“William?” I pressed.

William took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. His screwed-up eyes and furrowed brow spoke of displeasure at the interruption, but he knew that I was right, as I generally am. We needed to do something about Robert, our only son, before it was too late and he ruined his life with his careless folly.

“Where is the boy now?” William asked.

“He has gone riding.” I looked toward the mullioned windows where snow brushed against the diamond panes. I shivered. No wonder the room was so cold. William had forgotten to relight the fire. And this was no weather for being outdoors, but that would not deter Robert who would gallop through a snow drift for pleasure if the mood took him.

I swallowed my disapproval that William referred to our son as a boy when he was a man of nineteen years now. That was one of the reasons Robert got away with so much; people indulged him and made excuses for him. Except for me; I did not. Perhaps that was why he much preferred his father to me and always had done.

“It seems that he has no shame over being expelled from university,” I said. “On the contrary, he boasts that he was named as a ringleader of the riot.”

William polished his glasses furiously on the edge of his jacket, smearing grease over them all the more. “It was merely a scuffle,” he said mildly. “A riot is too bold a word. The townsfolk and students of Oxford have been fighting for centuries.”

“You make it sound like a valued tradition,” I snapped. “Robert led a rampage that smashed up shops and stalls. He destroyed innocent people’s livelihoods and incited violence and injury. He has been expelled in disgrace and yet you speak of it as though it were no more than high spirits.”

“Rusticated,” William corrected me. “Robert has only been rusticated for a while, not sent down permanently. And he hurt no one, Anne. Not physically. As for the damage, we have already paid restitution for it.”

I threw up my hands in exasperation. “We cannot afford to be paying Robert’s way out of trouble,” I said, “and you know it. Already our household costs are pared to the bone. Must we all starve so that our son can run amok?” I stopped, for the tears of frustration and anger closed my throat momentarily. Time and again we had been fined for our adherence to the old Catholic religion because Queen Elizabeth was intent on making us pay for our stubbornness. The harsh penalties would never make us recant our loyalty to the true faith, but they placed a heavy burden of debt on the Catesby family. And now here was Robert, fecklessly adding to our financial woes. I felt a sudden uprush of misery at his thoughtlessness. How had he grown from such a sweet boy into such a selfish and wild young man?