‘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.’
She gestured at the table along one wall where three enormous pies, complete with battlements, stood waiting.
‘They’re a little greasy, so don’t send anyone who’s wearing his mourning livery.’
‘What happened to the sweetmeats?’
‘They’re in Philadelphia’s stillroom, drying out. They can wait though: the less time they spend in the open for flies and boys to get to them, the better. How are your ribs?’
‘Well enough...’ began Carey, but Goodwife Biltock came up to him with a mug of ale, looking stern.
‘You’re as pale as a sheet,’ she scolded, ‘and bags to hide a pig in under your eye. Drink that, it’s spiced and has medicine in it.’
‘What sort of medicine?’ Carey demanded suspiciously.
‘Something to prevent a fever. Let me see your face.’
She reached up, took his face between her rough hands and turned it to the light from the fire.
‘Jesus,’ she said, ‘you look a sight. I wish I could have got to your face with a few leeches when that was done...’
‘Goodwife...’ began Carey.
‘And an axe for the man that did it to you.’
‘I don’t...’
‘Drink your ale.’
He drank.
‘What do you think, Lady Widdrington? Will Lady Scrope...?’
‘I’m sure,’ said Elizabeth, still smiling at him. ‘Anyway, it can’t be helped and most of Carlisle knows what happened.’
‘We don’t want anyone laughing.’
‘They won’t.’
‘When did you last wash behind your ears, Robin?’
