Geoffrey: A retired businessman in his mid-fifties who after building up a successful engineering works from scratch has sold it for a good price and used the proceeds to buy Ernscar Castle; cultured and good-natured.

Helen: His wife, the one conventionally religious member of the family; anxious for grandchildren - so long as they are conceived in wedlock.

John: Geoffrey and Helen's son, about 30, with an unspecified professional job in a city some distance away. Single, would like to marry, but after an abortive near-engagement is nervous of forcing the issue. Tends to flippancy if conversation becomes serious.

Anne: His girl friend. An art gallery attendant, not herself an oil painting but pleasant in appearance and manner.

Brian: An old friend of Geoffrey's, and John's godfather. After a wild youth he has astonished everyone by gaining a chair of theology at a respectable university. Ready as the occasion suggests to be either jocular or serious in treating the subject, though never portentous.

Robert: Fifteenth-century Lord Ernscar, intelligent, humane by the standards of his time, anxious for good government so far as he can enforce or influence it during a time of increasingly conflicting political interests under a weak and incompetent king.

Justin: Bishop of the local diocese. Robert's oldest and closest friend, a partner in trying to keep some order in the political situation; glad to forget his ecclesiastical dignity when staying at Ernscar.

Nicholas: Justin's favourite page, first met as a child, then in his mid-teens, orphaned and treated almost as a son. More arty than chivalric, though no wimp.

Alison: Daughter of Robert's Fool, much the same age as Nicholas and forming an instant rapport with him; pretty, cheerful and teasing.

An interesting possibility might be to have Geoffrey doubling as Robert and Brian as Justin.

JOHN: Not far now. You're very quiet.

ANNE: A bit nervous.

JOHN: They'll love you, believe me.

ANNE: I'm just afraid of making some dreadful gaffe.

JOHN: Not you!. And if you did, they'd probably just laugh it off.

ANNE: I do want to make a good impression.

JOHN: Of course you do. And you will - you can't help it.

ANNE: I wish I could be so sure. Especially after being late getting away.

JOHN: They'll understand. Dad was an engineer, after all - he knows as well as anyone that you can't just drop a job when it needs to be finished.

JOHN: Nearly there. You see that tall tree about half a mile ahead? With a couple of shorter ones beside it?

ANNE: Yes?

JOHN: Just round that bend you'll get the first view of the house.

ANNE: I've been imagining a country cottage with roses or clematis round the door. But it's probably nothing like that at all.

JOHN: Didn't I tell you?

ANNE: I don't think so.

JOHN: Then it'll be a surprise for you.

ANNE: Something special?

JOHN: It is, rather. But you'll see.

ANNE: Wow! Is that it?

JOHN: It is.

ANNE: Stop a moment, will you?

ANNE: Hmm. Very impressive.

JOHN: Yes, though it's actually quite small, as castles go.

ANNE: Still not exactly a country cottage. Don't tell me that's your ancestral home!

JOHN: (laughing) Hardly. Dad bought the place when he retired.

ANNE: It must have cost a packet.

JOHN: Actually the place had been neglected for ages and was going for - well, not a song, but a good deal less than an opera. It needed a lot doing to it.

ANNE: So the total bill must still have been pretty steep.

JOHN: Yes, but luckily he'd got a good price for the business, and Mum won a lottery jackpot about then too. So we do have all mod. con.

ANNE: Thank goodness for that! But come on, we'd better get a move on.

HELEN: So here you are at last!

JOHN: Sorry we're late -

HELEN: No, I mean we've been waiting for months to meet Anne.

GEOFFREY: Yes, why have you kept her to yourself for so long? Welcome to Ernscar, Anne.

ANNE: Thank you, Mr. -

GEOFFREY: Oh, for goodness' sake, no formality. I'm Geoffrey, this is Helen. Now do come in.

HELEN: Dinner's pretty nearly ready, so don't bother changing. I don't want to upset Mabel - a girl from the village who does most of our cooking. She can be a bit temperamental. But you'd probably like to freshen up.

ANNE: Yes, please.

HELEN: I've put you in a room overlooking the garden - I hope that's all right?

ANNE: Yes, of course, I'm sure it will be.

HELEN: I'll let John take you up - I must see how Mabel's getting on. Will a quarter of an hour be enough for you, Anne?

ANNE: Yes, thank you.

HELEN: Right.

JUSTIN: Terrible! What about the family?

HOBBS: All perished, my lord. Not a chance of getting out - the fire spread too fast.

JUSTIN: Do we know how it happened?

HOBBS: No mystery there. It was started deliberately. We've got the culprit.

JUSTIN: Already? Are you sure?

HOBBS: No doubt of it. He's confessed - swearing blind of course that he didn't mean to hurt anyone..

JUSTIN: How did you get to him?

HOBBS: He was in the alehouse last night, roaring drunk, cursing Will Palmer and swearing to get his own back. Dozens of people heard him. It was obvious.

JUSTIN: Getting his own back - for what?

HOBBS: That legal case against you that Will got dismissed last month.

JUSTIN: Oh, it was that Watkins fellow, was it?

HOBBS: Yes, that's him.

JUSTIN: Matthew! This is a terrible business.

MATTHEW: What happened?

JUSTIN: Arson, I'm afraid.

MATTHEW: Did anyone ...?

JUSTIN: But one of the family is safe, thank God. It isn't quite as bad as we thought.

MATTHEW: Bad enough. But Nicholas has been staying with us for a few days.

JUSTIN: What's going to happen to him now?

MATTHEW: Well, of course he'd be welcome to live with us - only it's a bit difficult ...

JUSTIN: Would you mind if I took him into my household? He's been to the palace often enough with Will, he knows some of the people there ...

MATTHEW: Mind? I'd be delighted. It's very good of you, my lord ...

JUSTIN: Not at all. It's something I can do for Will. He did a good deal for me.

MATTHEW: Well, Nicholas, what do you think of that? Would you like to go and stay with the bishop?

ANNE: Ah. It's almost like coming home.

JOHN: Good. And it looks as though we'll be spared a soaking.

ANNE: Thank goodness! I was a bit worried when we passed through that downpour.

JOHN: Think we'd get washed away?

ANNE: No, but I've only brought so many clothes. Getting out of the car into anything like that would have soaked me in seconds.

JOHN: Just as well it's clearing, then.

HELEN: Hello, dear. It's lovely to see you again.

ANNE: Lovely to be here. I'm so sorry to be late - again. I just couldn't get away.

HELEN: That's all right. Dinner isn't quite ready yet - though it's pretty close.

JOHN: I could manage, you know.

GEOFFREY: Afraid I'll expect a porter's tip?

JOHN: Where do you find a porter these days?

GEOFFREY: On a Miss Marple DVD, perhaps. Can't think of anywhere in real life.

HELEN: Well don't stand around arguing. Come inside.

GEOFFREY: By the way, John, Brian's here as well. Arrived half an hour ago but had to sort out some little problem.

JOHN: Oh? What brings him here?

GEOFFREY: Why, has he upset you?

JOHN: No, I didn't mean it that way - just that we don't see much of him these days.

GEOFFREY: No, I gather things have been rather hectic for him. But when we spoke the other day I mentioned that you were bringing Anne and he probably wanted to meet her.

JOHN: Doing his godfatherly duty?

GEOFFREY: Maybe. More likely simple curiosity. Now don't keep Anne hanging about - get her case up to her room. We haven't all that much time if we're not to keep dinner waiting.

JOHN: Right-oh.

HELEN: More coffee, anyone?

GEOFFREY: Shall we adjourn, then?

GEOFFREY: The usual, everyone?

GEOFFREY: Right

GEOFFREY: Right, everyone supplied? Help yourselves to refills. Splendid dinner, Helen, thank you.

HELEN: Thank Mabel. I had very little to do with it.

GEOFFREY: Maybe, but the planning is as important as the execution.

ANNE: (half-rising) Talking of execution, I'd better make my peace with her for holding things up.

HELEN: Don't worry. I explained why. She'll understand you can't just leave a customer standing. She helps out in the village shop herself.

ANNE: But I don't suppose she gets people who can't make up their minds whether to purchase or not.

GEOFFREY: Don't you believe it. I've seen people dithering for ages, though it's usually over whether to take Granny Smiths or Cox's, or something of that sort.

ANNE: And he didn't take it in the end. A pity; we particularly wanted to shift that painting.

BRIAN: What's so special about it?

ANNE: Doubtful attribution. Could be early Flemish, but the provenance is dodgy, and it might be a clever forgery. Greg took a gamble in buying it, and now he's getting cold feet.

BRIAN: Might be worth taking a look.

GEOFFREY: I didn't know professors of theology could afford the kind of price that Greg charges.

BRIAN: I said taking a look, not writing a cheque. Purely out of interest.

JOHN: I don't suppose Greg would thank you for showing it wasn't even a van Meegeren, just a pastiche by Joe Bloggs of Huddersfield.

ANNE: I think Joe Bloggs might resent that comment.

BRIAN: But fortunately he isn't here. Anyway, my opinion doesn't count. It's only an amateur interest.

GEOFFREY: But an unusually well-informed amateur interest.

ANNE: I wonder - Oh, never mind.

HELEN: No, go on, Anne. What is it?

ANNE: It's nothing, really. I was just thinking of that picture in my room - you know, the one supposed to be of the jester's daughter.

JOHN: What about it?

ANNE: That's it. I wondered if Brian could tell us anything about it.

BRIAN: Nothing that Greg couldn't, I'm sure. Presumably you've asked him?

ANNE: Never tried. I doubt if Greg would give it a second glance. It isn't the sort of thing he'd bother with - not exactly a collector's item.

GEOFFREY: Anne's being diplomatic. To call it third-rate would be flattering.

JOHN: Why do you keep it, then?

GEOFFREY: Well, it's apparently been here at least since the sixteenth century, and after it's hung on for so long it seems a pity to throw it out now.

ANNE: I didn't know you were so sentimental.

HELEN: Oh, he's an old softy really. Aren't you, dear?

GEOFFREY: Not quite how I'd put it. But someone in Tudor times evidently thought it worth keeping, and it might be interesting to hear what Brian thinks. Would you like to fetch it?

ANNE: Right. Shan't be long.

HELEN: (urgently) John, I didn't have a chance to ask before. Any developments?

JOHN: If you mean, "Have I popped the question?", no.

