‘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.
‘I have nothing fit to wear.’
Philly looked withering. ‘This isn’t London, you know. The only people who dress fine around here are the headmen of the big blackrenting surnames, like Richie Graham of Brackenhill. I’ll make sure Barnabus has mended your velvet suit by then; but your cramoisie would do well enough.’
Carey grunted and continued counting letters under his breath. Philly came and kissed him on the ear.
‘Do say you’ll come, Robin.’
‘Oh, very well. So long as you don’t expect me to do anything except feed my face and smile sweetly at people.’
‘That would be perfect.’
***
The boom of gunfire woke him up. Carey found himself halfway to the window with a dagger in his hand before he was fully awake. He peered out into the castle yard and saw a small crowd of garrison folk gathered around a cleared space. He smiled at himself, thinking back to his time in France the year before when he had been similarly on a hairtrigger. As he watched, a thickset middle-aged man in a worn velvet suit and Scottish hat lined up a caliver with a well-earthed target and squeezed the trigger. Carey nodded. Typical. Not only had they unloaded the weapons without him, now they were testing them while he had a much-needed rest.
Muttering to himself he went back to bed, drew the curtains and tried to go back to sleep in the stuffy dimness. Eventually he did.
Awakened once more by Barnabus, Carey decided to dress early and go and talk some sense into Lord Scrope.
