London

  “I’ll see what’s in the bag, please,” the sergeant said. Ducket hesitated, then shrugged. Apprentices did not disobey a city sergeant. Reluctantly he handed over the bag and the sergeant pulled out the book, handing it on to the lawyer. “What does it say?” he enquired.

  It only took Silversleeves a moment to examine it.

  “This is the Book of Genesis,” he declared. “And it is accompanied by a Lollard tract. It is all heresy,” he added gravely. “I think you ought to hold on to it.”

  “You can’t do that,” Ducket burst out. “I’ve broken no law.” He saw the sergeant look at Silversleeves.

  In fact none of them knew whether the possession of this material was technically legal or not. But there was no doubt about the danger of Lollard apprentices. “You should keep it,” the lawyer stated firmly, “until we know whether he’s to be charged or not. It’s evidence.” And the sergeant nodded.

  “Where did you get this book, lad?” he asked.

  Ducket considered. If the wretched thing was really illegal, he did not want to get poor Carpenter into trouble.

  “I just found it.”

  “Evasive reply,” said the lawyer. “Guilt.”

  “You rogue,” cried Ducket in exasperation. “What are you up to?”

  “Upholding the law and Holy Church,” Silversleeves replied blandly. It was too much.

  “You devil,” Ducket cried. “You necromancer!”

  “Ah,” Silversleeves smiled. “Necromancer. You Lollards say that the Mass is nothing but magic. Note that, sergeant.”

  “I shall know where to find you, lad,” the sergeant said.

  When Bull heard what Silversleeves had to say, he was very angry indeed. “Of course you did right to tell me,” he declared.

  “I was not sure,” Silversleeves explained. “I wouldn’t have mentioned it at all, but I know Ducket is connected to you, and I feel he may be being led into evil ways. Could you not help him? Personally,” he added, “I think the young fellow is entirely harmless.”

  “No,” Bull cried, “you are wrong. There’s been too much. Theft. Insurrection. Now Lollardy. If you’ve a fault, Silversleeves, you’re too kind. And you say he slandered you too?”

  “Necromancer.” Silversleeves laughed. “A meaningless word. The heat of the moment. I thought,” he added, “that if it should come to arrest, you might speak up for him.”

  “No sir.” Bull shook his head. “Not after this. In fact, I may have to take sterner measures.”

  “Oh dear.” Silversleeves looked concerned.

  “He is due to receive a sum of money when he completes his apprenticeship,” Bull explained. “I no longer think I should give it to him.” He sighed. “Bad blood, my dear boy. Bad blood.” Then he clapped the lawyer on the back. “To happier subjects. Marriage in three weeks. Get ready.”

  That night, very carefully, Benedict Silversleeves destroyed all evidence that he had ever attempted to turn base metals into gold.

  Fleming had gone out. There was no one to talk to. As Ducket sat in the George the following morning, it seemed to him that there was an inevitable order in the universe. You could not make gold from a base metal; and a low-born foundling could never rise above his sphere.

  He was penniless: cut off completely. Bull had not even troubled to tell him in person but sent a message to Dame Barnikel who had broken the news to him. A young grocer with no money. What could he do? The Grocers Guild sometimes gave reputable young members some capital to help them get started; but what sort of reputation had he now?

  “All is not lost,” Dame Barnikel had said. But she had said it with neither great friendliness nor conviction.

  He was greatly surprised therefore, a little before noon, to see Tiffany. She was wearing a pale violet gown and a little ruffled cap. Her breasts were just covered and he noticed how charmingly she had filled out. She sat down beside him.

  Dear God, how downhearted he looked. She had never seen him like this before. And it’s we, she thought, my own family who have done this to him.

  “You probably shouldn’t be seeing me,” he said.

  “Probably,” she replied. “But I’m always going to. Always. No matter what.” And she took his hand.

  To his embarrassment, he cried. They sat together for an hour. She persuaded him easily enough to explain how he was given the Lollard bible – though he still refused to say by whom. But how Silversleeves had come to know, Ducket had no idea.

