Geoffrey Southgate, his lieutenant, appeared more cheerful with a shock of red hair, beetling eyebrows and pallid skin. The fellow had a slight lisp and rather affected movements but was the dagger to his master's foil.
We met them all in the Fountain Court a few days after arriving at Richmond. Benjamin was reading some manuscript he had borrowed from the library whilst I sat, bored to death, wondering what mischief I could get up to.
The first to approach us were the Santerres. Sir John was a bluff yet shrewd landowner who knew which side of the table to sit. He was the sort of fellow who would buy you a drink in a tavern, regaling you with some funny story, yet whom you would be a fool to trust. His eyes reminded me of the King's, ice blue and piggy in aspect. Lady Beatrice, his wife, now she had regained her composure bore the remnants of great beauty though her pallid-skinned face had a spoilt, rather sensuous cast. She was for ever leaning on her husband's arm as if she was determined he would never wander far from her clutches. Rachel, their daughter, was ravishingly beautiful. She wore a simple veil of murrey covering her hair and a modest blue dress made from pure wool, gilt-edged at the neck and cuffs.
The Santerres came into the Fountain Court as if they were simply wandering round the palace. My master closed the book he was reading and shrewdly watched them approach.
'I wondered when they would come,' he whispered. 'Why?'
'We are too humble to introduce ourselves,' he hissed, 'so they have to come to us. After all, if Agrippa is to be believed, we will be travelling back with them. So, Roger, to your feet and behave yourself.'
We rose as the Santerres swept grandly towards us; the introductions were made, hands clasped or kissed. Sir John stepped back, clearing his throat.
'I am given to understand,' he boomed, his accent burred by a rustic twang, 'that you will be returning with us to Somerset. This business!' He flung his hands up in the air. 'Lackaday! Lackaday! What can I say?'
Aye, I thought, what can you? A man looking for the main chance was Sir John. I could just imagine poor Buckingham's confidences being betrayed by him.
'You saw the good Duke die,' I blurted out.
'Good?' Lady Beatrice snapped. 'Buckingham was a traitor to his King. A Judas in Henry's court. Why say you differently?'
'The man's dead,' I replied quickly. 'And his soul's before God. Why should we speak ill of him now?'
Santerre rubbed his eyes and looked at me warily.
'Aye, aye,' he whispered. 'He was a good lord but he went poaching in the wrong fields.'
'Master Shallot is noble to defend the Duke.' Rachel Santerre spoke, her voice soft and low.
I glanced at her and my heart leapt. She had raised her face and it was truly beautiful: her skin was like shot silk, pure gold. I would have loved to touch her cheek or gently caress that long, slender neck. I looked for humour, perhaps sarcasm, but her dark eyes were clear and those lips, slightly parted, bore no trace of sneer. I blushed, bowed and showed a leg.
'Mistress, you are too kind.'
Benjamin nudged me for he knew me. My brains were in my codpiece and, when it came to beautiful women, discretion was cast to the winds - and a lot more if I could help it!
'Come, Rachel,' Lady Beatrice snapped. 'Your father and I have other business.'
'You mean my step-father,' she said quietly.
Now I smiled at her. I could see a little of Lady Beatrice in Rachel, but I had wondered how a red-faced, wart-covered farmer like Sir John could sire such a beauty.
'I am your father,' he firmly replied.
Lady Beatrice caught her husband's wrist and looked at Benjamin. She'd dismissed me with a contemptuous flicker of her eyelids, of course. Old Shallot was used to that.
'Sir John is my second husband,' she explained. 'Rachel's father died when she was a child.'
'In which case, Mother,' Rachel replied, 'I was a child for a long time. Father has only been cold in his grave for five years.'
Oh, oh, I thought, here's a pretty tableau for there's nothing more interesting than a family quarrel. I stared once more at Rachel, revelling in the beautiful lines of her face, and my wicked heart jumped with pleasure. If the mother disliked me, perhaps I had some hope with the daughter? (I see my little clerk sniggering. He thinks I wanted to bed her there and then. No, no, that's not the way of old Shallot. Well, not really, I just wanted to be with her. Gaze at her, become lost in those lovely dark eyes. Not all of us have minds like sewers!)
Looking back I think a family quarrel would have broken out then, but the door leading to the Fountain Court opened and Sir Edmund Mandeville and Geoffrey Southgate emerged, followed by two bald-headed individuals who looked as similar as peas in a pod. Sir John swung round to look at them and his face paled.