HELEN: I didn't mean it quite as bluntly as that. But are there any signs of progress?

JOHN: Mother, I know you mean well, but it doesn't help.

HELEN: But ...

JOHN: It's no use going at it like a bull at a gate. Remember what happened with Monica.

HELEN: Yes, but there's a difference between due caution and not moving at all. Isn't there, Geoffrey?

GEOFFREY: Leave me out of this, dear. "Strike while the iron is hot," maybe, but strike too early and you lose the fish.

BRIAN: I didn't know you went in for that sort of angling.

GEOFFREY: Best kept quiet. But from my enormous experience, I'd say you can't be too careful where women are concerned.

HELEN: I don't remember your being particularly backward when we were courting.

GEOFFREY: Ah, but I was young and foolish then. John's had time to learn a bit more sense.

HELEN: Oh, so it was lack of sense when you proposed to me, was it?

GEOFFREY: Utter folly -

HELEN: Really!

GEOFFREY: - and extraordinary good luck that you accepted.

HELEN: Well, perhaps John should trust his luck a bit more. What do you say, Brian? Or don't theologians believe in luck?

BRIAN: Of course we do. But we generally call it "Providence" to make it sound more respectable. Or else put it into Greek, like everything else when we want to impress and don't really know what we're talking about.

GEOFFREY: I never could get on with Greek. Managed Latin tolerably well, but not the other. Why on earth do you have to use such an awkward language?

BRIAN: It's rather like the old alchemists; "When we have spoken plainly, we have said nothing."

GEOFFREY: I might have guessed.

BRIAN: But to be serious, it's chiefly to avoid terms that change their meaning with common use. And Greek is the language of ideas; the Romans were more engineers than philosophers.

ANNE: What's all this about philosophy?

BRIAN: I was explaining why we use Greek technical terms. So that's the painting, is it?

ANNE: Yes. Be careful; the panel's in rather poor condition.

BRIAN: Better than we shall be at that age. Hmm, as you say, not particularly good.

HELEN: Condition or quality?

BRIAN: Both. It looks like the style of the Flemish school, say about fifteenth century, but pretty rough and ready.

ANNE: Could it be an amateur imitation, do you think?

BRIAN: I suppose it's possible. Or a student piece kept for sentimental reasons. Whether it's of the actual period I can't tell without proper tests, of course, but so far as I can see the materials look right. So does the craquelure, though that can be faked. But this can hardly be a deliberate fake; it isn't good enough.

GEOFFREY: So you think it might be genuine?

BRIAN: I see nothing to suggest otherwise - can't say more than that. (Passing it back to Anne) But you mentioned a Tudor interest.

GEOFFREY: Yes. Apparently there's a letter in the Bodleian collection from the then Lord Ernscar to his cousin, mostly about other matters which were why it was preserved. But as a footnote it mentions that this painting had come to light during renovations to the castle, that it was of no one important and in poor condition and he'd have thrown it out, only Lady Ernscar took a fancy to it so he was having it re-framed as a birthday present for her.

BRIAN: So he knew who the girl was?

GEOFFREY: There was a faint inscription on the back of the panel saying it was of Alison, daughter of Thomas Miller, who had been Fool at the castle in the 1400s.

BRIAN: (making to reclaim the picture) I didn't notice that.

GEOFFREY: It was barely decipherable even then, the wood surface had deteriorated so much, and in the re-framing it was covered by a supporting panel.

BRIAN: Yes, I see.

GEOFFREY: The job must have cost umpteen times what the painting was worth. He evidently didn't stint things for his wife.

HELEN: Good for him!

GEOFFREY: That's probably what saved it. Later generations must have thought that anything so carefully preserved had to be valuable, despite appearances.

ANNE: Is anything else known about Alison?

GEOFFREY: Lady Ernscar evidently asked the same question. She had the parish register searched - it's disappeared since, of course - and found the baptism of an Alison Miller in 1421, but nothing about marriage or death.

JOHN: Is that significant?

BRIAN: Possibly not. The family could have moved away, though that was unusual. Or it might have been a different Alison Miller altogether who died in infancy, as would have been too commonplace to mention.

HELEN: I wonder why Lady Ernscar took such an interest.

GEOFFREY: Who knows? A distant relative, perhaps?

BRIAN: I doubt it. Remember it was a clearly stratified society. People of different classes might be on quite friendly terms, but they wouldn't intermarry. No one of Lady Ernscar's status was likely to be descended from a servant, not even a privileged servant like the Fool. Or if by some chance she were, to admit it.

ANNE: I wonder -

HELEN: Yes?

ANNE: No, I'm probably being silly.

JOHN: Perish the thought!

HELEN: Take no notice of him, dear. Let's have it.

ANNE: Well, there's something about that picture that draws me to it. Maybe Lady Ernscar felt the same.

HELEN: Draws you to it - in what way?

ANNE: Sometimes, depending on how the light falls, the face seems terribly sad. I get a feeling of longing for something she can't quite grasp.

JOHN: Sounds like a version of the usual frustration dream. I'd have thought it a good reason for getting rid of the thing.

ANNE: But that would be like kicking a lame dog out of the way. I feel I want to help, only I can't see how.

BRIAN: I suppose you could always try prayer.

GEOFFREY: Some people drag religion into everything.

BRIAN: In my profession you can hardly keep it out - despite some of the practitioners!

ANNE: (thoughtfully) I don't think I could pray to the Christian God.

JOHN: You might try one of the others - Krishna, or Zeus even.

GEOFFREY: I shouldn't risk Zeus. Not to be trusted with any tolerably attractive woman.

BRIAN: But to be serious, Anne, what's your objection?

ANNE: The inconsistencies; I just can't believe in them. He's supposed to be the compassionate, the all-merciful -

JOHN: That's the Moslem one.

BRIAN: Same God, different name. Go on, Anne.

ANNE: - and yet you have him condemning people to eternal torment for mistakes committed in life.

BRIAN: Ah yes, that old canard. It isn't God who condemns; it's the individual choice.

HELEN: How can that be?

BRIAN: It's standard theology that God wants to give his love to everyone and to have theirs in return. But it must be freely given. He won't thrust his love on those who, given a final irrevocable choice, won't accept it.

HELEN: But surely no one would refuse.

BRIAN: You probably wouldn't. But love - real love - is the hardest thing on earth to accept fully. It means abandoning the defences. Ultimately the whole lot, not just the outer earthworks that are the most we usually surrender in human relationships. It isn't lightly done. I couldn't do it, not yet, not without a lot of help.

GEOFFREY: I don't remember your having much difficulty when we were youngsters.

BRIAN: I said real love. Not lust; they're practically opposites - that's why by itself it can turn so easily into hatred. Nor dalliance, although it's a pale imitation of love and may lead to the real thing. Setting out to sea in the gentle breeze of a light flirtation and then running into a force nine gale can be quite terrifying - or exhilarating, for those with the guts to take it. Imagine what it must be to face the full hurricane. That needs a lot of guts.

HELEN: What was the quotation about tempering the wind to the shorn lamb?

BRIAN: I'm talking about completely mature sheep, capable at last of taking a fully informed, eternal decision. One way or the other. And the other, as I see it, is to be left to one's own devices.

JOHN: Not quite the conventional picture of Hell.

BRIAN: That's a metaphor - the only way we can speak of the divine, or the diabolical. You must be familiar with sexual frustration. That's torment enough, just in one specific function. Hell is the frustration of an entire being, intended for the company of God, yet refusing it.

ANNE: (considering this) Unquiet spirits, perhaps? What do you think of ghost stories?

BRIAN: A literary convention. On a par with the house-party detective yarn. An acceptable excuse for telling a highly improbable but entertaining tale.

ANNE: No, I meant the ones that people take seriously.

BRIAN: Oh, sorry. The usual view in the churches is that as a rule we shouldn't. But they don't quite rule out the possibility that on occasion there may be something in them - a lingering presence of evil, perhaps. Anything of the sort lurking in your dungeons, Geoffrey?

GEOFFREY: Not that I know of. So far as I'm aware the only spirits down there are the kind you find in bottles - and I'm not thinking of Aladdin's lamp!

HELEN: Actually ...

GEOFFREY: Yes?

HELEN: I was once talking to old Megan who had some tale about figures in mediaeval garb being seen around the place. But people said she was more or less barmy anyway.

GEOFFREY: And I suppose they were dimly seen in a half-light by people of doubtful sobriety and accompanied by a deathly chill around midnight.

HELEN: Something like that. Only there was no chill. If anything, a sense of warmth and comfort for people with particular anxieties.

GEOFFREY: Benign spirits, then. If spirits they were.

BRIAN: Actually, that's quite a thought. We've no real idea what the blessed may be up to in heaven. The conventional notion of performing some everlasting celestial cantata appals me.

GEOFFREY: From your efforts in last year's carol service, I'm not surprised.

BRIAN: Quite. I should certainly hope for something more constructive.

ANNE: Such as ?

BRIAN: Who knows? But it's conceivable that for those who have been particularly effective comforters on Earth, the task may be to continue the good work. After all, there's a long tradition of praying to the saints.

GEOFFREY: Usually just for them to put in a good word with the boss, surely?

BRIAN: Yes, but maybe they aren't always limited to mere intercession.

HELEN: One thing that bothers people is the idea of praying for the dead. Some disapprove of it, but others think it's worth while. What do you say?

BRIAN: I suppose it could give a helpful nudge to someone who's teetering on the edge, undecided in the last moments of consciousness whether to let go or not. Or it might ease the pain of doing so.

GEOFFREY: Pain?

BRIAN: If you come from an interior room into full sunlight, you can't stand the glare at once. And looking directly at the naked sun is positively dangerous. The full light of God must be infinitely harder to bear, and slipping back into the darkness a very attractive alternative. And then there's cutting the ties to things of earth - those that are good in a transitory way as well as the evil or merely harmless. Some people have cultivated detachment before the end; most don't, so far as I can see.

ANNE: All right, supposing for the sake of argument that prayer can help people who are dying, I still don't see what good it can do for those already dead.

BRIAN: Don't forget, these are matters of eternity. God isn't limited by time. It's all present to him. There's a story that Padre Pio was once found praying for a happy death for his father, who'd been gone for ten years.

JOHN: At that rate you might as well pray for the redemption of Adam - or Judas Iscariot.