  “I’m sorry,” she frowned, “that it should have been Silversleeves. I am sure,” she explained, “that he only meant to help you. I will have him speak to Father again and make it all right. We are to be married, you know,” she added, “in three more weeks.”

  “You are? When was that arranged?”

  “Last evening. Just after he encountered you.”

  And now Ducket understood. Of course. The cunning lawyer had broken their bargain; but first, how neatly he had discredited him. Nothing he said now would be believed, because it would be set down to malice. He could be sure the lawyer had covered his tracks, too. Yet he must save Tiffany.

  “Would you believe me,” he said at last, “if I told you that Silversleeves was not what he seemed?” And he began to talk.

  He told her, without mentioning Fleming by name, how he had discovered Silversleeves. He told her that the lawyer had defrauded people, and that he was a most accomplished liar. He told her all he could. He watched her bow her head and look deeply thoughtful. At last she spoke.

  “You say terrible things about the man I am to marry. Yet you don’t say who his victims are. You give no proof.” She looked up at him with distress in her eyes. “How can I believe you?”

  How indeed? Why should she? What had he ever done to make her trust him more than Silversleeves? And if she doubted him, what possible chance had he of convincing Bull or anyone else? As he gazed at her now and remembered that day when he saw her with Silversleeves on the bridge, he realized with a force which smote him so hard it hurt, that he loved this girl, completely unattainable though she was to a poor boy like him, more than anyone else in his life.

  “If you come here tomorrow,” he said, “I will give you proof.”

  Yet could he? This question occupied his thoughts as soon as she had gone. Silversleeves clearly had gambled that the grocer would not talk. He had to persuade him. If he swore Tiffany to secrecy, would Fleming talk? Surely he’d see he must save the girl from Silversleeves. But even that might not be enough. Bull would demand explanations. Would Fleming be prepared to tell him too? And would Bull believe him? There was no doubting Silversleeves’s bland ability to lie. He sighed. Just now, he could not think of anything better.

  He waited for Fleming to return.

  It was exactly noon when Fleming finished the letter he had been writing. It was not long, but he was satisfied with it. He placed it on the box of peppercorns, then went to the door of the storeroom and fastened it. The other piece of private business he had to conduct required some care and he did not wish to be disturbed.

  He smiled. With luck, it seemed to him, he might have found a solution to everybody’s problems.

  They found Fleming that evening, when Dame Barnikel and Ducket had tried to get into the storehouse. He was hanging by a rope he had tied to a rafter. His letter was very simple.

  I am sorry about the Poll Tax money, and all the other money too. It was me that stole it. I was trying to make more for you and Amy. Please don’t ask any more.

  I want young Ducket to take over the business. He has been a good friend to me, and very loyal. He tried to save me but it’s too late. You can trust him.

  When Dame Barnikel read the letter she only glanced briefly at Fleming. Then she turned to Ducket.

  “You understand all this?”

  “Yes.”

  “He says he stole the money.”

  “He didn’t really mean to. I promised him I’d never tell.”

  “I thought you stole it,?
?? she said honestly.

  “I know. I didn’t, though.”

  “He didn’t have to do this,” she remarked. But Ducket understood that he did. For though the rope around poor Fleming’s neck was the visible cause, the apprentice knew that in truth his sad little master had died of shame.

  “You’d better take over, then,” Dame Barnikel said gruffly.

  None of this was any help to Ducket, the next morning, when Tiffany arrived. “I’ve lost the person who might have convinced you,” he told her simply. “I’ve no proof.”

  “So I have to take your word for it?”

  He nodded. “I’ve nothing else,” he said.

  After Tiffany departed, he did not move for some time. He did not know what she would decide. But one thing he did know. He would never let her fall into the clutches of Silversleeves. If necessary, he thought, I shall have to kill him.

  Dame Barnikel was not often contrite; but the next morning, as she sat on her great bed and talked to Amy, she was.

