‘You couldn’t have picked a worse time to get yourself hurt, you know,’ Philadelphia said accusingly as she stitched. ‘What with the muster tomorrow and King James coming to Dumfries and all. Don’t twitch.’

Before he could protest at this unfairness, Barnabus came limping back with a tray and a fresh shirt. Philadelphia knotted and snipped.

‘About time,’ she sniffed, putting her needle carefully away and picking up the pot of ointment and the bandages. ‘Up with your arms, Robin.’

Trying not to wince while she dabbed the cut with more green ointment, Carey asked, ‘What did you come to see me about, Philly?’

For answer she tapped irritably at a scar on his shoulder. ‘When did this happen?’

‘In France. A musketball grazed me. It got better by itself.’

‘You were lucky. Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘What for? So that you and Mother could worry about it?’

‘Hah. Hold this.’

Holding the end of the bandage with his elbow raised and his other arm up, Carey said again, patiently, ‘What did you want me for?’

She blinked at him for a moment and then her face cleared with recall, and switched instantly to an expression of thunder. ‘I assume you know that my lord Scrope has appointed an acting armoury clerk to replace Atkinson?’

‘WHAT?’

‘And the guns from London came in at dawn this morning while you were prancing about poaching deer on the Border and they’ve been unpacked and stored already and Lowther’s changed the lock on the armoury door again... Will you stay still or must I slap you?’

‘God’s blood, what the Devil does your God-damned husband think he’s playing at...?’

‘Don’t swear.’

‘But Philly... OUCH.’

‘Stay still then.’

‘But what’s Scrope up to? Does he want me out? What is he doing?’

‘You weren’t here when the guns came in. Lowther was. Scrope was panicking about who was going to keep the armoury books and Lowther said his cousin could do it for the moment and Scrope agreed. He must have forgotten that the office should be one of the Deputy Warden’s perks.’

‘The man’s a complete half-witted...’

‘And as far as I know, Lowther’s cousin didn’t even pay anything.’

Carey was now tucking his shirt tails into the tops of his trunkhose and he winced when he moved incautiously. ‘Atkinson paid fifty pounds for it, damn it.’

‘I know. And the armoury clerkship has always been in the gift of the Deputy Warden. I checked with Richard Bell and he agreed with me, but when I talked to my lord Scrope all he would say was that the appointment was only temporary and you could have the sale of it later.’

Carey shrugged into his old green doublet and snapped his fingers impatiently at Barnabus to do up the points to his hose at the back.

‘God damn it,’ he muttered. ‘I was relying on selling the clerkship to pay the men next month.’

For once Philadelphia did not tell him off for swearing. Her small heartshaped face was bunched into a worried frown. ‘It’s worse that Lowther has the keys to the new lock and you haven’t,’ she pointed out. ‘I’m sure he’ll find reasons not to let you have any of the new weapons.’

Carey went into his little office and sat down at his desk again, ignoring the bread and cheese Barnabus had laid out for him. He propped his chin on his fist and stared into space.

‘Has the Newcastle courier gone yet?’

Philadelphia looked blank at the sudden change of subject. Barnabus coughed modestly. ‘No, sir,’ he said. ‘He was in Bessie’s, last I saw.’

‘And where the Devil were you, Barnabus?’

‘Well, I...’

‘I don’t ask much of my servants, just that they occasionally be present to serve me. Nothing elaborate.’

‘Yes, sir. Sorry, sir. Shall I fetch the courier for you, sir?’

‘If it isn’t too much trouble, Barnabus.’

Barnabus limped out the door muttering under his breath about his water being sore and his master being sarcastic and life in the north being even worse than he expected. Carey continued to stare into space for a moment and then shrugged, took a fresh sheet of paper and a small leather notebook out of a locked drawer in his desk.

‘What are you going to do, Robin?’

‘Finish writing to London. I’ll ask Burghley to try and persuade the Queen to pay my salary direct to me, and to do it quickly, and try to find me some funds for paying informers as well. I’m deaf and blind round here at the moment.’

‘Are you going to tell him about my lord Scrope and the clerkship?’

Carey looked at her seriously. ‘Do you want me to?’ he asked. ‘The Queen thinks little enough of your husband as it is, and she hasn’t sent his warrant yet. He’s not even officially Lord Warden. Do you want to give her excuse for delay?’

Philadelphia scowled and shook her head. She watched as Carey’s long fingers took up the pen and began the tedious business of ciphering his letter.

‘Will you go to bed when the courier’s gone?’ she asked after a few minutes.

‘Well, I...’

‘Only I want you fresh for this evening.’ Carey stopped writing and glanced at her warily.

‘Why?’

‘I want you to come to the dinner party I’m giving for Sir Simon Musgrave, who brought the convoy in, and some of the other local gentlemen who have come for the muster.’

‘Must I?’

‘Yes. If the Deputy Warden isn’t there, people will begin to wonder if my lord is planning to take your office away, especially when they hear about the armoury clerkship.’

‘Damn.’

‘And besides everyone in the country wants to meet the dashing knight who solved Atkinson’s murder, never mind what he was up to the week before last—of which I have heard at least five different versions, and none of them as ridiculous as the truth.’

Carey rolled his eyes at the sarcasm in her voice.