31 - City of Fiends (15 page)

‘If you would provide a clerk to copy the message, I will continue on my way.’

‘Naturally,’ Sir James agreed, and bellowed for his clerk. Soon he had sent the latter to copy the message, while the messenger was taken to the hall for food and drink.

When Sir James was alone again, he sipped wine pensively as he considered the letter with its alarming news.

He always prided himself on being with the men who were in power. It had occasionally been a delicate balancing act, but he had survived when weaker men would have allowed despair to overtake
them.

But this new situation would take some thinking through . . . What were the chances of Sir Edward of Caernarfon managing to gather enough men under his banner to wrest the crown back from his
son? And would he be able to force his son to submit?

Because if there was the remotest chance of that, Sir James de Cockington would want to be with him.

Paffards’ House

It was a relief to be back from the burial, Henry thought. Such a sad, horrible service, made all the worse by the body lying before them, a constant reminder of guilt, and his
wife staring at him with resentment and contempt.

Returning to his hall, he sat in his great chair and gazed at the wall with unseeing eyes.

Alice’s death had been a shock, and was all the more unwelcome because of his other ventures. He knew that at any time soon, Sir Charles of Lancaster could arrive, and when he did, he
would expect payment for the goods he had with him. That had been the original bargain. However, there were no funds in the house, not since his acquisition of the house up in Stepecoat Street.
Still, it should be easy enough for him to persuade Sir Charles that he could sell the goods and find finance that way. He had no choice, in any case.

He was still sitting in his chair when Thomas walked in. The youngster said nothing. He merely peered at his father with his pale, fretful eyes, and then trotted out of the room again.

It was so out of character, it tore at Henry’s heart. Thomas Paffard had always been an unruly little fellow, but with a smile so engaging that it was impossible to be angry with him
– not for long, anyway.

At six Thomas had already learned the basics of much of his schooling. He was quick to comprehend the figures on the sheets, and appeared to enjoy his sums so much that he had taken to carrying
a wax tablet with him wherever he went. On it he would make calculations, and have his father’s clerks check his results. It was delightful.

The lad was not merely a scholar, though. He was very much a normal boy, with the energy and noise that went with that class of creature. All through the day he would run and stamp, shout and
slam doors: always happy. Loud, boisterous, exuberant, and intelligent, he was the perfect son for any man.

But the noise had stopped a couple of days ago. The boy had been fond of Alice, as had they all.

No, not as they all had. Henry had known her especially well.

Henry covered his face with his hands, and wept for the loss of his lover.

Paffards’ House

‘What is the matter?’ his older son asked.

Henry hadn’t noticed Gregory walk in, and he couldn’t answer for a moment. He just turned and looked at him, while in his mind’s eye he saw Alice, her lithe body, her spirit.
‘Do you feel nothing for her?’ he managed.

Since the death of Alice, Gregory had been blinking a lot. It was surely because he missed her too, but his demeanour was not that of a bereaved man, but rather of a child who’d lost a
favourite toy. Lazy, ineffectual and unbusinesslike, he was not the man Henry had hoped he would become. Henry had wanted a strong son, one who was dedicated to the family and the business.
Instead, he had a boy who was spendthrift, and possibly worse.

‘She was a good maid, I suppose.
You
were very fond of her, weren’t you?’ His tone was pointed, his manner accusing, and Henry felt a sudden anger.

‘Don’t speak to me like that! At least I grieve for the poor girl.’

‘Yeah, well, I suppose we all do in our own ways. Even you’re quieter than normal, Father.’

‘Don’t insult me, Greg. I can still take a belt to you,’ Henry snapped. ‘She was a good maidservant, that’s all.’

‘Yes, Father.
That’s all
,’ Gregory said slyly. ‘You’ll need another maid soon. We can’t have the place getting into a mess. That’s all that
matters, isn’t it?’

