Murder by Misrule

CHAPTER 25

  Francis Bacon struggled to focus his attention. He was writing an essay about knowledge — how to identify sham philosophers who substitute false coinage for the true — but his mind kept wandering back to the previous week when he'd stood in James Shiveley's chambers with his pupils. He could not repress the nagging feeling that he'd overlooked something important, dismissed some vital fact in his eagerness to relieve himself of an onerous task.

  A vision of a paltry number of shiny silver coins in a flat oak box kept pushing itself into his thoughts. The coins in his own cash box were of varied hues and shapes: some worn, some bent, some chipped about the edges. When had the last official coinage been produced? Not recently, he was certain. Then how had Shiveley managed to find a matched set of new coins?

  Francis shook his head to dispel the nagging vision. He had sent his final report to his uncle; the matter was closed. He must discipline himself to banish it from his mind.

  A knock sounded on his chamber door. His assistant, William Phelippes, rose from his desk in the corner to answer it. He spoke to someone briefly, closed the door, and returned.

  Francis's heart leapt. Could it be a letter from Lord Burghley, lifting his ban and inviting him back to court? "Who was it?" He tried to keep the sound of hope from his voice.

  Phelippes wasn't fooled. He was hopeful too since his father's suit was in abeyance while Francis, his chiefest friend at court, was in disgrace. Patronage had been his to give, in better times, as well as to seek.

  "Only the under butler. The benchers request the favor of your presence in the hall. They are ready to announce the name of the new Reader."

  "So soon?" A mere week: it must be a record. But the honor of Gray's Inn was at stake as well. A shabby Reading would shame the whole Society and Lent was fast approaching.