BRIAN: You can't alter what's already happened in the temporal order, of course, but prayer at any time will have been a factor in determining it. Not changing God's mind - no one can do that, for all the anthropomorphism in a lot of the tales - but supporting the poor weak humans who are involved. Like the backing supporting the damaged panel with that picture. As for Adam, I don't see why not. It hadn't occurred to me, but it might not be a bad idea at that.

HELEN: I was looking at the war memorial this morning, thinking of the Remembrance Day ceremony. All those names. Many of them the names of people I know in the village - their fathers, uncles, grandfathers. Does remembrance do any good?

BRIAN: It depends. Remembrance pure and simple is no more use than remembering you left the chip pan unattended after the house has burned down. It just depresses the living. But there must be many a mental prayer during the two minutes' silence. And C. S. Lewis said something about the courtesy of heaven being to take the best that men know as better than they know. When someone is remembered with affection and gratitude, even by an unbeliever, I'm sure it will be taken as a kind of prayer.

HELEN: That's quite a thought.

BRIAN: Geoffrey, you old devil! You've been topping up my glass!

GEOFFREY: Someone had to; you were far too engrossed.

BRIAN: Cask strength, too. No wonder I've been rabbiting on, lecturing you like a class of undergraduates. I do apologise, everyone.

HELEN: No, it was fascinating. A lot better than anything on the telly!

ANNE: Yes, thank you, Brian. I'm not sure I'm convinced, but it's something to think about.

GEOFFREY: Refill, Anne?

ANNE: No, thanks. I've had quite enough already. Will you please excuse me? It's been a long day.

HELEN: Yes, of course. Have you everything you need?

ANNE: Everything, thank you. Good night.

HELEN: Is she all right?

JOHN: Just tired. Exhausted, in fact.

GEOFFREY: An unusual rush of business?

JOHN: Not particularly. But Judith's off on maternity leave, so Anne and Greg have had to cover for the past few weeks. Which means that it's mostly Anne who covers, because Greg still has to do all the buying and what not. (Yawns) Oh hell, I've started now. I think I'd better turn in as well. Good night.

HELEN: Oh dear. You don't think ...

GEOFFREY: No, Helen, I do not think. It's none of our business.

HELEN: But ...

GEOFFREY: And if it were, after the way you've been going on about wanting grandchildren before you're too old to enjoy them, you could hardly blame him for taking some steps. What say you, Brian?

BRIAN: If anything of the sort were going on, it would hardly be for the sake of procreation. And Helen obviously wants the steps to start where they should, in church.

GEOFFREY: You disappoint me. I thought you'd come up with something more original than that.

HELEN: Yes, I know it's old fashioned, but -

GEOFFREY: She wants an excuse to lash out on a new hat.

HELEN: Well, it would be nice, it's true. But I don't like all this modern immorality.

GEOFFREY: You're just jealous.

BRIAN: In any case, if it's any comfort, there are far worse immoralities than fornication - what Dorothy Sayers (was it?) called one of the more generous sins. And she pointed out that those who are hardest on it tend to go for the meaner, grubbier ones. Oh lord, there I go again, lecturing. Time to call it a day. When do you want me down for breakfast, Helen?

HELEN: We usually have it ....

CEDRIC: I'm sorry His Lordship hasn't returned yet, but he said you're to make yourselves at home..

JUSTIN: As we shall - as usual.

CEDRIC: Do you need anything else, my lord?

JUSTIN: Not for the moment, thank you. I was glad simply to get my boots off. (Sampling one of the cakes) Ah, do I detect Alice's hand in this?

CEDRIC: Actually Alison's - my granddaughter's.

JUSTIN: Well, I'm glad she's being trained in the family tradition. Go on, Nicholas, tuck in.

NICHOLAS: Thank you, my lord. (He does, with teenage enthusiasm.)

CEDRIC: Will you please excuse me now? There are things I must see to.

JUSTIN: Of course, Cedric. And thank you.

CEDRIC: A pleasure, my lord - you're always welcome here.

JUSTIN: And it isn't everywhere that a bishop hears that.

JUSTIN: I think I'll join you. I can't absolve you in advance from the sin of gluttony, but ...

ROBERT: Ah, there you are, Justin. Sorry I wasn't here to greet you.

JUSTIN: No matter. Any problem?

ROBERT: A bit of trouble as I came by the mill. The constable couldn't cope by himself and called for help.

JUSTIN: Serious?

ROBERT: Not really. A bunch of peasants had accused the miller of cheating and turned up with clubs to make their point - if you can make a point with a blunt instrument, before you get in with one of your cracks.

JUSTIN: And was he?

ROBERT: Cheating? I very much doubt it. Old Jack would certainly be careful to take his due, but not a whit more if I know him.

JUSTIN: As I dare say you do - pretty well.

ROBERT: In any case clubs are no way to deal with that kind of issue. They'll be up in court for affray at the next sitting.

JUSTIN: And then a hanging or two?

ROBERT: Not likely. Not that I've any compunction when they're called for, as you know well enough, but there's no sense in being more severe than necessary.

JUSTIN: Of course.

ROBERT: In any case we've never fully recovered from the plague - don't want to lose any more hands than we must from the land.

JUSTIN: Keep them at their spades rather than their clubs?

ROBERT: Nice one. They'll have to make good the damage, and a good bit more for the trouble they've caused, then we can call it quits. Least ill feeling all round. But I'm neglecting my duties. I hope your accommodation is all right?

JUSTIN: Of course. Cedric saw to everything with his usual efficiency. You've a good man there.

ROBERT: I know. I've been very lucky with my staff generally.

JUSTIN: It isn't just luck. It takes a good lord to make a good servant.

ROBERT: Well, I try. But you can't do anything if the basic quality isn't there.

JUSTIN: True enough. Nicholas, what are you thinking of? Wine for his lordship. You know, Robert, Ernscar's become almost a second home to me.

ROBERT: That's the best compliment you could pay to a host.

JUSTIN: In fact, in some ways it's better than my own home.

ROBERT: How so?

JUSTIN: I don't need to be on my dignity here. Right, Nicholas, I don't think we'll need you again for a while. You can go and play with your new toys for a couple of hours - I know you've been dying to.

NICHOLAS: Thank you, my lord. (To Robert) My lord.

ROBERT: I gather that Nicholas hasn't quite caught the Ernscar informality.

JUSTIN: No need to take it to extremes. But you've no idea how wearisome it can be - the constant "Yes, my lord," "No, my lord," "As my lord bishop says," when you know very well that what he really means is "You're talking through the top of your head" - or some less dignified part of the anatomy.

ROBERT: Not Nicholas, surely?

JUSTIN: No, I mean any of the minor prelates and chaplains and goodness knows who else. Even the lesser gentry. All crawling. All about as sincere as the serpent himself.

ROBERT: All?

JUSTIN: Well, no, I exaggerate. There are a few honest men among them - probably more than a few, to be truthful. But oh for someone like your Tom Fool to give a straightforward opinion I can believe in.

ROBERT: Sorry, Justin, I'd do a lot for you but I'm not parting with Tom. He's far too valuable.

JUSTIN: I'm sure.

ROBERT: A Fool who's anything but a fool. His nose for treachery has saved me from quite a few nasty surprises. And you know something of his wit.

JUSTIN: (chuckling) Yes, indeed.

ROBERT: You should have heard him with Lord Humbert last week; practically every remark was a double entendre at his expense. In the end I had to signal to him to lay off because I couldn't keep my face straight any longer - and then even an ass like Humbert might have twigged.

JUSTIN: Not the brightest of our nobility.

ROBERT: Nor the dimmest, worse luck.

ROBERT: But anyway, how was Rome?

JUSTIN: Oh, don't ask.

ROBERT: As bad as that?

JUSTIN: Worse. It still hasn't recovered from the schism - the city's in a mess, the cardinals are as bad as our English grandees, French squabbling with Italians and the Italians themselves at each other's throats.

ROBERT: Very depressing.

JUSTIN: Yes. That's why I stayed for a few weeks at Gilbert's monastery in Bruges to cheer myself up.

ROBERT: A place I've never visited. And now might not be the best time

JUSTIN: You should, if you get a chance.. The architecture's splendid, the people hospitable. And the paintings! They've invented a new technique that gives really brilliant effects. Young Nicholas was in his element.

ROBERT: Nicholas? I didn't know he was interested.

JUSTIN: He dabbles. He's produced some quite pretty flower studies -

ROBERT: I hope you've told him to keep off roses.

JUSTIN: Don't worry. I'm as keen as you are not to offend either York or Lancaster.

ROBERT: Sorry, I interrupted.

JUSTIN: And before you jump in again, he's no pansy, either.

ROBERT: I'm glad to hear it. But go on.

JUSTIN: Well, he was with me when I paid a courtesy visit to the duke ...

ROBERT: A bit dodgy, wasn't it? With the political situation as it is?

JUSTIN: I was there as a churchman, not an English legate. Though I thought there might have been a chance to smooth things over a bit.

ROBERT: Some hope!

JUSTIN: As it turned out. But the civilities were fully observed. Well, anyway, a Master van Eyck was there - evidently the Duke uses him as both a painter and a diplomat and I'm not sure which capacity he was representing on that occasion - and Nicholas seemed to click with him.

ROBERT: A useful future contact?

JUSTIN: Maybe. Anyway, the upshot was that van Eyck offered to show Nicholas his workshop, I had nothing much for the lad to do, so off they went together, Nicholas like a cat with two tails.

ROBERT: Evidently a decent sort.

JUSTIN: I've usually found the Flemings obliging, and of course to meet an enthusiast for one's speciality is always pleasing. That evening Nicholas said that one of van Eyck's assistants was willing to teach him something of the new techniques if I'd permit it.

ROBERT: Extraordinary!

JUSTIN: Isn't it? You usually find craftsmen jealous of their secrets. I suspect he was fishing for a commission, but there was probably an element of sheer good nature.

ROBERT: Did you give him one?

JUSTIN: No, but I was obviously under some obligation, so I bought a couple of the workshop's stock paintings - they always keep some in hand for casual sales.

ROBERT: I suppose they can't always rely on private patrons.

