in the hope that they’ll make good matches, but Meg already has one in the offing. If that excellent young man George Hillman remains of the same mind when she’s sixteen, they could be married then.’
As so often before, I experienced a surge of gratitude towards this man, with whom I had found so much repose. His ships had found no safe harbour, but I had found one in Hugh himself.
‘I have been thinking along the same lines,’ I said.
‘While we have to stay here,’ Hugh said, ‘I think it would be best to keep her busy. Did we not, some time ago, talk of having her portrait painted? There’s a portrait artist staying in Windsor – a man called Arbuckle, Master Jocelyn Arbuckle.’
‘Oh, yes. He’s been painting one of the queen’s other ladies,’ I said. ‘It’s nearly finished now. I believe he has quite a reputation.’
‘Suppose we asked him to paint Meg?’
‘Can we afford it?’
‘Oh yes. Might as well. If we do have to sell Hawkswood, it’ll cover the portrait as well, and if we get Mark’s two and half thousand, that will cover it instead. I’d like us to have a picture of Meg while she is still a young girl. She’ll grow older, and we’ll forget how she was at fourteen. She’s at a very charming age, you know.
‘ And ,’ he added, ‘if we splice long sittings for Arbuckle on to her Latin and Greek studies with Lambert, and her embroidery and music and dancing, she’ll have much less time for chattering with those girls. If you agree, I’ll find Arbuckle and sound him out. Meanwhile, about Mark Easton. I think you should start by going to the kitchens and talking to anyone who was there at the time of Hoxton’s death and remembers it. See if anything emerges. Though, there are a couple of things to see to first . . .’
The couple of things involved, firstly, drawing up a contract with Mark, which he and I and Hugh all signed, with the Brockleys as witnesses. The second thing meant talking to the queen. I was, after all, about to intrude into her kitchens. It seemed only right to ask her permission first.
Elizabeth was shut away with her councillors for most of that day, but I managed a few words with her while I was helping her undress for bed. I was wary, for I knew she was anxious. Looking at her, I understood that she, too, had pictured the enemy lances appearing over the distant hills and felt, as I had, a small cold snake of fear within her. Elizabeth’s face was shaped like a shield and usually protected her thoughts like one, but we were half-sisters and sometimes I could see beneath the shield.
But for all her anxiety, she listened to what I had to say, and if her tone was a trifle acid when she replied, she nevertheless gave me the permission I sought.
‘Oh yes, Ursula. By all means. Poke and pry in my kitchens and ask all the questions you wish, provided you are on duty when you should be and don’t cause valued servants to give notice.’ She paused, propped on her pillows. ‘At the meeting I shall attend tomorrow, a clerk will be taking notes. I’ll dictate a note to the Lord Steward, saying that you have my permission to prowl in his territory. I suggest you start by talking to a clerk of the Spicery called John Sterry. He’s been there since I was a child. He’s as grey as a badger these days, but there’s nothing wrong with his mind. If anyone recalls anything useful, he will. That’s what you want, isn’t it? To talk to long-standing servants with long, retentive memories.’
‘Yes, ma’am. That’s it exactly. It seems my best starting point.’
‘From what you have told me, Ursula, I would say that it’s your only starting point! Well, Sterry is your man.’
FOUR
The Fruit of Insanity
I waited a day, so that the contract could be signed and Elizabeth’s note to the Lord Steward given time to do its work. But the following morning, after chapel, Elizabeth withdrew to confer with her councillors, leaving her ladies free to please