Jane gave the most skimpy of little bows, turned on her heels and left.
Gresham realised he had quite enjoyed the row. Jane's cheeks coloured and her eyes flashed when she was angry, and he liked the way her chest rose up and down.
'Me, I never went to college,' said Mannion.
'That's because they only let intelligent people in!' retorted Gresham.
'Good thing, probably,' said Mannion, undisturbed, 'cos uneducated men like me are dead stupid with words.'
'Stupid with words?' said Gresham caught off guard for the moment. 'What words?'
'Words like 'impertinent', for starters,' said Mannion. 'I alius thought it meant cheeky, impudent. Never realised it meant bein' right.'
'It doesn't,' said Gresham.
'Must do,' said Mannion. 'You told 'er she were impertinent.' 'So?'
'Well, she told you as 'ow the west wing's about to fall down, and it surely is. So if she tells you, and you tells her she's being impertinent, it must mean she's right.'
Gresham felt himself deflating.
'Oh, Christ. Is the sodding building about to fall down?'
'Building ain't,' said Mannion. 'Roof is. Much the same thing when you comes to it.'
'Why do you always side with her?' asked Gresham. 'Have the pair of you got a thing going?'
'No, we haven't, as it happens,' said Mannion calmly, 'as you knows full well. She's family, ain't she, in a sort of way. I don't bed family.'
'It's about all you don't bed,' muttered Gresham. 'Jealousy'll get you nowhere,' said Mannion. 'And me, I just goes with those who're impertinent.' 'What?' said Gresham.
'Those who're impertinent.' He looked at Gresham pityingly. 'Those who're impertinent. Like what you've told me the word means. Those who're right. I mean ter say, you're a Fellow of a grand college and all that. Me, I'm just a working man. If you tells me as 'ow the meaning of impertinent is being right, who am I to argue?'
'Can we end this conversation?' asked Gresham.
'Course,' said Mannion easily. 'You're the master. You can end any conversation when you likes. In fact, you can do that a lot easier than rebuild the west wing. Which is what you'll have to do before long if you don't recognise that 'er who annoys you so much is actually very impertinent when it comes to the state of that roof.'
'For God's sake! All right! Go and get someone to mend the bloody roof! And hire a new steward while you're at it! The old one's been loyal, hasn't he, even if he is ga-ga. Give him a room in the bloody attic — the west wing of course — and a pension and free food. Let's have all London feeding off me.'
'Better if she does all that,' said Mannion. 'You know, 'er that's impertinent.'
'Can't I even keep my dignity?' said Gresham.
'No,' said Mannion, 'you can't. Leastways, you can't order a new roof when you're buggering off to Ireland. And taking me with you. She can. And she'll look out to make sure they does a good job.'
Life went into hibernation over winter, the celebrations for the twelve days of Christmas a brief glittering interlude. Despite that, the Court had been a frenzy of activity following Gresham's return in September. The incredible row between Elizabeth and Essex had been patched up; Essex was widely seen as the man who would lead an early spring offensive in Ireland. Recruitment had started by October, and showed no signs of lessening off. The army for Ireland was shaping up to be the biggest land force Elizabeth had ever sent out in her name. She was not prepared to be the monarch who lost Ireland for England. For once, she even seemed willing to put her money where her thin mouth was.
Gresham had gone immediately on his return to deliver his packages to the Queen and to Robert Cecil. The Queen had been cursory, verging on dismissive, her thanks perfunctory and her whole manner that of someone whose mind was elsewhere. Cecil had been cold.
'Thank you,' he had said, fingering King James's letter but managing to hide what must have been an. intense urge to open and read it. 'The Earl of Essex will in all probability lead the expedition to Ireland. You will accompany him.'
'And tell you if the man commanding the largest army Elizabeth has ever mustered is likely to turn it round and bring it back over the sea to conquer England and not Ireland?' asked Gresham. The incident with Elizabeth had not lessened Essex's popularity with the masses, if anything had increased it. Many at Court felt there was a very real risk in letting Essex take command of one of the largest land armies England had ever seen. In Gresham's opinion they were right.
'Precisely so,' said Cecil.
'And I do this for love, my Lord?' asked Gresham. 'Love of my greatest friends, I mean, rather than for love of the Earl of Essex?' Cecil sniffed.
'There are consequences for you and for your closest friends if you fail me, yes,' he said. 'Those consequences have not changed. As I have said, I believe your friendship with Essex to be born out of a flagon, not out of any true meeting of minds.'
'I think the consequences have changed, my Lord,' said Gresham trying not to sound too smug, 'not least of all because there are now consequences for you as well.' Gresham had been looking forward to this for some while. He liked to be in the driving seat, and anyone not in that position with Cecil was likely to find that the alternative was to find himself under the wheels.
'How so?' said Cecil, trying not to appear interested.
'You were kind enough to give me a letter, with your own personal seal on it, to give to King James of Scotland.'
Cecil said nothing.
'As you know, it's extraordinarily difficult to make an exact forgery of a seal, particularly one produced by an expert. They can be made to look similar, but the finer lines are almost impossible to replicate exactly because they're cut by hand and each hand is slightly different. An expert will spot the difference in minutes.'
Cecil remained silent, his eyes boring into Gresham's. 'Here,' said Gresham, tossing a sealed paper in the direction of Cecil. 'I've tried to forge your seal on a number of occasions. I've used the best people, the very best people. This is the finest example I've managed.'
To all intents and purposes the seal on Gresham's letter matched that used by Cecil. Cecil strove to appear disinterested, but the colour had left his face.
'You can relax, my Lord,' said Gresham. 'It's good, I grant you, as good as money can buy, but it wouldn't fool an expert', not for long. But there's a technique for lifting an original seal off one letter and fixing it to another.'
And a devilish complex business it was, as Gresham could confirm, having witnessed its use on Cecil's letter to James.
'It works,' said Gresham confidently, 'most of the time at least. And it worked, thank God, with the letter you gave me for James. After rather a lot of effort, I was left with your seal complete and unbroken, and an opened letter.'
Cecil stayed silent.
'Congratulations, by the way. Your letter to James was excellent. Respectful, dignified, precise. An excellent refutation of two most serious accusations. But back to business. While duplicating a seal is very difficult, forging handwriting is far less so. You wrote to James in your own hand, of course. You couldn't trust it to any secretary. Your hand is a fine one, but it's College-taught, a standard script. Please open that letter. The one I passed you with the false seal on it.'
Reluctantly, slowly, Cecil reached for the letter, glanced briefly at the seal and cracked it open. The letter thus revealed was a letter in the hand of Robert Cecil. Every detail, every swirl was exact and precise. It was his own handwriting. Except that at the bottom of the page was a vast ink blot It happened. The pot was tipped over. The quill took on board too much ink, and decided to drop it randomly on the page. How the person forging that letter must have cursed his own carelessness!
The letter, blot and all, was an effusive paean of praise for King James of Scotland, regretting bitterly the time it would take for him to inherit his rightful throne, pledging undying loyalty to him and making some terse and deeply wounding criticisms of the 'old lady' running England from a red wig.
Cecil had the grace to go really white this time.
