Death by Disputation (A Francis Bacon Mystery Book 2) Read Online Free PDF Page A

six weeks that agonizing over his prose style did him no good. He was never praised for his flights of rhetoric; on the contrary, Bacon preferred a straightforward accounting of events from beginning to end. Tom had to admit the task was easier if all he had to do was be factual.
    He’d nearly finished when the chamber door squealed open. John Barrow stepped into the room. “Here you are,” he said. “I didn’t see you with your chums in the hall, so I thought I’d better come and check. You’re not brooding, are you, Tom?”
    “No, sir. Not brooding. I’m just writing a quick little letter. I just wanted to . . . ah . . .” Tom faltered. He hadn’t prepared an excuse, thinking he’d be done and walking into commons before anyone noticed his absence.
    “A letter?” Barrow took a few steps closer, his gaze angling down toward Tom’s desk. “Who could you be writing to at such a time?”
    “My uncle,” Tom said. He laid his hand casually across the half-written page. “The one at Gray’s Inn. I heard Dr. Eggerley say he was going to Westminster to inform the chancellor, and thought I might send my letter with him.” He offered a sheepish grin. “My uncle worries, and you know how gossip flies . . .”
    “I do indeed.” Barrow’s gaze was cool. “Letters get sent before anyone has time to review the facts and make considered decisions about spreading the news.”
    “Ah—”
    “How did you happen to be the first one back this morning?”
    Tom blinked at the change of subject, then told the story again about slipping out of church early to fetch money for the letter carrier.
    “Another letter,” Barrow said. “You do seem to write a lot of them.”
    “I have a lot of relations.” Tom smiled, relieved to be on safer ground. All of his letters went to Gray’s but with wrappers bearing different names, drawn from a list he and Bacon had prepared in advance. That way, anyone who happened to take an interest would see a variety of recipients, accounting for the somewhat larger than normal number. Although, he wasn’t that far from the norm. Everyone wrote lots of letters. “My mother, two aunts, three sisters, assorted cousins. My uncle is kind enough to forward my letters with his. It saves me the expense, you see, while I’m in school.”
    “Hm.” Barrow cast another glance at the unfinished page. Tom hoped he couldn’t read it from where he stood. He usually prepared himself with something to cover his page, like his commonplace book. “Well, don’t linger long,” Barrow said. “It isn’t good to be alone at a time like this.”
    He turned to go, pausing beside Leeds’s table. He pointed at the large writing desk sitting in the middle. “That shouldn’t be left lying about.” He frowned at Tom again. “We’ll see you in hall, then. Don’t tarry.”
    “Two more minutes,” Tom said. “A quick note.”
    He had scarcely half that time. Shortly after Barrow left, the door squealed open again. Dr. Eggerley, alone for a change, let himself into the room. He glanced up the stairs and cocked his head as if listening. He then strode toward Leeds’s desk, almost reaching it before noticing Tom sitting on his stool, watching him.
    He stopped in his tracks. “Claremont! I wasn’t expecting —” He frowned, dragging deep creases into his face. “You mustn’t sit here and brood all by yourself, my boy. You want to be with friends at times like these. Comfort in numbers. Everyone else is in the hall.”
    “I’m not brooding, Dr. Eggerley, but thank you. I heard you mention to Simon Thorpe that you were planning to ride to Westminster, and I thought perhaps I could send a letter with you, if I were quick about it.” He usually sent his reports by means of the regular service that carried messages between the university and Lord Burghley. The official bag was the safest means of delivery, but His Lordship’s post had already gone.
    “A letter?” Dr. Eggerley asked. “Who do you