JUSTIN: It's useful to have a regular trade as well. Rather more classy than the usual tat passed off to pilgrims or the like in transit. One tit-bit of information Nicholas picked up was that the guest-master at the monastery takes a small monthly retainer to point visitors in that direction. I'm not sure that Gilbert's aware of that, and I'm afraid I forgot to mention it to him.

ROBERT: How very remiss! - but convenient.

JUSTIN: Quite. I must show you these two pictures when we've unpacked. They're rather attractive - should impress visiting bigwigs. And copying them could be a good exercise for Nicholas.

ROBERT: Rather an unusual occupation for a page, isn't it?

JUSTIN: Yes, but considering what else he might get up to in an unfamiliar city, I was happy for him to be kept out of mischief. Better than the alehouse - or getting in the way around the monastery.

ROBERT: Not the ideal place for a young man of the world to find entertainment.

JUSTIN: Exactly. Anyway, for the rest of our stay he seemed to spend all his free time at the workshop. Not all tuition, of course, but sometimes helping to prepare the panels and colours, sometimes watching the other painters and how they did things. And trying a little piece or two of his own.

ROBERT: Really!

JUSTIN: More or less like one of their own apprentices, in fact - and that in itself could be useful experience - not many of our nobility seem to have much idea of how craftsmen's minds work or how to deal with them. They even let him loose on an odd corner of a big work in hand for one of the guilds.

ROBERT: Sounds risky.

JUSTIN: With careful instructions of course, and it would probably be retouched afterwards, but it pleased him no end.

ROBERT: I can imagine.

JUSTIN: Before we left I went along to see what he'd been up to. The foreman - a very kindly fellow - said that Nicholas would never be a great painter, but showed signs of a minor talent that it would do no harm to encourage, so I bought him a basic kit of equipment and materials at the same time as my own purchases.

ROBERT: Aha! The new toys you sent him off to play with.

JUSTIN: Yes. This is the first time we've been anywhere long enough to be worth unpacking them.

ROBERT: - and very good it is to have you here. But we can't spend all day chatting about your travels; we'd better get down to business. Things don't improve much, I'm afraid.

JUSTIN: Any particular developments?

ROBERT: Well, although the king's still under age they've declared him "capable of government," but he seems just as useless as under the regency council. The Beauforts have kept a lot more influence than I like, and Duke Humphrey, when he isn't squabbling with them, is preoccupied with the French war.

JUSTIN: (with a respectable French pronunciation) Plus ¸a change ...

ROBERT: Yes, c'est la mÃme chose with a vengeance. But without the formal provisions we had under the regency. There's bound to be an overt power struggle, sooner or later. We need a strong monarchy - and as Henry obviously isn't going to provide it, I'm very much afraid someone else will try to.

JUSTIN: Fancy the job yourself?

ROBERT: Good lord, no! Running Ernscar is enough for me. I know my limitations, and thank goodness I've no connections with the royal line. Though I couldn't be worse than Henry. No one could.

JUSTIN: We might get someone positively malicious. But even the Pope said he'd be happier about our situation if the cardinal spent more time in church and the king a damn sight less.

ROBERT: Did he, indeed? I wonder who the informant is.

JUSTIN: Not the cardinal himself, presumably.

ROBERT: No. But we've our own little corner of the realm to keep in order. We need to sort out who's likely to be with us in that, and who would more likely be looking to their own advantage. It'll be useful to have a map handy - I've got one in my study. We should see it more easily there.

ALISON: You've drawn that chest wrong.

NICHOLAS: What?!

ALISON: Sorry, did I startle you?

NICHOLAS: You did, rather. (Taking a good look) But it was worth it.

ALISON: (coquettishly) Thank you, kind sir. Quite the courtier, aren't you?

NICHOLAS: I'm practising.

ALISON: Being a courtier or a painter?

NICHOLAS: A bit of both, at the moment.

ALISON: You're Bishop Justin's page, aren't you?

NICHOLAS: That's right. Nicholas Palmer, at your service, ma'am. And you?

ALISON: Alison Miller. My father's the castle Fool.

NICHOLAS: Ah. The Bishop's told me about him. Says he's actually the most intelligent man in the castle, after Lord Robert himself. He didn't say what a lovely daughter he had, though.

ALISON: Don't overdo the flannel. Or I shan't believe anything you say.

NICHOLAS: Sorry.

ALISON: You're forgiven. I've known worse offences.

VOICE OFF: Alison! What are you dawdling about?

ALISON: Coming! See you later, Master Nicholas.

NICHOLAS: That didn't take long.

ALISON: Disappointed?

NICHOLAS: Far from it. Can you stay a bit longer this time?

ALISON: Just a moment. I do have work to do, you know.

NICHOLAS: I don't want to get you into trouble.

ALISON: (deliberately misinterpreting) You're very much mistaken if you think you'll get the chance.

NICHOLAS: I mean for neglecting your duties.

ALISON: They're not too desperately urgent.

NICHOLAS: Would you - er -

ALISON: I thought we'd settled that.

NICHOLAS: You've got a one-track mind!

ALISON: And your thoughts are all pure and flower-like?

NICHOLAS: (grinning ruefully) Not always.

ALISON: Good. You had me worried for a moment. Now what was it you were going to ask?

NICHOLAS: Well, painting this bit of the hall is all good practice, but it isn't terribly interesting. I wondered if you'd let me paint you.

ALISON: This effort seems to be giving you quite enough trouble. How long would that take?

NICHOLAS: I suppose I could get enough down in an hour or two to work up later.

ALISON: Do you seriously suppose that I could stay here for one hour, let alone two, when there's all the laundry to sort out?

NICHOLAS: Not in one session, of course. But couldn't you sneak the odd five minutes every time you pass through? In your not desperately urgent duties?

ALISON: I don't spend all my time traipsing backwards and forwards through here. This is exceptional. And I'd better get on with it or there'll be the devil to pay. 'Bye.

NICHOLAS: Oh, damn!

ALISON: It still looks wrong.

NICHOLAS: Eh?!!

NICHOLAS: Oh, no!

ALISON: You don't seem so pleased to see me this time.

NICHOLAS: I'm sorry, Alison. Of course I'm pleased. But I've only just cleaned up one mess.

ALISON: Are you always as clumsy as this?

NICHOLAS: No, it must be the effect you have on me.

ALISON: That's right, blame the woman. The old story. Here, give me that rag, I'll clear up the splash on the floor.

NICHOLAS: I'm really more concerned about this one.

ALISON: (sharply) You can see to that yourself. (More gently) Good try, but too obvious. Get the worst off, then leave the hose out tonight and I'll see they're washed in the morning.

NICHOLAS: Thank you. Sorry I was ratty just now.

ALISON: Don't be silly. Anyone would be.

NICHOLAS: It's a good job they're just my travelling togs. But I thought you weren't coming back.

ALISON: So did I. I mentioned what you were thinking of to Gran -

NICHOLAS: You didn't!

ALISON: The painting, I mean, not the other. "Cheek!" she said. But Grandad said His Lordship had given instructions that the bishop's people were to have everything they wanted, so I'd better give you your hour or two, and Gran couldn't argue very much with that. She couldn't see his wink behind her back.

NICHOLAS: (returning to normal good humour) How far does that instruction go?

ALISON: (mock-severe) Not that far. I don't know, you're incorrigible. Now, how do you want me?

NICHOLAS: Need you ask?

ALISON: Nicholas! Behave yourself, or I'll tell Grandad you're trying to seduce me. Or tell Dad, which would be no joke at all. Where do you want me to sit?

NICHOLAS: Just there, in the light. Make yourself comfortable, and keep looking at something definite over my left shoulder. That's it. Now, can you hold that position?

ALISON: I think so. May I talk?

NICHOLAS: Can anyone stop you? But try to keep your head still, and the same expression as far as you can.

ALISON: Smiling? Solemn? Or what?

NICHOLAS: Try a few. (She does, including a few consciously comic or grotesque) Come on, be serious. No, I don't mean it must be a serious expression, just don't fool about.

ALISON: What do you expect of the Fool's daughter?

NICHOLAS: Something of the common sense he's supposed to have.

NICHOLAS: That's better. Now, more relaxed, and go through them slowly. That's it. No, the one before. That's it - lovely. Hold that.

NICHOLAS: I haven't seen your father about, this time.

ALISON: No, he's gone off to see Granpa Miller. Lord Robert said there'd been some trouble and he'd better make sure everything was sorted out.

NICHOLAS: Oh, that business at the mill.

ALISON: You know about it?

NICHOLAS: He wasn't here when we arrived, and explained that he'd been held up dealing with a shindig there. Apparently a row about the miller's cut that turned nasty.

ALISON: Oh dear. How nasty?

NICHOLAS: Don't worry, he said it wasn't serious. A case for fines and restitution rather than hanging. Is there no other help there?

ALISON: My two uncles and a journeyman. But they tend to argue about how to do anything out of the ordinary, rather than getting on with the job. Dad can usually organise them better.

NICHOLAS: He's the eldest brother?

ALISON: Actually the youngest. But being friendly with Lord Robert gives him a lot of clout.

NICHOLAS: So Gran and Grandad are your mother's parents?

ALISON: Yes, they've more or less looked after me since my mother died.

NICHOLAS: Oh, I didn't know that. I'm sorry.

ALISON: How could you? Actually I never knew her - it was when I was born. Dad misses her badly, though. They say he was always a bit dour, but it made him worse. "Goes around like having one foot in the grave."

NICHOLAS: A dour jester. Now I've seen everything. Will I have met Grandad?

ALISON: I expect so. He's the castle steward.

NICHOLAS: Cedric! Of course I know him. Marvellous character.

ALISON: Yes, I think so. No one could have been kinder. And Gran's much the same. She tends to be a bit stricter with me, but to be honest it's always for a good reason.

ALISON: Painting's not a usual activity for a page, is it? Here it's all grammar, etiquette and military training when they're not on other duties.

NICHOLAS: I've had some lessons in swordsmanship from the captain of the bodyguard. But I was no good at it. I could probably defend myself against an ordinary footpad, but somehow I don't see myself ever shining in knightly exploits.

ALISON: So your amatory activities have all been in the day-time, have they?

NICHOLAS: I said knightly, not nightly. On a horse. With a K. Oh, sorry.

ALISON: For what?

NICHOLAS: I was forgetting. Girls don't usually get lessons in spelling, do they?

ALISON: I'll let you into a secret, if you promise not to tell anyone.

