very light bluish-grey eyes that contrasted oddly with his very dark, almost black eyebrows.
    â€˜Master Fitzalan,’ he cried, grabbing the man by his sleeve. ‘It’s me. Piers Daubenay, Master Gideon’s servant. You know! I was sent to Minster Lovell to apprise them of the news—’
    The man held up an imperious hand, checking Piers in full flow. ‘Young man, you have made a mistake. Excusable, I’ll allow. You probably think I’m Godfrey. Well, I’m not. I’m his twin, Lewis. I’ve ridden post-haste from Yorkshire at my brother Pomfret’s request, to find out what’s going on. Pom’s having to travel more slowly to accommodate my sister-in-law, who’s been suffering from fits of hysterics ever since she heard the news of her precious son’s disappearance. Poor soul,’ he added perfunctorily, leaving me with the distinct impression that there was little love lost between him and Gideon’s mother. He added vaguely, ‘If you want Godfrey, he’s probably indoors somewhere or other. Maybe with Sir Francis.’ And he turned back to continue his conversation with another man.
    â€˜How many of these damned Fitzalans are there?’ I demanded peevishly and not for the first time, as we fought our way to the main door, where two of Duchess Cicely’s guards, wearing the badge of York, challenged our right of entrance. But this was because they were bored and wanted something to do. A second glance at Piers’s green and orange Fitzalan