Lowther was even more surprised than Carey at the determination in Scrope’s voice. He looked down, put his fist on his hip again, took a breath to speak. Evidently he thought better of whatever he had been about to say because he let it out again and marched out of the room. Scrope picked up the paper he had been glancing at, folded it sideways and tore it into pieces. Carey’s heart turned over to see how very close he had been to ruin. He smiled and was about to make some comment to Scrope about Lowther being a bad loser and to ask if Barnabus could have bail, when his brother-in-law fixed him with a fishy look.
‘I may be satisfied you didn’t do this, Sir Robert,’ said Scrope. ‘But I’m not at all satisfied about Barnabus. I may as well... er... tell you that I’m setting the Coroner’s inquest for Thursday, since, thanks to the muster, we’ll be able to empanel a good jury that will have some hope of not being entirely under Lowther’s thumb. Oh, and there’s a problem of jurisdiction here; whether I should... er... sit, or whether it should be the Carlisle Coroner. After all, Atkinson was a townsman and was killed in the town. We will have to see. You did manage to write the muster letters before haring off after Wattie Graham?’
‘Yes, my lord,’ said Carey virtuously. ‘Barnabus should have taken them to Richard Bell yesterday evening.’
Scrope seemed surprised by this.
‘Oh... er... good. I’m glad to... see you’re not neglecting your paperwork. I want a report about this Graham raid, by the way.’
‘Yes, my lord. Ah... my lord, about Barnabus...’
‘No, certainly not, he can’t have bail. It’s a capital charge.’
‘No, I realise that. But could he not be locked up in the gaol under the Warden’s Lodgings rather than the Lickingstone cell?’
‘Ah.’ Scrope seemed more co-operative. ‘Don’t see why not. I’ll talk to Barker and have him moved.’
‘Thank you, my lord.’
‘It’s supposed to be your patrol tonight.’
‘Yes, my lord.’
‘Are you going to take it?’
Carey hesitated. ‘I think so, my lord. Unless you want me to stay in Carlisle.’
‘I’d prefer it if you didn’t go too far away.’
‘No, my lord. I give you my word I’ll be at the inquest.’
‘See if you can find some of King James’s horses. I’m getting letters every day from his courtiers about them.’
‘Yes, my lord.’ Carey waited politely.
‘Er... yes, well, that’s all then, Sir Robert. Oh, and you’d better take this back.’ Scrope gestured at the weapon before him.
Carey picked his sword up again, bowed and left the room, feeling puzzled on top of his perennial annoyance with his brother-in-law. How was it that Scrope could be such a dithering idiot one moment and then the next moment act like the old Lord Scrope in his heyday? Dodd followed him quietly down the stairs, for which Carey was grateful. Halfway down it hit him that he had been wearing his jack and helmet all day and he was going to be up much of the night. The energy that had kept him going up to now suddenly deserted him and weariness fell on him like a cloak. He sat down heavily on a bench in the gloomy Keep hall, took his helmet off and rubbed his aching forehead, wishing he had time for a nap. His eyes were feeling sandy.
A heavily pregnant lymer bitch spotted him and came over to plump herself at his feet. Absent-mindedly he reached down to rub her stomach and she panted happily.
‘Do you know whether it’s true that Mrs Atkinson had a lover?’ he asked Dodd. The Sergeant sucked his teeth noncommittally.
‘Janet could likely answer the question better. They’re old friends.’
‘Oh.’ One more complication to add to the many surrounding him. ‘Do you think Lowther did it?’
Dodd looked taken aback. ‘I couldna say, sir,’ he answered cautiously.
‘It’s all right, Sergeant, I won’t hold you to it. I thought he might have, but when I let it slip out in front of the Warden, he was in such a rage it could have been genuine. I’m just interested to know what you think. Sit down and tell me.’
Sergeant Dodd sat down on the bench facing Carey and leaned his elbows on the trestle table behind him. He looked up at the roof with its dusty martial banners and grinned suddenly.
‘What’s so funny?’
The bitch was restless. She rolled herself back onto her legs and put her muzzle on Carey’s leg, dribbling a little.
‘Only, I recall Lowther telling me more than once that I wasna paid to think.’
‘More fool him, then. Come on. I’m not paying you extra to think, by the way; I expect that as part of your ordinary duties. Anyway, I can’t afford it.’
Dodd smiled again. Two in ten minutes, Carey thought, what is the world coming to?
‘An’ that’s another thing I cannae understand, sir. There ye are, ye’re wearing more money in ironware on yer belts than I see from one year’s end to the next and ye say ye cannae afford this or that. Then ye go throwing money around: three pounds for Sergeant Nixon to buy bows; sixpence each for them to help with my haymaking.’
‘Oh.’ For the first time in his life it occurred to Carey to wonder if the way he spent money might have something to do with his debts.
‘It makes me curious, sir,’ said Dodd, quite loquacious now he’d been asked for his opinion. ‘I thought all courtiers were rolling in money. Are ye not rich?’
Carey could not be offended with him, his curiosity was so naked. Instead he sighed again.
‘Dodd, do you recall me telling you that the last time I was out of debt was in ’89 after I walked from London to Berwick in twelve days for a bet of two thousand pounds?’
‘Ay sir. I remember. You were taking one of my faggots off me.’
‘Oh yes,’ said Carey. ‘That reminds me, we haven’t recruited anybody for that place yet, have we?’
‘No sir,’ said Dodd, dourly.