NICHOLAS: Of course I promise.

ALISON: Dad taught me to read and write. On the quiet. Said you could never tell when it was going to be useful. But I shouldn't let on, or people would think I was getting above myself.

NICHOLAS: I've got a secret, too.

ALISON: What about?

NICHOLAS: My amatory history.

ALISON: I don't think I ought to hear this.

NICHOLAS: It's really shocking. (Leaning towards her; sotto voce) There isn't any.

ALISON: (laughing, not displeased) I might have guessed. All talk and no action.

NICHOLAS: That's me. Big-mouth Nicholas. To be fair, there aren't all that many opportunities in a clerical household.

ALISON: Now you're just making excuses.

NICHOLAS: Guilty as charged. Er -

ALISON: Yes?

NICHOLAS: I was wondering. It's a bit cheeky, but do you have a boy friend?

ALISON: No.

NICHOLAS: None at all?

ALISON: Well, there are boys I'm friendly with. But just for dances and the like. They're good-hearted enough, but - well - they're a bit - uncouth, if you see what I mean.

NICHOLAS: Yes, I see. (After a pause) Alison ...

ALISON: Yes?

NICHOLAS: We're only staying here a few days. But the Bishop wants to keep in closer touch with Lord Robert - they're worried about the political situation. If I got the courier to slip an occasional letter to you secretly, would you mind?

ALISON: (simply) I think I'd rather like that.

ROB: Excuse me, Master Thomas -

TOM: Yes?

ROB: I'm sorry to bother you, but I found this paper on the floor and it looked as though Mistress Alison had dropped it, but I couldn't attract her attention. Can you tell if it is hers?

TOM: Aye, lad, it is.

ROB: Should I have run after her with it, do you think?

TOM: No, you did right. Thanks.

TOM: So you've been having a secret correspondence, have you?

TOM: It wasn't for this sort of thing that I taught you your letters. How long's it been going on?

ALISON: (sullenly) A few months.

TOM: And who's this fellow who signs himself just N?

TOM: Come on, out with it!

ALISON: It's nothing to do with you.

TOM: What? It damn well is! I'm your father, dammit!

ALICE: (apprehensively) It couldn't be Nat Cartwright, could it?

TOM: That so-and-so? It'd better not be!

ALISON: (indignantly) No it is not! You don't suppose I'd have anything to do with the likes of him, do you?

CEDRIC: That's something to be thankful for. But who is it? Your father does have a right to know.

ALICE: Yes, dear. It's for your own good.

ALISON: Well, he's a gentleman - and of perfectly good reputation.

ALICE: How do we know that if you won't say who he is?

CEDRIC: Well, he certainly writes like one.

ALISON: Give me that!

CEDRIC: I think I'd better keep this, for the time being. But I'll keep it safe, don't worry.

TOM: (calmer) Look, Alison, this fellow - whoever he is - may have a perfectly good reputation himself as you say, but men like that aren't always very careful with other people's.

ALISON: He's not that sort!

ALICE: Well, maybe. But even if he isn't, this can't get anywhere.

ALISON: Why not?

CEDRIC: You see, if he's a gentleman, he'll have to marry into his own class. As like as not it'll all be arranged for him by the family. It's a business arrangement more than anything.

TOM: That's right. You can't base marriage on all that nonsense about romantic love, anyway.

ALISON: And why is it nonsense?

TOM: Because it's a kind of madness. Everything looks rosy, whatever it's really like. An utter scoundrel can seem a model of perfection. You see his true colours only too late. Make the most important decision of your life in that sort of state and you're asking for years of misery.

ALISON: Huh!

CEDRIC: Your father's right, I'm afraid. At least in general. Have you actually talked of marriage?

ALISON: No, we've never got that far.

ALICE: You wouldn't settle for being his mistress, would you?

ALISON: Of course not. He made some joking suggestions ...

TOM: Ah.

ALISON: ... but I made it quite clear I wasn't having any of it.

TOM: And what did he say to that?

ALISON: He simply accepted it.

ALICE: That's something to be thankful for.

TOM: As far as it goes. But how long can you keep it up?

ALISON: As long as it takes.

CEDRIC: Which looks like being a lifetime. Are you going to be satisfied with that?

ALISON: Well ...

TOM: Then for your own sake you'd better have nothing more to do with him.

ALISON: Dad!

TOM: And that's final.

JUSTIN: ... so for once I'm not too worried about having a sovereign so excessively devoted to the church. Otherwise I'm not sure whether the French war would encourage him to do the opposite to Charles or to over-reach him.

ROBERT: I get lost in all this business. Local politics is bad enough, I have to take some interest in the national issues, but keeping up with what's happening on the continent is beyond me.

JUSTIN: Not surprising, though I suspect you've a far shrewder idea of it than you let on. Come to think of it, you picked up the Burgundian business smartly enough. But on this I have to keep referring to the documents myself or I'd get in a hopeless tangle. Nicholas, the file on the Council of Basel, please.

NICHOLAS: (snapping out of his reverie) I - er - I'm sorry, my lord, what did you say?

JUSTIN: Nicholas! Pass me the file on the Council of Basel.

NICHOLAS: Yes, my lord. (Searching) I'm sorry, it looks as though I forgot to bring it.

JUSTIN: (eyes cast heavenwards) Give me patience! Nip along and get it. And no dawdling on the way! (Exit Nicholas) It's essentially a question of whether the Pope or a general council has the higher authority.

ROBERT: Sounds a bit out of my line of country.

JUSTIN: Well, it could have practical consequences. Though it beats me how half a dozen not very distinguished bishops left behind in Basel after the rest moved to Ferrara can still claim to be a general council - and that particular council was never up to much in the first place.

ROBERT: In what way?

JUSTIN: For a start, hardly anyone could get to it, for one reason or another. And as for their having any right to depose a pope, it's rather like your manorial court purporting to appoint the parish constable in place of Henry, sixth of that name, by the grace of God our sovereign liege-lord etcetera etcetera etcetera. (Nicholas returns with a file) Thank you. (Exasperatedly) Nicholas!

NICHOLAS: Yes, my lord?

JUSTIN: I said Basel, not Basil. And about a council. We've enough troubles in the here and now without worrying about routine atrocities in the Balkans three centuries ago. Why on earth did we bring that one anyway?

NICHOLAS: I don't ...

JUSTIN: Oh, never mind.

NICHOLAS: I - I- I'm very sorry, my lord. I mis-heard you.

JUSTIN: All right. No excuses. Just get it. The Council of Basel, remember, not the culinary use of herbs or whatever else comes into your head. (Exit Nicholas)

ROBERT: (amused) Not like Nicholas to be so inefficient. Is he sickening for something, do you think?

JUSTIN: I'm afraid he may be.

ROBERT: (concerned) Anything serious?

JUSTIN: It could be - for him.

ROBERT: That's bad enough. But not infectious? I keep thinking of the plague.

JUSTIN: Maybe sometimes. It seems to be spread by books, among other things.

ROBERT: Oh?

JUSTIN: I caught him with his nose stuck in a collection of Petrarch's sonnets the other day. That man has a lot to answer for.

ROBERT: (relieved) So that's it. Poor lad! He has my sympathy. I remember, back in my own teens ... Any idea who's the lady?

JUSTIN: Yes, though you'd never guess it.

ROBERT: I shan't try. Don't keep me in suspense.

JUSTIN: Your Tom Fool's daughter, of all people.

ROBERT: Alison?

JUSTIN: Yes, that was the name he mentioned.

ROBERT: Good lord. Well, that solves one little mystery.

JUSTIN: Does it indeed? What's that?

ROBERT: Tom came to me a few weeks ago, very worried. One of the servants had picked up a letter that Alison had dropped -

JUSTIN: So she's literate, is she? Unusual, for a girl in her position.

ROBERT: Yes, Tom told me he'd taught her. He seemed to regard that as something of a confession - didn't want it spread around - so we'd better consider all this a confidence.

JUSTIN: Of course.

ROBERT: It turned out to be in very affectionate terms from someone signing himself simply N, but evidently well educated and cultured. Alison assured Tom that there'd been no hanky-panky and wouldn't be, and he doesn't doubt her word or intention, but - well, we all know where good intentions can lead, especially when Cupid gets his bow and arrow out.

JUSTIN: Do we know how deeply smitten she is?

ROBERT: Hard to tell. Tom's impression is that she's kept her head about it pretty well, but if marriage were suggested she'd jump at it.

JUSTIN: Hmm. Not on, is it?

ROBERT: As Tom pointed out to her. Is Nicholas that serious, do you think? Or is it just a passing fancy?

JUSTIN: As far as a lad of his age knows his own mind, I should say he's very serious. He did have a crush on the chaplain's sister a while back, but it never took him this badly and he was over it in five weeks. The next one lasted even less. This time, it seems he's hardly looked at any other girl for the past six months, and that's quite something, for him.

ROBERT: Well, at least you can congratulate him on his good taste.

JUSTIN: You approve?

ROBERT: She's comely, capable, pleasant-mannered and so far as I can tell virtuous. Certainly well brought up. Well liked, too. All the qualities he could ask in a wife - except the one essential.

JUSTIN: Class?

ROBERT: Exactly. I don't like the idea of confusing the boundaries. Could bring all kinds of problems. Look what happened when old Percy's nephew eloped with the shoemaker's daughter.

JUSTIN: Yes, he did rather put his foot in it.

ROBERT: Justin!

JUSTIN: Sorry. To be serious, I do see the difficulties.

ROBERT: Though Alison is a cut above the usual run of servants. Nicholas could look a good deal higher and do worse.

JUSTIN: Hmm. And his own background isn't all that exalted.

ROBERT: Oh? I don't think you've ever mentioned it.

JUSTIN: Do you remember my law man, Will Palmer? He died, with his wife and most of the children, when a disappointed litigant set fire to his house. Nicholas is the only surviving son.

ROBERT: How was that?

JUSTIN: He was away visiting an uncle at the time. Will had served me well, so I took the lad on as a page. I felt I owed it - the lawsuit in question was one for the diocese - though the uncle professes to consider it a favour to have the responsibility taken off his hands.

ROBERT: I suppose letting him think so does no harm.

JUSTIN: True. But if it is a favour it's been amply rewarded. It's almost like having a son of my own.

ROBERT: Oh yes?

