Murder by Misrule: A Francis Bacon Mystery (The Francis Bacon Mystery Series Book 1)

Author:Anna Castle [Castle, Anna]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Anna Castle
Published: 2014-03-25T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 23

"Now, we find Clara." Tom and the lads stood in the courtyard the next morning, debating how to spend the day. Their first really free day, with full permission from their tutor. Fitful gusts of wind kicked leaves across the gravel and the sky was flat and gray. Tom didn't care if the father of all tempests was rising in the east. He was determined to find his angel at last.

"We don't need her anymore," Stephen said. He wanted to go shopping for princely accoutrements. "The Smythson matter is finished." His chin jutted forward, but with less conviction than formerly. He was beginning to notice that Tom was no longer catering to his moods, but he wasn't nimble enough to change course in a matter of days.

"All the better," Tom said. "Now we don't have to upset her with questions. I just want to tell her that I love her and lay my heart at her feet. Then we'll go get your cursed crown."

Ben and Trumpet stood to one side, chatting about which of the ancients would replace Shiveley as Reader. They'd grown visibly weary of the friction between Tom and Stephen. Tom couldn't blame them; he was tired of it himself. It wouldn't go on for much longer. Law studies were hard and dry as old bones. Stephen would get bored by mid-January and move on.

They strode down High Holborn, passing through the Newgate arch. As they passed an apothecary shop, they inhaled the invigorating aromas of pepper and cloves, breathing deeply to fill their noses and ward off the general stink of the streets.

Ben said, "I should pop in while we're here to buy a physic for Mr. Bacon. He likes poppy juice steeped in wine as a remedy for strain. He's been dreadfully overworked lately, what with the masque and the Smythson matter."

"Later," Tom said, not slowing his pace for a second. When had Ben become Bacon's personal physician?

They passed a coppersmith's with a display of brass jewelry on the shutter. "That's perfect!" Stephen cried, nearly tripping over a pig. "Tom, it will only take—"

"No!" Tom stopped and rounded on his friends. "No delays. No distractions. I've waited weeks, letting you put me off and pull me this way and that. Today we find Clara. Everything else can wait."

He turned on his heel, slipping on a slew of cabbage leaves but retaining his inner dignity. The lads followed him with a minimum of insulting retorts.

They passed the Draper's Guildhall. The Dutch Church could not be far. But here they picked up a tail of small apprentices with time on their hands and no minders. They followed Tom and the lads, lagging a few yards behind, kicking bits of garbage from the kennels in their general direction.

Tom was not best pleased to have an entourage of gleeking tots in blue livery. He turned and growled at them. They giggled and scattered but soon returned. Then Tom saw that Trumpet was trading scowls with them and showing them his fists.

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