'Then I advise you not to, and to tell your friend to leave this alone. There were things about that fire it is better not to go into, especially after all this time. Priddis did right: it was better Ellen was taken away.'
'What do you mean?'
He did not answer directly. 'How much did Seckford tell you about Ellen?'
'He told me her father indulged her, yes, but also that she was good and loving before the fire.'
'People outside families often do not see what goes on behind closed doors.'
I thought of the Hobbeys. 'That is true.'
West clasped his hands together, began wringing them slowly. 'Ellen was a woman of fierce moods and passions. She used to throw pots and vases at her father when she was angry.' He hesitated again. 'There were other things she did, too, that I learned of later.'
I felt a chill run down my back. 'What things?'
'When she was younger, if she was angry, she used to set fires sometimes out in the woods. One of my family's servants told me about it after the foundry fire—he knew one of the foresters.' West closed his eyes. 'So you see, sir, though I loved her I knew it was important she be not indulged too much. I can prove nothing, but I think that night when Master Fettiplace told Ellen of my proposal she became angry, and something happened. I do not know what.'
'You mean Ellen set that fire, killed two people?' I asked incredulously. 'How could a woman alone have done that?'
'God's death, sir, how should I know? I have never been able to puzzle it out. But two men died. So tell your friend to leave this matter alone. There are no more Fettiplaces in Rolfswood. Now leave me to try and save this country from invasion.'
West stood abruptly, gave me a final hard look, then turned and marched back to the infirmary building. Everyone else was gone now save for a groom who stood silently waiting, holding the reins of a horse. I stayed on the bench, my mind in turmoil.
I RODE BACK through Portsmouth with a head full of dark thoughts. It had never occurred to me that Ellen herself might have started the fire. Could West's hints be true? I had not liked him, he had a harshness and bitterness in him, but clearly whatever happened at Rolfswood had weighed hard on him ever since. My heart sank further as I remembered Ellen's words:
I was drawn back to the present by angry shouts in front of me. A dozen men, barefoot in the dusty street, sailors perhaps, had stepped into the road and were shouting insults at four foreigners passing on the other side of the street. They were barefoot too, dressed in patched, worn shirts and jerkins. A carter behind me pulled up sharply to avoid hitting the Englishmen.
'Fucking Spanish dogs!' one shouted. 'Can't that ape Emperor Charles even give you decent clothes?'
'Why should we serve with dirty papists? You're from that bunch shipwrecked in Devon last winter, ain't you, that the King took into service? You couldn't even sail a fucking ship properly!'
The four Spaniards had halted. They glared back at their tormentors, and one of their number stepped into the road facing the Englishmen. '
'Cappytanis! What's a fucking cappytanis?'
'I fight with Cortes in the New World!' the Spaniard shouted, 'Against the Mexica! Heathen dogs like you!'
Both groups were reaching for their knives now. Then half a dozen soldiers in half-armour, the corner guards, appeared and stepped between the two groups, swords drawn.
'Enough! You're blocking the King's highway!'
Casting fierce looks at each other, the two groups moved on. The soldiers waved the traffic back into motion.
I was now almost parallel with the Guildhall. Two men stood talking animatedly outside, both in lawyers' gowns, the elder resting his weight on a stick. Sir Quintin and Edward Priddis. I was not close enough to hear them, but Edward's expression was worried, a far cry from his air of cold superiority at our meeting. His father seemed to be trying to reassure him. Edward saw me and fell silent at once. I made a bow from the saddle. They bowed back, coldly and formally.