  “I can’t get over how wrong I was about that boy,” she growled. “He’s a little hero. Look at what he’s done. Saved Carpenter’s life. Suspected of theft. Took the blame for your father. Tried to save him too, apparently. Then Bull cuts him off. I bet there’s a good explanation for that too. And never a whimper. He’s a plucky, loyal fellow,” she concluded warmly. “Loyal.” And she noticed that Amy did not disagree.

  She rose. “I’ve got to see about your poor father’s funeral, now,” she said. But at the door, she paused. “I know you want to get away from me,” she said quietly. “But don’t marry Carpenter. You know you don’t love him.”

  The preparation for a wedding is a joyous thing. There were the dresses to be made, and nightdresses too. There were trunks of linen to be aired. Though it was still two weeks away, the cook and the fat girl had already started their preparations in the kitchen. Bull and Silversleeves had just taken a pleasant house on Oyster Hill, near the bridge, where the young couple would commence their married life. Even Chaucer had been pressed to use his influence at court to secure the promising lawyer a lucrative position.

  Yet for Tiffany, though she smiled, the days went painfully. What conflicting emotions she felt. Could it really be that her childhood friend, the brave young fellow she loved like a brother, was lying? When she looked at the calm face of her future bridegroom, Ducket’s charge seemed impossible. Yet would Ducket invent such a slander? Was it in his nature? Or was that nature, as her father believed, fatally flawed after all? Which of them did she really know – the foundling or the clever lawyer who had courted her?

  She had thought of telling her father about Ducket’s accusation, but she knew what his response would be. And wasn’t his judgment sound? Few men in London had a better reputation.

  Yet, every day, as she watched the preparations for the marriage, something else still troubled her. Even if everything they said about young Ducket was true – that he was a liar, and Silversleeves a paragon of virtue – the question still came to her: what did she feel for Silversleeves? She admired him of course. He was pious, kindly, everything he should be. He seemed devoted to her. Yet despite this, her mind kept returning to that other conversation she had had with her mother long ago, when she had asked her: were there no perfect knights to marry? You’ll never meet one, her mother had said. So that was it: she was marrying Silversleeves and her parents were pleased.

  If only a voice within her, first in a whisper, then every day a little louder, were not urging her: stop. Stop before it’s too late. But as she watched the preparations so rapidly advancing she thought: it already is too late.

  Amy Fleming had made her own decision more easily. With the death of her father, it was natural that her marriage to Ben Carpenter should be temporarily postponed. Carpenter himself had suggested they consider the autumn, but now Amy secretly decided otherwise.

  It was not her mother’s words but her father’s sad little note that had finally swayed her. His ringing endorsement of Ducket, his desire for the brave fellow to take his place, his message that they should trust him. Was he trying, in his own way, to tell her something before he departed?

  She knew she did not love Carpenter, but he had always seemed secure, while Ducket, so carefree, was a risk. The events of the last twelvemonth, however, had given her pause for thought. Carpenter at the Savoy; Carpenter with his Lollard texts. Were the solemn craftsman’s obsessions going to lead them into trouble? And now, she discovered, even her quiet father had been in trouble too. Yet who had saved both men, or tried to? Ducket, whom her father urged her to trust. It was Ducket, after all, who was the strong one. Ducket the brave.

  She supposed he would marry her. After all, he had lost everything else. If Fleming wished him to run the business, he could hardly do it with no money. Her father’s message had been for Ducket too. Marry my daughter, it said. But she decided to proceed carefully – to ascertain Ducket’s position first.

  She had just come to this conclusion one morning when she saw Tiffany Bull approaching the George. Supposing she might want Ducket, she met her at the entrance to the yard and told her that he was minding the stall at the Cheap. But to her surprise, the merchant’s daughter shook her head.

  “Actually,” she said, “it is you I came to see.” And with a glance around she enquired: “Could we speak privately?”

  Though she had seen Tiffany, Amy had never spoken to her before, and she observed the rich girl curiously. She admired the fine, silk clothes, so different from her own, noticed the dainty way that she sat down. It was strange to think that once her simple young Ducket had lived in the same house as this creature from another world. It was even more surprising when, with pain in her eyes, the girl said simply: “I need your help. You see,” she added frankly. “I’ve no one to turn to.”