Henry ignored his sarcasm. There was a lot to forgive just now. Gregory was almost nineteen years old, and when he was younger he had been as affectionate and warm-hearted as Thomas; it was only
in recent years he had grown into this peevish youth.

‘Perhaps I should feel remorse at the way I raised you, Gregory,’ Henry said heavily. ‘I haven’t, perhaps, served you well. You’ve always had a good brain, just
like your sister, like Thomas too. I should have ensured that you had more opportunities to use it.’

‘I use it all I want.’

‘For what? Gaming and drinking?’

Henry set his jaw. It was Claricia who had failed them, as usual. It was the way she’d cosseted Greg that had spoiled him. She should have forced him to work more. Instead she had indulged
his whims, and it was her fault that the fellow had turned out like this: more interested in his clothing than in the business that gave him the money for his fripperies.

‘I enjoy gambling and drinking,’ Gregory smiled.

There was a malicious gleam in his eye. Henry saw it, and rage heated his blood.

‘I never sent you with the ships, did I? Because I knew sailing was dangerous, and I didn’t want to lose you. There are always ships sinking, because of shipmasters’
incompetence, or piracy, or sometimes the monsters of the deep which break ships apart. There are many perils on the waves and below. That was why I never sent you abroad.’

‘You never bothered to ask me for my opinion, but as it happens I didn’t
want
to go. I have no desire to learn your trade. What is it to me that wine comes from Bordeaux? Send
your agents to find it and bring it back, but don’t expect me to do so.’

‘It was the ships that persuaded me to move into other ways of making money. A little loan here or there at good interest rates, purchasing properties and renting them out again . . .
There are any number of ways to make money if you are bold. I had hoped you would see that. I had hoped you would learn a new trade to bring to the business.’

‘What do I want with a trade? I’m happy as I am.’

Henry bit back an angry response. Gregory needed an occupation. That was the reason for his ill-humour. He had a good mind and needed to use it more. And Henry could use a good brain. His son
was not adept at pewter-working, but he might still have a financial brain suitable for importing wine, or for negotiating with sellers and buyers.

‘You spend too much time in idleness and in frivolity. You should spend more time with me.’

‘Father, I have no desire to do so.’

‘
Desire
has nothing to do with it, boy. This city is a place of wildness and danger. You don’t realise how lucky you are! As my son, you’ve been protected. Most men and
women go through life worried to death about where their next meal will come from; about their work, and whether they will earn enough to keep them in their house. Look at the Marsilles. Once they
were almost as wealthy as us – but now? Nick died, and his family have to scrape a living as best they might. Emma de Coyntes has told me that they have been upsetting her and her daughters.
They haven’t paid the rent for weeks either, so I may have to evict them. The Marsilles’ lives are teetering, and can soon fall into ruin.’

‘They are so lucky they have you to protect them,’ Gregory said.

Henry shot him a look, seeking cynicism or deceit, but couldn’t be certain. He resorted to a bland, ‘Yes. It could be worse for them.’

‘Anyway, I have no interest in the business,’ Gregory declared. ‘I cannot run the place.’

Henry had to clench his jaw to stop the bellow of rage that threatened to burst from him. At last he forced a grin to his features. ‘Really? You have no interest. That is good. So, when I
die, I should leave it all to your brother? Leave you destitute, perhaps? You would prefer that?’

‘There is more to life—’

‘Don’t speak to me like that! You try to tell me about life?’ Henry shouted. ‘You think I’m a fool? You have no idea about life, or the world. It is nasty, it is
dangerous! You have to fight every day, you have to grab what you can, snatch it from your enemies if possible, pry it from their dead fingers if necessary, but you must take it
while you
can
! I grew up in poverty, and I’ve come all this way as a result of my efforts, boy! You sit here, pandering to your desires at my expense, and you have no concept of the cost of it all.
This house is expensive. If you want to remain here, you need to learn to help support it.’