JUSTIN: And you can take that smirk off your face, Robert Ernscar! I'm no model of priestly virtue, heaven knows, but I've never gone in for that kind of shenanigans. But to get back to the point. The lad's going to marry some time, and I'd like to see him happy. And just now, I'd like to get his mind back on his duties.

ROBERT: ... but I don't like what I hear about what's going on in London.

JUSTIN: Oh, there you are. Where on earth have you been? What took you so long?

NICHOLAS: I - I couldn't find the file at first. I had to search for it.

JUSTIN: You didn't by any chance run into Mistress Alison, did you?

NICHOLAS: Well -

JUSTIN: And how much of her time did you waste?

NICHOLAS: It didn't seem long. I suppose it might have been about a quarter of an hour.

JUSTIN: Well, you've confessed, so you're forgiven. But there has to be a penance, doesn't there?

NICHOLAS: Yes, my lord.

JUSTIN: And as his lordship is the offended party, he should set the penance. Eh, Robert?

ROBERT: Well, if you insist.

JUSTIN: Yes, I do .

ROBERT: So - I think the punishment should fit the crime. Wasting a quarter of an hour of Alison's time. Hmm. You'd better run along and help her make up for it.

NICHOLAS: (delighted) Yes, my lord! Thank you. (Exit)

JUSTIN: (laughing) Robert, you old rogue, you're incorrigible!

ROBERT: Let them enjoy it while they can. It's likely to be brief enough.

JUSTIN: You think so?

ROBERT: In other circumstances it might have worked. But even then, how could we tell? How could they?

JUSTIN: What do you mean?

ROBERT: You can't base a lifetime's commitment on - what? - a minute or two snatched when they've chanced to bump into each other during a few visits spread over the best part of a year. Perhaps an hour's actual contact all told

JUSTIN: (slyly) Plus a quarter.

ROBERT: All right, an hour and a quarter if you must be pedantic. It doesn't make any difference. There's probably more imagination than substance in his ideas of her.

JUSTIN: Quite possibly. How well did you know the Lady Eleanor before you were married?

ROBERT: That's different. The usual family set-up. The backgrounds were similar, everything tangible fitted. Of course we met a couple of times, briefly, enough to make sure that we didn't actually hate each other. And that was all it needed for essentially an alliance between two factions. The personal relationship hardly mattered.

JUSTIN: Yet by all accounts it's turned out tolerably well.

ROBERT: (smiling affectionately - the marriage is evidently very successful) Tolerably indeed. But don't forget, we started off without any great expectations in that direction. We knew we had to rub along together, and that we'd have to work at it - and I can tell you, it was damned hard work at times. Eleanor's a strong character, and I don't think you'd call me a weakling.

JUSTIN: A shade sentimental at times, perhaps? As evidenced by this morning's events?

ROBERT: All right, point taken. But I don't trifle with serious matters. Neither does Eleanor. And our minds work in rather different ways. Over the years we've had a fair number of what the diplomats would call "candid exchanges of views." The important thing is that we eventually learned never to let them become personal.

JUSTIN: Well, whenever Nicholas does marry - whoever he marries - I shall have to send him along to you for advice.

ROBERT: And the wife to Eleanor. But just supposing for the sake of argument that we were to countenance its being Alison, what should we do about it? If anything.

JUSTIN: Well, let's consider the position. I stand more or less in loco parentis to Nicholas, as well as being his lord, but there's the uncle who will reasonably expect a say in the matter. And again, while you have jurisdiction over the girl, I can't see you leaving her father out of it. You said Tom was worried about the situation, without knowing who was involved. How would he react now?

ROBERT: Probably much the same. He said he'd lectured her on the dangers of getting involved with the gentry. It might have been better if he'd left it at that. But you know he's a rather embittered character. I gather from Cedric that he launched into one of his tirades about the fatuousness of basing marriage simply on romantic love.

JUSTIN: True enough if that's all there is to it.

ROBERT: Yes, but you can't expect a girl of Alison's age to take kindly to that view. And then another time he rather spoiled the effect by saying that the gentry always expected a bride to bring a dowry, and if whoever it was hoped to get one out of him, he had another think coming. Alison flounced out in a temper saying that N... would be mortally insulted by the very suggestion and wouldn't dream of asking for a dowry.

JUSTIN: But the uncle would certainly expect one - it would look very bad otherwise, apart from the practical considerations.

ROBERT: Quite so. Well, I'm very sorry, Master Nicholas, but there doesn't seem to be much future in it.

JUSTIN: That's more or less what I told him. Rather a pity, isn't it?

ROBERT: Now who's being sentimental?

ANNE: Well, Alison Miller, at least I know who you were now. I wonder why I never thought to ask before, when for some reason tonight it feels so important to have found out. The jester's daughter. Not quite the grand lady I'd imagined. And there's some mystery behind your portrait. Who had the idea of painting you? Not a professional, it seems. And why? Obviously with affection. Was the painter someone special to you? There seem to be more questions than ever.

ANNE: (voice-over) What was life like in fifteenth-century Ernscar? Yours in particular. Were you really as sad as you sometimes seem? Curious how that expression comes and goes with the angle of the light. Does it reflect the pattern of your days, sometimes sad, sometimes gay? You look as though you might be capable of great happiness. And of bringing happiness to others. But that terrible sense of longing - it tears my insides. Was it tearing you apart, too?

I suppose a jester would be in an awkward position socially - constantly on familiar terms with the nobility, witness to their conversations, having to recognise and harmonise with their ways and moods, but certainly not one of them. And not really in the ordinary run of servants either. A foot in both camps, and at home in neither. The Fool, the outcast. And the daughter must have been in much the same boat. Were you perhaps in love with some young man in service, who thought you too proud? Or was it secretly with an aristocrat who looked down on you? But even if he didn't, even if he loved you just as much in return, he'd have to give you up to marry an heiress chosen by the family. Or at best he might have kept you on as a mistress. Would he have done that? Would you have tolerated the position? It must have happened often enough - it still does, after all. Accepting second best when what you really want is not to be had.

ANNE: Oh, this is ridiculous. It's the middle of the night, I've had an exhausting day, I still can't sleep, I've probably had too much to drink, I'm almost certainly imagining things. Everyone agrees it's a poor painting - that stands out a mile. If it caught any subtlety of expression at all it was probably by accident. She may have been nothing like it, probably quite different. What's the sense in trying to read anything into it? As likely as not I'm simply projecting my own problems on to this poor girl.

ANNE: Oh, John, John, can't you see how much I want you? It's a constant ache when it isn't a biting pain. Two years, it must be, since we first dated. And it went swimmingly at first. I really thought this is it. But now we seem to have been simply drifting for ages. I just can't bear to keep on like this. That's what's tearing me apart. I don't want to push you too hard and spoil everything, but unless you make a move soon I think I'll have to break it off altogether.

(Firmly) Take yourself in hand, Anne Walsh. Sit down and think out what you're going to do. Make a definite plan for the morning. And even if you don't actually do any of it when it comes to the point, you may stop it bouncing around inside your head and at last get some sleep.

NICHOLAS: Excuse me, my lords. A courier has just arrived and said that some of these messages might be urgent.

ROBERT: Thank you, Nicholas.

JUSTIN: I suppose he's being looked after?

NICHOLAS: Oh yes. Cedric's taken care of that.

JUSTIN: Of course. Come back in an hour for any replies.

JUSTIN: Honestly! Some people should never be let out of the nursery!

ROBERT: What's up?

JUSTIN: It's those two blockheaded young cousins of mine. You know they've been at odds with each other for years.

JUSTIN: I persuaded them to meet on neutral territory to sort out their latest squabble. One of those good intentions that lead you know where.

ROBERT: What went wrong?

JUSTIN: It seems it started off tolerably well, with the two principals for once talking more or less reasonably instead of hurling insults at each other.

JUSTIN: But meanwhile most of their servants had gone off to the tavern, and an argument developed into a brawl, and the brawl into an affray, and it ended up with several fairly serious injuries on both sides.

ROBERT: As so often happens.

JUSTIN: Quite. I'd have thought even Richard and William would have had the sense to keep their men away from the ale - or at least away from each other. But there it is. Naturally each side accused the other of starting it, each lord demanded compensation from the other for his servants' injuries, each obviously would refuse to pay, so now they're on worse terms than ever. It looks as though they may bring their militias into it.

ROBERT: Hell! As if we didn't have enough troubles without our friends and relations fighting each other.

JUSTIN: Yes. I could cheerfully bang their heads together. I did think of trying to mediate again, and now I rather wish I had, but after the last time it didn't seem worth while.

ROBERT: What happened then?

JUSTIN: Each of them thought I was favouring the other, so it ended up a three-way row and the last state was worse than the first. I'm afraid I more or less washed my hands of them.

ROBERT: How did all this ill feeling develop in the first place? I never did hear.

JUSTIN: As usual, a storm in a tankard. It all concerns the inheritance of a small manor house. Nothing compared with the estates that they have already.

ROBERT: I've known bitter quarrels over less. Why on earth wasn't it made clear in the will? Or wasn't there one?

JUSTIN: There was indeed. The property came to me twenty years ago. But it's entailed, and one or other of these two would get it according to the legal provisions for the possessor's dying without lawful male issue. The snag is that they aren't certain which.

ROBERT: Surely they know which is the senior line?

JUSTIN: Of course. But there's some dispute about its legitimacy, just plausible enough for no one to predict how a judgement between them would go if it went to court. So neither of them will risk litigation.

ROBERT: Better than trial by battle, I'd have thought.

JUSTIN: Even they would see that - I think. But they now consider their honour to have been impugned, and the question of the inheritance is practically forgotten. Though of course they'll remember it when the time comes.

ROBERT: Inevitably. Can't you do something about it?

JUSTIN: Between ourselves, I've been trying to find ways of disqualifying both of them. But for the insistence on "lawful" issue I might have been tempted to sire a bastard myself just to avoid the whole wretched problem.

ROBERT: Ha! I've never heard that excuse before. Full marks for novelty if not for virtue, my old friend!

JUSTIN: I said, "might have been" tempted And I have been known to resist temptation. Occasionally. Fortunately I've never had too much trouble with that one.

ROBERT: I shan't ask what are the others. But it's rather a pity in a way. Just think, the first offspring might have been a girl, and so might the second, so perhaps you should have taken half a dozen mistresses to be on the safe side.

