‘Well,’ said Carleton, shifting in the chair, ‘ye hardly ever notice him, he’s that quiet, I suppose they forgot.’

Carey was genuinely appalled. ‘Well, that’s simply not good enough. Where would he be now, do you think?’

‘Scrope’s office,’ suggested Carleton.

‘I’ll go and talk to him, if you’ll excuse me, gentlemen.’

Dodd and Carleton took their leave. Carey picked up his hat and headed for the door, then turned to Barnabus.

‘I’ve an errand for you, Barnabus.’

‘Yes sir?’

‘I want you to go down to Madam Hetherington’s and find Daniel Swanders. Tell him I lost his pack and wouldn’t advise him to go to Netherby to get it back for a while until things have cooled down there. If he doesn’t mind the risk, he might try in a month or so. In the meantime, here’s three pounds English for him to buy new stocks and the five shillings I made while I was doing his job with the ladies at Netherby.’

‘What about his clothes, sir?’

‘Oh Lord, I think Goodwife Biltock burned those. He’d better keep the suit he’s got on: he’ll get a much better class of customer with it.’

‘Sir...’ Barnabus, who had had his eye on that suit for Simon when he finished growing, since it was entirely the wrong size and shape for himself, was very aggrieved. ‘It’s worth more than the pack by itself.’

‘Considerably more,’ agreed Carey.

‘You’ll only have three left.’

‘Don’t fuss,’ snapped Carey, ‘I can get something made up in wool when Scrope pays me. Now go and do as I say, and get back here before the gate shuts.’

‘Yes sir,’ said Barnabus, sadly.

‘I’ll see to the walnut stain myself. I suppose the hair colour will just have to grow out.’

‘Yes sir,’ said Barnabus, ‘unless you want to go blond.’ Carey gave him the piercing blue stare that told him he was pushing it. He added hurriedly, ‘If you let me cut your hair short, it’ll be quicker.’

‘In the morning.’

They went down the stairs together and Carey hurried over to the keep.

SATURDAY, 24TH JUNE, EVENING

Carey found Richard Bell still standing at his high desk, his pen dipping in the ink bottle and whispering across the paper in front of him in the hypnotic dance of a clerk, with a triple candlestick beside him to light his way through the thickets of letters.

Carey stood and waited quietly until Bell carefully cleaned his pen on a rag, put it down and stretched and rubbed his fingers with a sigh. He caught sight of Carey and blinked at him.

‘I’m sorry, sir, I didna see ye.’

Bell was as thin as a portrait of Death and yet didn’t look unhealthy or consumptive: it seemed natural to him. His shoulders were a little rounded, his eyes blinked against the flicker of the candles. He and Scrope made a matched pair, in fact, although Scrope was better built and looked stronger and might even run to fat in a few years.

‘How can I help you, sir?’

‘Mr Bell, I heard something that astonished me a moment ago, and I hope you can clarify it for me.’

‘Yes sir?’

‘I heard that you were not to be a part of the funeral procession.’

Bell said nothing and looked at the floor. Carey stepped a little closer.

‘Is it true?’ Bell nodded. ‘Did you refuse a place...?’

‘No sir,’ said Bell, then looked up shyly. ‘I have been very busy with the arrangements, and I suppose it... er... slipped the Lord Warden’s mind.’

‘If you were offered a place, would you accept?’

‘Yes sir, of course, I would... I would be honoured.’

Carey smiled. ‘How are you with horses, Mr Bell?’

Bell looked confused. ‘Not bad, I like them. I’ve carried dispatches in the past, when they were particularly urgent and the man had already gone.’

‘No problems walking a couple of miles?’

Bell smiled. ‘No sir. I’m not as weak as I look.’

‘Excellent. Let me talk to Scrope and see what I can do. I’m sorry you seem to have been passed over, Mr Bell.’

Bell studied the paper before him.

‘Sir Richard...’ he muttered. Carey raised an eyebrow. ‘Sir Richard Lowther said he would see to it,’ Bell explained.

‘I’m sure he meant to,’ said Carey generously, ‘but I expect it slipped his mind with all the press of business. Don’t worry, Mr Bell, I’ll see my brother-in-law now and talk to him about it.’

SUNDAY, 25TH JUNE, 2 A.M.

Carey wandered through the noise and spied the erect figure of Elizabeth Widdrington going into the castle kitchens which leaned up against the walls of the keep. He followed her, ducking automatically past strings of garlic and onions and the hams that were to be served later, and found her by the long table in the kitchen watching as two of the scullery boys heaved kid carcasses onto the empty spits by the vast fire. The baker was already pulling bread from the oven next to the fire, slamming in batches of penny loaves at a terrible rate. Half the produce of Carlisle market was heaped up in baskets by the larder door waiting to be turned into sallets and pot-herbs while Goodwife Biltock stood by the cauldrons hanging on the brackets over the flames, stirring mightily, her face verging on purple and her hair escaping from her cap in grey strings.

The small round greasy creature Carey knew as the Carlisle cook was sitting on a stool watching stale bread being turned to crumbs by two kitchen girls. He was the idlest man Carey had ever met outside the Court, rarely out of his bed before eight, but it seemed Lady Widdrington had impressed him with the importance of the occasion... Terrorised was perhaps a better word to describe the way he looked at her.

Carey turned to go, but Elizabeth caught sight of him and came bustling over, wiping her hands on her clean white apron, and smiling.

‘How are you, Sir Robert?’ she asked. ‘Is Lady Scrope up yet?’

‘I don’t know,’ Carey admitted, ‘I can wake them if you like.’

She nodded. ‘Scrope’s body-servant has the new livery for the boy and a decent gown for Bell. Any luck with the wine?’

Carey shook his head. ‘If Barnabus can’t find any, nobody can. I expect Bothwell had all the good vintages in Carlisle.’

‘Can’t be helped. I don’t suppose anybody will notice and there’s plenty of beer and ale. I’ll soon need two strong men to help me carry the raised pies into the hall.’