“That is true, my lord,” the secretary said. “Perhaps it could be sold, for the king values a full purse as well as a good deer park, and Woodstock is near.”
The meaning was clear. “I would, of course,” Lord Cambridge murmured, “want to pay a finder’s fee for any consideration on your part. A generous fee,” he finished.
“There is another gentleman interested in the estate,” Master Smythe said. “He is the gentleman who has been renting Lord Melvyn’s pastureland.”
“I will pay more,” Lord Cambridge said bluntly. He reached into his doublet and drew out a small chamois bag which he handed to Master Smythe. “A small token of my esteem, which I will leave with you until I have returned from inspecting Lord Melvyn’s property in Oxfordshire. And I shall tell the king of my interest in the property so there will be no difficulty for you.”
“You know his majesty well enough to speak with him?” Master Smythe’s voice held a new note of respect. Not all courtiers knew the king well enough to speak with him. Most, in fact, did not. He took the small bag of coins from Lord Cambridge.
“I have been speaking with the king for many years, Master Smythe, and my cousin, the lady of Friarsgate, for whose eldest daughter I wish to purchase Lord Melvyn’s estates, is a good friend of the queen. This daughter is in service to her highness.” Thomas Bolton smiled, and flicked an imaginary bit of dust from his ornate doublet.
“There shall be no sale of Lord Melvyn’s property until you have returned from inspecting it, my lord,” the secretary said. “But you understand that I must accept the highest offer for my master, the king. That is my duty.” He was even now tucking the little bag into his own doublet. It was of a pleasing weight.
“Of course,” Lord Cambridge said, and then he withdrew from the small room where this one of many secretaries was ensconced. The bribe had been generous. Generous enough to ensure him more than enough time to see the property in question. January was not a month for travel, but Thomas Bolton could travel rough if necessary, and it was necessary. Explaining to Philippa that he must see to some business and would be gone for several days, he left the court in the company of two Otterly men-at-arms, and rode to Oxfordshire.
Lord Melvyn’s estate, Melville, was located north-west of the town of Oxford. The town was full of good accommodations with excellent food and drink. Lord Cambridge took the best quarters that could be found at the King’s Arms, a large comfortable inn on the edge of Oxford. If they departed early in the morning, he told his men, they could easily reach Melville and be back into the town by dark. And luck was with Thomas Bolton. After a good night’s sleep he awoke to a cold but clear and windless winter’s day. Taking food for the midday meal with them they rode out, and by the time they had returned that evening Thomas Bolton knew he had found Philippa Meredith a new dower portion. Lord Melvyn’s house was in poor repair, but that could be modernized and repaired. The next morning, to the surprise of his men, he was up early and eager to ride for London.
“I believe I have found you an estate in Oxfordshire,” he told Philippa. “But I shall not be satisfied until it is settled. I am at the mercy of one of the king’s secretaries. And there is someone else who seeks Melville as well. He cannot possibly have as much money as I do, however. Still, I shall not crow until the matter is settled.”
“Is that where you were, you old dear?” Philippa asked. “You missed an important event. Banon has met a young man. He is a poor Neville, but educated and with charming manners. You will like him.”
“Do you like him, darling girl?” Lord Cambridge asked. “And what does Banon say about him? Is it possible one of my problems is already solved?”
“Aye, I do like him, and Banon, while reticent to say a great deal, likes him too, I am certain,” Philippa replied. “But tell me about my new estate, uncle.”
“Nay, my pet, not until I am certain it is yours,” he told her. “I do not want you disappointed. Master Smythe, one of the king’s secretaries, says there is another who would have Melville. I have not yet learned if this is so, or if he seeks to get a better price off of me which he will then skim for himself while accepting my generous bribe as well. These lower echelon servants can be both greedy and ruthless. This is a good property, Philippa, my angel, but I prefer not to be cheated and taken for a fool, for if I am it will cause your mother and me no end of difficulties in our business dealings. I will meet with Master Smythe on the morrow to hopefully conclude the negotiation.”
“Thank you, uncle,” Philippa told him. “No one else has ever been so good to me as you. Mama says it too about you.”
“You are my only family,” Lord Cambridge said. “I would be lost without you.”
Immediately after the mass, and before the morning meal, the lord of Otterly Court met with the king’s secretary. There was another man with him, soberly dressed, his face windburned like the visage of someone who worked out of doors. He stared openmouthed for a moment at Lord Cambridge in his scarlet velvet knee-length coat with pleats from its high yoke, and the flared, fur-lined sleeves. Then the man’s eyes went to Lord Cambridge’s slashed and beaded leather slippers that had been dyed to match his coat.
“Good morrow, Master Smythe. I assume you are prepared to do business,” Thomas Bolton said pleasantly, nodding at the other man.
“This is Robert Burton, the earl of Witton’s secretary and agent, my lord. He will be bidding on Lord Melvyn’s property for his master. Would you care to open the bidding, my lord?” The secretary smiled rather toothily, which was a surprise to Lord Cambridge. He did not believe he had ever seen one of the king’s secretaries smile.
“One hundred and fifty guineas,” Thomas Bolton said. It was a more than generous price, and he was not of a mind to dally with the purchase. He saw Robert Burton swallow hard.
“Two hundred guineas,” the agent finally said.
“Three hundred guineas,” Lord Cambridge answered.
“My lord! The property is not worth that price,” the agent cried.
“Ah, Master Burton, but it is to me,” Lord Cambridge replied.
Robert Burton shook his head, and looked at Master Smythe. “I cannot offer more than I have, sir.”
“Then the property is won by Lord Cambridge,” Smythe replied. “May I see the color of your coin, my lord?”
Thomas Bolton drew a large leather bag from his doublet, and handed it to the secretary. “Count it out, Master Smythe, and take another ten guineas for yourself. I was prepared to pay more if I had to, but the earl of Witton obviously was not. I will wait while you tally up my purchase.”
“My lord, may I ask why you want this property?” Master Burton inquired politely.
“It is a gift to a relative,” Lord Cambridge said quietly.
The agent nodded. “My master will be most disappointed,” he said. Then with a small bow he withdrew himself from the little chamber.