JUSTIN: Heaven forbid! It's bad enough when my two sisters get together.

ROBERT: I wasn't suggesting a harem. Six separate establishments. Might come a bit expensive, of course. Perhaps I could offer you a little love-nest on the estate?

JUSTIN: All right, all right, have your little joke. It would be quite amusing in other circumstances. Have you any more serious suggestions?

ROBERT: Well, for a start, your ingenious little scheme wouldn't have worked anyway, because if illegitimacy were no bar the question wouldn't have arisen.

JUSTIN: I didn't ask what wouldn't work. Positive suggestions, please.

ROBERT: Let's see, then. The crucial point seems to be "lawful issue." I'm no expert on the law, but doesn't formal adoption confer all the legal privileges of an actual son?

JUSTIN: I'm not sure how it would bear on the entail. But I could have that looked into.

ROBERT: And even if it didn't eventually stand in law, it would at least get those two idiots on the same side to fight it, and for the time being that might be good enough.

JUSTIN: It's definitely worth thinking about.

ROBERT: Good, because I've no other ideas. And it's got to be quick, and it's got be made known, at least to the said idiots.

JUSTIN: Hmm. It wouldn't normally be very special news.

ROBERT: One way might be to install your new-found heir and his family in the manor itself. That would be sure to come to their ears. Is there a sitting tenant, by the way?

JUSTIN: A steward. That's no problem.

ROBERT: Good. So all we need is to choose your son.

JUSTIN: There's no option. In the time we have, it can only be Nicholas.

ROBERT: A bit young for the part, isn't he? And no family, not even a wife.

JUSTIN: There's nothing we can do about his age. A wife is another matter.

ROBERT: Oh, come off it, Justin. I may be fairly ruthless at times, and of course these things are essentially matters of convenience, but I'd never force a man besotted with one woman into marriage to another. Altogether too cruel all round.

JUSTIN: Ruthless? Actually, Robert, I think you're quite a romantic on the quiet.

ROBERT: Justin, I don't like that crafty look in your eye. I've seen it before, and it usually bodes trouble.

JUSTIN: Does it, indeed? Well, how about this? You've just wished a son on me. Allow me to return the compliment with a daughter.

ROBERT: What!!?

JUSTIN: Simple. I adopt Nicholas; you adopt Alison. That gets over the question of rank, and from what I've seen, Mistress Alison is more than a match for some of our high-born ladies in sense and decorum. You'll have to square it with Master Thomas, of course, but explain that it's purely a legal fiction, except that you'll be providing the dowry for her wedding - evidently the lady is willing enough ...

ROBERT: Ah yes, the dowry. I knew there'd be a snag somewhere.

JUSTIN: Don't worry, I shan't be unduly demanding in that respect.

ROBERT: Too kind!

JUSTIN: Anyway, I'm sure from what I hear of Tom that on those conditions he won't object, so announce the wedding, invite the two idiots at the root of all the trouble - you never know, on such an occasion they might actually be induced to talk to each other like civilised gentlemen instead of quarrelsome schoolboys - and hey presto! The problem's solved, for the time being. And sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.

ROBERT: (rubbing his hands) Hmm. You know, Justin, I think you must be right. I find myself rather looking forward to your announcing all this to Master Nicholas.

ROBERT: Enter!

NICHOLAS: You sent for me, my lord?

ROBERT: Yes, Nicholas. His Lordship has something to say to you. I'm afraid it's bound to be rather a shock, so you'd better be seated.

NICHOLAS: (wondering, nervous) Thank you, my lord.

JUSTIN: Nicholas, you've been with me for nearly six years now, haven't you?

NICHOLAS: A little over, my lord.

JUSTIN: Is it? I must be losing track of time. A sign of old age. Anyway, during those years you have served me moderately well as a page.

NICHOLAS: I've tried, my lord.

JUSTIN: I think we'll save time if we drop the "My lord" for the present.

NICHOLAS: Yes, my ... Sorry.

JUSTIN: Now I think the time is approaching for your position as page to end.

NICHOLAS: My ...!!! (On his dignity) I - I'm very sorry if I've failed to give satisfaction. I've done my best. (Softening) I've looked on you almost as a father - since my own ...

ROBERT: (gently) Calm yourself, Nicholas. I think you misunderstand.

JUSTIN: Yes, Nicholas. The affection is mutual, believe me. I look on you almost as a son. So I've decided to formalise that, and make you my legal heir. I hope you have no objection?

NICHOLAS: I ... I ...

JUSTIN: Yes?

NICHOLAS: I'm ... overwhelmed, my ... er, father. I don't know what to say.

JUSTIN: That makes a change. Well, silence is consent, the lawyers say, so I'll take it that you agree. But that leads on to something else. For reasons too complicated to go into just now, it's essential that you marry. Soon.

NICHOLAS: (hopefully) Yes?

JUSTIN: You'll realise, as you must always have realised if you ever thought about it, that in your position you will have to marry a lady of noble or at least genteel status.

NICHOLAS: Oh.

JUSTIN: So Lord Robert and I have already chosen a suitable bride for you.

NICHOLAS: You can't -

JUSTIN: You know very well that this is always how it's done.

NICHOLAS: I won't. You can't make me!

JUSTIN: If you're adamantly set against it, that's true. But it seems a little rash, to put it mildly, to refuse the lady without even knowing who she is or what she is like.

NICHOLAS: I don't care who or what she is. I'm already committed.

JUSTIN: Do you mean you're secretly married already?

NICHOLAS: No, I don't mean that. But I've given her my word.

JUSTIN: Very well. You obviously can't go back on it without her releasing you. Would you ask her to do that?

NICHOLAS: Certainly not.

JUSTIN: And I can't force you. But it's extremely inconvenient. We shall have to re-think our course of action completely.

NICHOLAS: I'm very sorry, my ...

JUSTIN: Meanwhile, she's already in the castle, and will be here in a moment. I expect you to treat her with due civility - and that's an order.

NICHOLAS: (sullenly) Of course.

ROBERT: (formally) Master Nicholas Palmer, allow me to present my adopted daughter. Lady Alison Ernscar. (Quietly) Time for us to disappear, Justin.

ALISON: (half-emerging from the clinch, mock-severe) Nicholas Palmer, is this what you call due civility?

NICHOLAS: What's the matter, love?

ALISON: Oh, Nick, I'm so glad you're here. I dozed off, and had such a sad dream.

NICHOLAS: You mustn't upset yourself, dear. You have to take care. Look, your cushions are all disarranged. Let me straighten them for you.

ALISON: Thank you, but there's no need to fuss quite so much. Pregnancy's a perfectly healthy condition after all.

NICHOLAS: But dangerous. I keep thinking of what happened to your mother.

ALISON: That was just bad luck. Our family's never had any other problems with childbirth. Everyone says it was the midwife's fault.

NICHOLAS: Yes, I've heard about that.

ALISON: What exactly have you heard?

NICHOLAS: (uncomfortably) Well, that your father wouldn't pay for the proper midwife, and just got an old woman in from the village.

ALISON: (fiercely) I was afraid so. It's a lie!

NICHOLAS: Sorry, I meant no offence. But how can you know?

ALISON: Because I believe Dad. He says he sent for the real midwife, but it was a frosty morning and on the way she slipped and broke her arm. So all he could do was to fetch old Meg from the village. She did her best, but it wasn't good enough.

NICHOLAS: Then how did the other story get about?

ALISON: He doesn't exactly throw his money around, and he'd trodden on a lot of toes with his sarcasm. The servants didn't like him. There was a lot of malicious gossip.

NICHOLAS: I'd have thought that Cedric and Alice would have put a stop to it. Or the Ernscars, for that matter. And the midwife's broken arm must have been obvious enough.

ALISON: That could have happened later. Apparently the Ernscars were away at the time, labour had come on suddenly while Gran was visiting my aunt who was sick, and Grandad had been called out to a problem on the estate. All Lord Robert could say afterwards was that he had no reason whatsoever to doubt Dad's word. But as he says, what chance has the truth against a lie that people want to believe?

NICHOLAS: I see. Ironic, isn't it, that your father should be pilloried for stinginess on one occasion when he hadn't been.

ALISON: That's life.

NICHOLAS: But you said you had a sad dream. Would it help to tell me about it? As much as you can remember.

ALISON: (voice-over) Maybe. I'll try. It was rather like looking into one of those paintings you told me about, only people were moving. Two of them were walking along paths in a forest. They got glimpses of each other through the trees and I knew they wanted to come together and I desperately wanted them to, but between the paths was a tangle of briars and creepers that completely barred the way. And then they came to a place where the paths were so overgrown that they had to pick their way carefully and didn't notice that there was nothing between them but a hundred yards of brushwood. I tried to call to them that they could easily get through it, but no sound would come. After that the paths moved apart and they saw each other less and less often, but they couldn't go back, only forward. And then the man came to a great plain of bare rock that he had to cross, and he went on for days and days, and at first there were streams of clear water, and then only dirty puddles, and then nothing at all, until at last he just sat down in despair, and that was that.

NICHOLAS: There, there, my sweet, it was only a dream. It's over now.

ALISON: But what does it mean?

NICHOLAS: I don't suppose it means anything at all. Just something going on in your mind.

ALISON: (with a touch of her usual spirit) So what goes on in my mind is nothing at all, is it?

NICHOLAS: That's better. No, I meant that it doesn't mean anything outside. It just reflects what you were thinking. Perhaps of what might have happened if we hadn't been able to come together. But we did get through that brushwood. Someone did manage to call to us -

ALISON: I wonder who.

NICHOLAS: Who knows? Cedric, perhaps, putting in a good word with their lordships?

ALISON: No, he'd never interfere like that. Not his place, he'd say.

NICHOLAS: (glancing upwards) Well, thank you, whoever it is. (After a pause.) Funny things, dreams.

ALISON: Aren't they?

NICHOLAS: I remember one I had once. It was soon after Lord Robert had sent me off to help you make up the time I'd wasted, encouragement rather than the opposite. I thought that everything might turn out all right for us, but then the bishop said that much as they might have wished it in an ideal world, the world was in fact anything but ideal and I'd do better to forget the whole idea.

ALISON: Do you think he meant it - that he might have wished it for us?

NICHOLAS: I'm sure of it. After all, look what happened afterwards.