‘No. I think I don’t want to know any more. Be damned to the business! What good does it do us?’

‘It keeps you fed, it maintains your wardrobe, it—’

‘It’s just pointless! I’d rather give it all up, and travel to London. Maybe go on pilgrimage.’

‘Pilgrimage? You?’

‘Why not? Everyone should take up the pilgrim’s cross.’

Henry sneered, ‘Well, of course, if that’s what you want, there’s nothing I can say to prevent you. It’d do you good to trudge through mud and rain for a hundred miles or
more.’

‘I wish you could pass the business to Agatha. She’s more interested in it.’

‘I wish I could too. Your sister is keen, but she’s not a man. I have to pass it on to a man. And you are my oldest son.’

‘And I want nothing to do with it! Let her have it – she would be more successful than me or Thomas,’ Gregory threw at him.

‘Then it is fortunate I may have a different plan for you,’ Henry said, all of a sudden.

‘What does that mean?’

Henry eyed his son. He had not mentioned the plots to return King Edward II to his throne, but if the plans were as successful as he and Sir Charles believed, there would be rewards for all
those who assisted Edward. A knighthood for a son was little enough to ask.

‘I am negotiating a deal, Gregory. If it comes good, you may be knighted.’

Gregory gaped, and then laughed derisively. ‘You think
I
could be a knight? A man needs money and friends to win such a prize.’

‘Listen, you fool! You may have cloth between your ears, but when I speak to you of such matters, you will pay attention! If you will achieve nothing else, you will have to accept what I
can do for you. And this, I swear I can arrange. In a short time, if all goes well.’

Gregory nodded. ‘Yes, of course you can,’ he said sarcastically, then marched out of the room.

Henry stood a while, chewing the inside of his lip.

It was possible that Gregory would come to his senses. It was possible that he would learn to love the business as Henry did, even that he could eventually bring new ideas to it and increase the
family’s wealth. But for now, all Henry was convinced of was the desire to take a whip to Gregory’s backside and beat some sense into him.

The summons came just as Joan was helping old Sal in the Paffards’ kitchen. Sal was ancient, wrinkled, and fat as lard, with small, piggy eyes that watched Joan like a
hawk. She believed that all were in her kitchen only to filch her best pies or meats, and she eyed all visitors with a suspicion that was searing. Every time her eyes lighted upon Joan, the maid
felt her face flush, a reddening that began at her breast and rose inexorably until her whole face was as bright as the sunset on a clear day. It drove her mad to think that a mere glance could do
this to her; she knew it only served to make her look guilty, but she could do nothing about it.

She was unused to being called to the hall. There were other rooms into which her duties often brought her, but the hall itself and the merchant’s counting-house, plus his small chamber
beyond, in which he stored the choicest prizes from his foreign expeditions – rich tapestries, cloth of gold, even some ingots of silver – all were denied to her. Only John, the elderly
bottler, was permitted to enter them.

Her legs were leaden as she walked along the passage from the kitchen to the hall. What had she done wrong, to be summoned like this? She could not afford to lose this job. There would be no
more for a girl like her before the next fair.

‘Joan, come here,’ Henry said as she peered round the doorframe.

She walked in, her head downcast.

‘Do you know why we’ve called you in here?’ he said.

She looked up, trying to think of any unintentional crime she might have committed, but could think of none. Then she noticed that Claricia was beside her husband. There was no anger in her
eyes, only a deep sadness. She was always a timid woman, and the death of Alice had sapped the spirit that remained.

‘No, sir.’

He gave a gesture of irritation. ‘Child, do you have a brain in your head? How old are you now? Fifteen? You should be able to think for yourself. Our rooms here need a maid to keep them
clean. John cannot do all on his own. Alice used to help me in here, but now she is gone – so what is to be done with all the tasks she had? There is nothing for it, but to have you fill in.
You will take on her duties as well as your own until we resolve this situation. Soon we must manage to find another to take her place.’