  Tiffany told her story as shortly as she could, while Amy listened. “So you see,” she concluded, “Ducket has made these charges against the man I am to marry. I find it hard to believe them. No one else does. Yet if any part of them is true . . .” She spread her hands. “In two weeks Silversleeves will be my husband.” She looked at Amy earnestly. “You have seen Ducket every day for years. You must know so much more about his life than I do. Have you any idea if all this could be true?”

  Amy gazed back at her. How strange. If she had thought she had problems herself, it seemed to her now that the dilemma before this rich girl, who apparently had everything, was worse. “I’ll gladly tell you all I know,” she said.

  Tiffany listened intently as Amy outlined the apprentice’s story. She explained how she had begged him to find Carpenter during the revolt and how he had saved the craftsman at the Savoy. “That was all true, then,” Tiffany interjected. “I was sure it was.” Then, sadly, Amy explained the strange circumstances of her father’s death and his message about Ducket. “So you see,” she continued, “he didn’t steal anything.” But it was another aspect that especially caught Tiffany’s attention.

  “You say your father took money and lost it, but didn’t explain how. And Ducket knows, but won’t tell.”

  “He promised Father he wouldn’t.”

  “But he warned me Silversleeves was a necromancer who defrauded people. Then when your father died, he said he couldn’t prove it any more.”

  The two girls looked at each other.

  “Silversleeves,” they both said at once.

  “That’s it then,” Tiffany said, “I’m not marrying him.”

  “We’ve no proof,” Amy pointed out. “He’ll deny it.”

  “Too bad,” Tiffany said. And then she smiled.

  “You shouldn’t be smiling,” Amy said. “You’ve just lost your husband.” But with a strange sense of relief, Tiffany suddenly laughed. “Never mind,” she grinned. “I never really liked him.”

  It was curious, Amy considered, how she should already feel a bond of friendship. She leaned forward conspiratorially. “I’ll tell you something,” she confided. “I’m plann
ing to ditch my man Carpenter too, only nobody knows.”

  “Really?” Tiffany liked the girl more and more. “Have you someone else in mind?” And now Amy smiled broadly.

  “Why, Ducket, of course,” she said.

  The sun was setting and the reddish glow along the river was touching the green glass in the window as Tiffany stood before her father that evening and told him what she wanted. At first he did not believe her.

  “But the marriage is all arranged,” he said in bafflement. “You can’t back out now.”

  “I must, Father,” she said.

  “Why?” He suddenly turned on her suspiciously. “Have you been talking to Ducket? He’s been spreading rumours.”

  “I know,” she answered calmly. “But that’s not the reason.” Strictly speaking it was true. Amazed by such words from the daughter on whose obliging nature he had always been able to count, Bull made an effort to be conciliatory. “Can you tell me what is the matter, then?” he gently asked. And she, thinking that he might understand, cried out. “I do not love him, Father.”

  For a moment or two, Bull said nothing. He pursed his lips thoughtfully. Was this just a sudden panic before a wedding? He knew that girls were sometimes prone to these unreasonable fits. When he spoke, he was firm.

  “I’m afraid you must marry him,” he said, “and that’s the end of it. Let’s not discuss it any more.” And from the look in his eye, Tiffany realized that this was going to be even more difficult than she thought.

  “You gave your word,” she cried. “Now you’re breaking it. You promised I could choose.”

  This was too much. First an absurd demand, then an insult. No Bull ever broke his word.

  “You chose,” he roared at her. “You chose, young Miss, and you chose Silversleeves. Now it’s you who want to break your word to him. I won’t allow it.”

  “I hate him,” she cried back. “He’s a villain.” She had never fought with her father before in her life.

  “Too good for you, I see,” he shouted. “But you’ll marry him anyway.” And then, with a bellow that almost knocked her off her feet: “Enough! Get out of my sight or by God I’ll thrash you before you reach the altar.”