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Margaret interrupted, setting her spinning wheel in motion.
    I was about to protest at the phrase ‘dirty work’, but my daughter, who had been trying to make herself heard ever since my return, clamped a small, none too clean hand across my mouth and asked, ‘When are we going to London, Father?’
    â€˜We start first thing tomorrow morning, at sun-up,’ I said, removing her hand. ‘Carter Nym has to take a load of red cloth urgently to the mayor and corporation, ready for making up into new robes for the young king’s coronation. So he’s agreed we can ride along with him.’
    â€˜At a price, I’ll be bound,’ Margaret commented drily, but her voice was partially lost in Elizabeth’s shouts of joy.
    â€˜And Hercules?’ she demanded.
    â€˜And Hercules, on condition we keep him strictly under control. Jack’s none too keen on dogs.’
    â€˜And who can blame him?’ Margaret muttered. She added, ‘You’d better check that the child has everything here she needs for the journey. Her things are in that box under the bed.’
    I shook my head. ‘No need to check. All the clothes chests at home were empty, bar mine, and my stuff I’ve brought with me.’ I nodded towards the canvas sack which I had dropped in a corner, alongside my cudgel. ‘I’ll put Bess’s in with mine, later on. As for tonight, Hercules and I can sleep on that pile of brushwood over there and be quite comfortable.’
    â€˜I daresay,’ Margaret snorted. ‘If you don’t mind, I don’t, though it’s probably full of fleas. That dog of yours can add a few more.’
    Hercules grunted and snuffled, a stupid grin on his face as he pursued his canine dreams. They were obviously happy ones.
    Elizabeth slipped off my lap and went to play with her doll, a one-armed wonder who rejoiced in the name of Christabelle, happy in the knowledge that within a week or perhaps less, she and Nicholas would be reunited. I could only hope that her confidence wasn’t misplaced, and that Adela would not refuse to see me once I had arrived in London. I was relying on the children’s delight at being together again to soften her heart long enough at least for me to explain matters, and to reassure her that I had been nowhere near Gloucester in the past twelve months. I could only trust that she would believe me. It’s an unnerving fact, as I’ve noticed on more than one occasion, how the truth can so often sound like lies.
    I got up and helped myself, unbidden, to another beaker of Margaret’s excellent home-brewed ale, before returning to my stool, which I drew nearer to the fire, for the April day had turned chilly, and settling myself as comfortably as I could.
    â€˜So,’ I said, ‘tell me about these Godsloves to whom Adela’s gone. You say they’re a branch of your father’s family, though I’ve never heard you or Adela mention them before. And yet, I do have a very, very faint recollection that Lillis might once have said their name, but in connection with what, I’ve no idea. In any case, even if she did, I took no notice.’
    â€˜That wasn’t unusual,’ Margaret cut in waspishly. ‘You weren’t married long enough for the poor girl to make you mind her.’
    I could see that, if I wasn’t careful, we were going to embark on profitless recriminations about my marriage to her daughter, and I resolutely ignored the lead she had given me, steering the conversation back to the subject under discussion. Well, the subject I wanted to discuss.
    â€˜Tell me about the Godsloves,’ I said again. ‘I can’t go to London knowing nothing about them. For a start, whereabouts do they live?’

THREE
    M argaret sat down again at her spinning wheel, but made no immediate move to resume work. She was quite ready to while away an hour or two in gossip. She frowned a little at my