The house was quiet, the late afternoon sun glinting on the window panes. A rich man’s house; in many ways I was lucky. I thought of Martin Brocket and poor Agnes, now no doubt riding hard northwards, kerchiefs round their mouths against the dust. At least the money I had given Agnes should ensure them decent mounts. I would have to rely on Josephine and Timothy until I could find a new steward.

Josephine was in the kitchen, preparing the evening meal. ‘They are gone?’ I asked.

‘Yes, sir.’ I could see she had been crying. She added, a little hesitantly, ‘Sir, before he left, Master Brocket went to the stable, to take leave of Timothy.’ I frowned. Martin had never had any time for the boy before, thinking I spoiled him. ‘I don’t know what he said, but I saw Timothy afterwards and he was upset, he was crying and wouldn’t say what about. Then he ran back to the stable. He will be sad that Agnes is gone. He has – not been himself of late.’

‘I have had – well – cause to be displeased with Timothy. I meant to speak to him today. I will do it now.’

She looked relieved. ‘I think that a good idea, sir – if I may say,’ she added hastily.

I smiled at her. ‘You may, Josephine. You are in charge of the household now.’ Her eyes widened with a mixture of pleasure and apprehension.

I went to the stable. I could hear Genesis moving inside. I took a deep breath as I opened the door. ‘Timothy,’ I said quietly, ‘I think we should have that talk – ’

But there was nobody there, only my horse in its stall. Then I saw on the upturned bucket where the boy habitually sat a scrawled note addressed to Master Shardlake. I picked it up. I unfolded the note apprehensively.

I am sorry for what I did, my spying on you that day. I was bad. I never meant harm to you, sir. I swear to Lord Jesus. Master Brocket says he and Mistress Agnes are leaving and it is all my fault, it is because of what I did. I do not deserve to stay in your house so I go on the road, a sinner in lammentation.

A sinner in lamentation. The misspelt word jolted me. But its use was common now, in a land where more and more believed they had great sins to lament before God. I put the note down, realizing that my terseness with the boy had done more damage than I could have imagined. Martin had delivered the note to the tavern for me, I was sure, but then he had taken his anger and bitterness out on a child. The foul churl.

I crumpled the note in my fist. Then I ran back to the house, calling to Josephine. ‘He is gone! Timothy. We must find him!’

Chapter Forty-eight

Chapter Forty-eight