arrest of his son’s killer, he was himself in custody. He paused to lean against a wall and to slap its cold stone with an open palm. Nicholas sympathised with his obvious frustration. Carrick gave an apologetic shrug.
‘Forgive me, sir,’ he said. ‘Your news has made this prison like the pit of hell. I would give anything to be out of its confines and free to avenge my son.’
‘Is there any prospect of that?’
‘In time, Master Bracewell. In time.’
‘May I ask why you are detained?’
‘By special order of Her Majesty.’
‘Indeed?’
Carrick bristled. ‘You would think there were traitors enough to fill these dungeons. You would imagine that London had no shortage of foul criminals and hired assassins to occupy this Tower. Felons abound yet I – an upholder of the law – am put under lock and key. It is barbarous, sir.’
‘What is your offence?’
‘Attendance at a wedding.’
‘You lose your liberty for
that
?’
‘The bride was a gentlewoman of the Privy Chamber.’
‘This was a secret marriage?’
‘Yes,’ said Carrick. ‘I took charge of arrangements. The Queen’s anger turned upon the noble groom and upon myself. We are held here at her pleasure while the bride weeps nightly in an empty bed. It is a poor wedding present.’
Andrew Carrick was not the first man to feel the weight of his sovereign’s outrage in the matter of an unlicensed wedding. Queen Elizabeth demanded total obedience and unswerving loyalty from those chosen to attend upon her. In this respect, Blanche Parry was the archetype, a studious woman who had served with tireless devotion for over thirty years and who had a clear-sighted view of her duties even though she was now blind. The example of Blanche Parry was held up to all. She was a first gentlewoman of irreproachable virtue. Others fell short of her high standards and allowed themselves to be led astray by covert passion. More than one attendant had requested the Queen’spermission to marry only to be summarily rejected. Those who dared to put love before royal service were given stern rebuke. When a secret wedding came to light, Elizabeth always found just cause and impediment why those two persons should not be joined together.
Six weeks of incarceration had given Andrew Carrick ample time in which to meditate upon the patent injustice of it all. In witnessing the happiness of one noble lady, he had provoked the ire of another. In helping a friend, he had made the worst possible enemy. A law-abiding lawyer, he was being treated like the vilest outlaw.
Nicholas probed gently for more information.
‘Sebastian never talked of his family, sir.’
‘No, sir,’ said Carrick sadly. ‘We were a hindrance to him. He was bound to outgrow his family and his career.’
‘Career?’
‘Sebastian was a lawyer of some promise, sir. He studied at Oxford before coming to London to join the Middle Temple. It was there that he first encountered temptation.’
‘In what disguise?’
‘Your own, sir.’
‘He was distracted by the theatre?’
‘Intoxicated with it,’ said the other harshly. ‘When he saw plays performed at the Middle Temple, they were not just idle amusement for a working lawyer. They offered another way of life that was palpably free from the restraints of his father’s calling. In short, sir, he turned his back on an honourable profession to embrace the tawdry delights of the theatre.’ He grew conciliatory. ‘I do not mean toimpugn your choice of occupation, Master Bracewell, but it lacks the security of the law. And it has led my son to his death.’
‘I dispute that,’ said Nicholas. ‘Had he still been at the Middle Temple, he might have met the same fate. Lawyers seek pleasure in the stews as well as actors. It is unfair to lay the blame squarely on the theatre.’
Andrew Carrick accepted the point with a nod but he was still troubled by a residual resentment against the theatre. He studied his visitor closely.
‘What
Josh McDowell, Sean McDowell