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

debts of one Mr. Francis Bacon, thus obliging him to take an interest in Tom’s success.
    Stephen, as bored with the law as he had been with the liberal arts, left Gray’s after one term. Tom wanted to stay. He liked the law, as it turned out; besides, the Inns of Court were the surest route up the ladder for a lad from a humble background. He’d feared the governors would cast him out in Stephen’s wake. But then Bartholomew Leeds wrote his letter and Lord Burghley found himself in need of a spy. Francis Bacon needed a commission that would keep him in regular contact with his powerful uncle. And Tom needed a guarantee of membership in Gray’s Inn on his own recognizance. A deal was struck, and here he was.
    Dr. Eggerley asked in a friendly tone, “Did you find the law too difficult?”
    “No, sir. Well, yes, sir, somewhat. That Law French — it’s barbarous.”
    Eggerley laughed. “Indeed it is. Better good solid Latin, eh?”
    “Yes, sir. Much better.”
    “Still, I should think your father would have been pleased that you’d achieved enrollment at an Inn of Court. Better chances for advancement, you know. Visits to court, people with influence.”
    “Yes, sir. I mean, no, sir. I mean, it wasn’t that, sir. My father —” Tom cleared his throat. He hated this part of the story. “My father had a change of heart. A spiritual conversion. Now he wants me to follow the path of righteousness, become a clergyman, to serve the Lord and uh…”
    “I see.” Eggerley nodded, apparently satisfied. “Well. He’s to be commended. A worthy objective.” He smiled.
    Tom smiled back, striving to project a godly demeanor. He sent a prayer of apology to his father, wherever he might be. Captain Valentine Clarady was an honorable man by the standards of his trade, but not devout by any stretch of the imagination. He’d grown rich fleecing Spanish ships and would spend every penny to hoist his only son into the gentry. If he thought Tom were pursuing a career as a clergyman, he would descend on Cambridge like a tropical Tornado and haul him out by the ears.
    “Still, Clarady, you shouldn’t be in here alone, dwelling on these sad events.”
    “No, sir. I won’t dwell. I’ll just finish up my letter and join the rest in the hall.”
    “Good lad. We bear up, eh? We bear up. And I will take charge of this desk here. Leeds kept it locked, did he?”
    “I wouldn’t know, sir.” But he did know. He’d tested the lid the day after he’d moved in, hoping to find notes about the secret synod or the seditious zealot. The desk had been locked then and every other time he’d snatched a solitary moment to give it another try.
    “I’ll keep it in my parlor until we can appoint a new bursar. Dusty old college accounts. Dull but necessary, eh? I don’t suppose you know where Leeds kept his key?”
    “No, sir. I’m sorry, sir.” Tom smiled apologetically. He waggled his quill to show his readiness to return to his letter.
    “Ah, well. I have one, of course. But it doesn’t do to have keys to the bursar’s desk wandering about.” Eggerley’s expression shifted back to its usual genial vagueness. “Well. Good, good. Best be off. Hope the wife has packed my bags. I’ll be leaving right after dinner.” He lifted the desk and turned toward the door. “No brooding, now. We must bear up, eh, Claybrook?”
    “Yes, sir.” Tom smiled, teeth together. His cheeks were tired. Would the man never leave?
    The door squealed shut. Tom returned to his letter, quickly jotting a postscript about having said that Ben was his uncle in case Dr. Eggerley actually dropped in at Gray’s and asked questions. Then he stacked the pages together and folded the stack into thirds lengthwise and again crosswise, mashing the folds flat with his thumb. He lit the candle on his desk with a splint from the fire to melt wax for the seal.
    He yanked a hair from his head and laid it carefully across the fold. Bacon had taught him this trick, so