The Sign of the Black Dagger by Joan Lingard Read Free Book Online Page A

platters of pork and beef, partridges and pheasants, and legs of lamb, as in the houses of the nobles.
    Papa went in to greet our mother. We stood back in the lobby, listening to them murmuring and laughing together. They had not seen each other since he had run down the hill into Sanctuary. William and I had gone every day to visit him in St Anthony’s Chapel but we understood that our mother did not want to go and see him there, living so wretchedly.
    Bessie allowed our parents to have a little time together before she came rapping on the door saying that the water in the bath was cooling rapidly.
    “Yes, you’d better go and clean yourself, Ranald.” Our mother laughed. It was good to hear her laughter for she has been quite miserable of late. “You do not smell too sweet.”
    We had a happy meal and went late to bed, very late, for by then it was nearly morning.
     
    We slept until midday and so missed the Sabbath morning service at St Giles. We were sad, though, that Papa had only twelve hours of freedom left.
    “Twelve whole hours!” he declared. “That is a lot of time. Time has come to mean something different to me. I let each hour exist on its own and don’t think about the next one.”
    “You might find that easy to do, Ranald,” said our mother, “but we don’t, do we, children?”
    We would have to admit that since he has gone away the days have been dragging slowly by.
    It was raining and since Papa spends much of his days in the park walking about to keep warm, he did not propose a walk now. We were pleased to stay inside with him. Bessie built the fire high in the drawing room. We played cards and then Papa and William had a game of chess while Maman did her embroidery and I played a few tunes on the pianoforte. When I turned on the stool and looked back into the room at the faces of my parents and brother looking so happy in the lamplight I could not believe that in a few more hours our peace would be shattered and Papa would be hurrying back down the hill again to his freezing ruin. But he would say not to think about that; think only about
now
.
    We ate again, and the hands of the clock moved steadily round. My eyes kept straying to it. Ten o’clock. Eleven.
    Bessie brought Papa some milk laced with hot brandy and a bannock and cheese.
    “You’ll make me fat, Bessie!”
    “That’d tak’ some doin’.”
    He had already looked out several books that he intended to take with him and put them in a sack by the door. To the bag, Bessie had added a few victuals.
    “I cannot bear to think you sleep outside like beggars, Ranald!” Our mother covered her face with her hands. Her shoulders were shaking.
    He went to sit beside her on the
chaise longue
and comfort her. “It will be all right soon, Anne-Marie. I am trying to work something out. And, meanwhile, I shall not be sleeping outside after tonight. I was about to tell you. I have found employment in the palace.”
    She removed her hands. “You have? Are you going to be a courtier to the
comte
, or his scribe?”
    “No, I shall be doing something different.” Papa is good at sounding vague. Especially when he has something to conceal.
    “In what way?”
    “Helping, generally. They need help, with so many people lodging in the palace.”
    “But you will work for the
comte
and his party?”
    “I shall.”
    “That’s wonderful,
chéri
! And you will be given a room to sleep in?”
    “Indeed I shall. So I shall have a roof over my head by day and night.”
    “Can we come and visit you then?”
    “No, I don’t think that would be possible. They don’t encourage employees to have visitors. They have to be careful about security, with French spies in the country watching the count.”
    “What do they want with him?”
    “They’re watching in case he might try to raise an army. To help his brother Louis lay claim to the French throne.”
    Our mother nodded. “I understand that. So, from tomorrow you have a bed in the