The Midsummer Crown by Kate Sedley Page B

still haven’t said why you want to go there. Nothing happened at Minster Lovell.’
    â€˜We don’t know that,’ I argued. ‘Something could have occurred there that might prove to be a useful clue.’
    I was unable satisfactorily to explain this very strong urge, even to myself. It had come upon me without prior warning, and I suspected that it could have burgeoned partly from a desire to irritate Timothy and to make things as difficult and complicated for him as possible.
    He continued to stare at me for a few seconds longer, his lower lip protruding belligerently, and I thought he was going to refuse. But he finally shrugged and gave way. ‘Oh, very well.’ Then he added, ‘If you think you can stand the extra journey! You know you aren’t a good horseman. In fact, if you’re honest, you’ll admit that you’re no more at ease on horseback than if you were astride a cow. So don’t start whining and wanting frequent rests. I’ve told you. We have to be in London by Friday, and today’s Monday, so we have some hard riding ahead of us.’ He rose reluctantly to his feet. ‘I suppose now I’d better go and find lodgings at one of your excellent inns –’ he managed to make it sound like a sneer – ‘and leave you to your fond farewells. I’ll see you at sun-up, then, at the livery stables in Bell Lane. Don’t be late.’
    I lay beside Adela, listening to her gentle breathing and looking up at the moon-splashed ceiling. We had made love and now she was curled into my side, one arm thrown across my chest, one of my arms holding her close. I loved her very much and wished to take a vow never to deceive her again. But, by this time, I knew myself too well and refused to make God a promise that I was aware I might be unable to keep.
    And the thought of God reawakened the uneasiness I had been feeling all evening, ever since I had known the overriding urge to visit Minster Lovell.
    â€˜I know it’s You, Lord,’ I told Him severely. ‘Don’t think You’re deceiving me for a single moment. You’re interfering in my life again, snatching me away from home and family because there’s some villain – or perhaps in this case more than one villain – that You want brought to book. I’m not a fool. I recognize the signs by now.’
    There was no response. There never was, but sometimes I could swear that I could hear God laughing; a faint, far off chuckling like the gentle tapping of rain against the windows on a summer’s night. I sighed and turned to face Adela, resting my chin on top of her head. I could smell the faint scent of the rose petals she had added to the water when she washed her hair. I wasn’t looking forward to going back to London, quite apart from this mystery that had been tossed into my lap. There had been something in the general atmosphere of the city during the recent weeks that I had spent there, but what exactly that something was would be difficult to say. Grief, of course, for the death of a king whom the Londoners had particularly loved; a free and easy, open-hearted, generous ruler; a man who loved life and all its pleasures just as they did; someone who ate, drank and made merry just as they did; who lusted after women just as they did; a monarch of flesh and blood (especially flesh). Now, there was uncertainty, as there always must be with a minor on the throne, a young boy totally unknown to them, who had lived since childhood at Ludlow, on the distant Welsh marches. And who would he favour? His father’s one remaining brother, the Duke of Gloucester, who was equally a stranger to the capital and the south of England generally, preferring to live secluded on his northern estates? Or his mother’s kinfolk, renowned for their grasping ways and insatiable greed for self-advancement? If I had been forced to wager money on it, I would have backed the