ALISON: That was part of their own scheming.

NICHOLAS: Yes, but they didn't have to go about it that way. Anyway, that's beside the point. I took ages getting to sleep that night, and when I did, of course I dreamed about you - that we were walking together in a garden, but knew that it might well be for the last time. And I was desolate about it. Then the picture changed, still in the garden, but the woman was quite different.

ALISON: (teasing) Oh yes? So your fancies were wandering already.

NICHOLAS: No, it wasn't like that at all. I wasn't in the least attracted to her. She was a good ten years too old, for a start. And dressed in a very peculiar way.

ALISON: Foreign?

NICHOLAS: Not like anything I've seen, in life or in pictures. Completely different. Rather immodest, I'd have said, only I knew somehow that it was just the way of her people and there was nothing wanton about her. She was walking away from me, but suddenly turned with a quite dazzling smile.

ALISON: A come hither?

NICHOLAS: No, nothing at all like that. Almost a motherly smile. I thought she was saying "Don't worry, it's going to be all right. I know." Very emphatically. And I believed her. After that I slept like a log. And the next day we were betrothed.

NICHOLAS: Cedric and Alice are very fond of you, aren't they?

ALISON: Yes, and I of them. But why do you mention it just now?

NICHOLAS: They're bound to miss you.

ALISON: I suppose they will.

NICHOLAS: I've been thinking. You remember that painting of you that I started?

ALISON: Of course.

NICHOLAS: Well, it isn't very good, to put it mildly, but I could work it up a bit. Do you think they'd like to have it? Nowhere near like having you back with them, I'm afraid, but better than nothing.

ALISON: Oh, Nicholas, what a lovely idea! I'm sure they'd be delighted.

JOHN: Oh, there you are. Are you all right? I was a bit worried with not seeing you at breakfast.

ANNE: I couldn't get to sleep for hours. Over-tired, I expect. Then when I did I slept through the alarm.

JOHN: Probably do you good.

ANNE: I dare say. John, while I was tossing and turning, I did a lot of thinking.

JOHN: That's probably what kept you awake.

ANNE: Maybe. But it had to be done. John, we have to get some things clear.

JOHN: That sounds ominous. What's worrying you?

ANNE: Look, how long have we been going out together?

JOHN: Must be a couple of years now. Yes, easily that. What of it?

ANNE: It's been very nice, you've been good company and your people have been marvellous, but we don't seem to be getting anywhere.

JOHN: Well, I did ask if you'd like to come to bed with me, but you wouldn't.

ANNE: John, please be serious, for once in a while.

JOHN: Sorry. I'll try. Actually I wasn't being entirely frivolous. I did want you.

ANNE: And I was seriously tempted.

JOHN: Then why ... ?

ANNE: Let me finish, please. This is difficult enough without interruptions. Understand, I wanted you, too. More than anything else. But it wouldn't have been right. I'm not saying sex isn't important. It is; far too important to treat casually.

JOHN: I wasn't being casual. It looked like being a stable relationship, as they say.

ANNE: Not good enough, John. I'm not a horse.

JOHN: Now who's being frivolous?

ANNE: What I mean is, we aren't just animals, mating simply out of instinct. There's got to be more to it - a sense of permanency, a facing of consequences. What I want is "to have and to hold, for better or worse, till death us do part" and all that. The full works. If you can't or won't give it to me, then I'm very sorry, dear, but I don't think I can bear to go on as we are.

JOHN: Good lord!

ANNE: Is that all you have to say?

JOHN: Well, no, but I was just stunned.

ANNE: Why? Is it such a novel idea?

JOHN: Far from it. But when you turned down the proposition, so many months ago, I thought it meant you wanted only a platonic friendship. I was scared.

ANNE: Scared? Of me?

JOHN: Yes. Silly, isn't it? I wanted to marry you, but I was afraid to push it in case I lost you altogether. It happened once before. I was terrified you'd say "No."

ANNE: (flinging herself at him, laughing with relief) Idiot!

HELEN: Oh, I'm sorry, did I come in at an awkward moment?

JOHN: (disentangling himself) No, Mother, you came in at exactly the right moment. Anne and I have just decided to get married.

HELEN: Anne dear! I'm delighted. Thrilled! I've been waiting for this for ages. What on earth kept you so long?

ANNE: Just a silly misunderstanding. All cleared up now.

HELEN: I must go and tell Geoffrey. Oh, I'm forgetting what I came in for. You've driven everything else right out of my head.

JOHN: What was it?

HELEN: You remember we were talking yesterday about Tunstall church?

JOHN: Yes?

HELEN: You thought Anne might be interested to see it. I remembered during the night that we picked up a pamphlet there some time ago. It's probably tucked into one of the guide books.

HELEN: Here it is. Oh, it's torn - half of it's missing. What a nuisance.

JOHN: Never mind. We can probably find one there.

HELEN: Yes, of course. Now I must go and give Geoffrey the good news.

JOHN: He probably won't think it is. You're sure to want a complete new outfit.

HELEN: And for once I know he'll be delighted to cough up.

ANNE: What's this about the church? It sounds much too far away to visit from here.

JOHN: Not the Staffordshire Tunstall. A village about twenty miles away - even on these roads not a difficult drive.

ANNE: What's so special about it?

JOHN: It's a very old foundation. Parts of it are twelfth century - not much of that left, admittedly. But there's quite a lot from not much later.

ANNE: Right. Tomorrow, if the weather's decent?

JOHN: Fine. Now, for today, how about a visit to a jeweller?

JOHN: (laying down his cutlery) Ah! That was good.

ANNE: Yes, it was.

JOHN: Fancy a sweet?

ANNE: I don't think I could manage it..

JOHN: Coffee?

ANNE: No, thanks.

JOHN: Right.

JOHN: I hope it's open.

ANNE: It's a bit late to wonder about that.

JOHN: I was forgetting how many churches are locked outside service times these days.

ANNE: Is vandalism a problem out here?

JOHN: Nowhere near as bad as in town. But not unknown

VERGER: Hello, I'll be with you in a minute.

ANNE: We didn't mean to disturb you.

VERGER: It's all right, I've nearly done.

JOHN: We don't really want a guide, do we?

ANNE: No, but we may as well humour him. There's no hurry, is there?

JOHN: Not particularly. We've all afternoon. (Aloud, to the verger) We'll just start looking round.

VERGER: Right-oh.

ANNE: "Baptistry - some original stonework near the font - nave glass destroyed under the Commonwealth, replaced early nineteenth century - the tower - chantry chapel - " John! Listen to this!

JOHN: What is it?

VERGER: (joining them) There, that's done. Grand afternoon, isn't it?

ANNE: It certainly is.

VERGER: Come far?

JOHN: From Ernscar.

VERGER: Holidaying?

ANNE: I'm staying with friends.

VERGER: Ah. Was there anything particular you wanted to see? (Registering a point of interest) Oh, did you say Ernscar?

JOHN: Yes, why ?

VERGER: Then you must see the chantry chapel - there's a particular connection.

ANNE: Yes, I'd just come to that bit in your leaflet.

VERGER: We haven't got the original document, of course - that's in a museum somewhere - but there's a copy ...

JOHN: What document?

ANNE: I'd just got to that. It's a will or something of the sort ...

ANNE: It's marvellous that it's survived, isn't it? But I think the note in your leaflet is probably more useful for us.

VERGER: Yes, it probably is.

JOHN: Read it out, Anne.

ANNE: Right. "The pride of the church is the late fifteenth century chantry chapel, endowed in 1470 by a Lady Alison Palmer of whom little is otherwise known. By chance an almost complete copy of the endowment document came to light in 1950, stipulating that a mass be sung for the repose of the souls of her beloved husband Nicholas Palmer, knight, and of her father" - this is it, John - "Thomas Miller of Ernscar in the county of (indecipherable), annually on the fifteenth of April in perpetuity." So that's what happened to Alison Miller.

JOHN: Well, I'll be ...! It certainly looks like it.

ANNE: (continuing to read) "The graves of Alison, her three sons and their wives, were just outside the south wall of the chapel, although all traces were obliterated by Parliamentary troops who kept horses in the churchyard during the Civil War. Sir Nicholas himself is believed to have been lost at sea while returning from a diplomatic mission to Flanders." So he was evidently a person of some consequence.

JOHN: Yes. Our Alison seems to have done all right for herself after all.

VERGER: Your Alison?

ANNE: Well, in a sense.

JOHN: You see, we have a portrait of an Alison, daughter of Thomas Miller, as a young girl. The date's about right. And that Thomas Miller was at Ernscar.

VERGER: (astonished) An original portrait?

ANNE: It seems to be.

VERGER: But that's incredible!

JOHN: Almost. And to be honest, we can't be absolutely sure about any of it. There haven't been any tests on the materials. We've only an informed opinion that it looks right, and isn't good enough to have been worth faking.

VERGER: Even so ... I don't suppose there's any chance you'd be willing to part with it ...

JOHN: I could easily copy it - scan or photograph, one way or another.

VERGER: We'd be immensely grateful. It would add enormously to the interest.

JOHN: You're welcome. Right ...

ANNE: (reading on) Oh, I say ...

JOHN: What?

ANNE: This is a bit off. "The annual Masses were of course discontinued at the Reformation."

VERGER: Well, the reformers got rid of all that ..

JOHN: Not much choice, I imagine. Well, Mr. ... er?

VERGER: Johnson - Harry Johnson.

JOHN: And I'm John Randall. (Producing it) I'll leave you my card.

VERGER: Thanks. But you'd better speak to the vicar about it. I'll tell him to expect you, and why.

JOHN: Right. It'll probably be a week or two.

VERGER: Fine. And thank you again. Enjoy the rest of your day.

ANNE: Thank you. I think we shall. Goodbye.

JOHN: That was interesting.

ANNE: Yes, though I still think they might have shown some shame at accepting the endowment but defaulting on the condition.

JOHN: Water under the bridge by then.

ANNE: John ...?

JOHN: Yes?

ANNE: How much do masses cost?

JOHN: I don't think there is a fixed fee.

ANNE: No, but there must be some understanding, just to save embarrassment.

JOHN: I think I heard somewhere that five or ten pounds would be acceptable. Why do you ask?

ANNE: I'm going to find a church that does have masses for the dead and leave an offering for the next ten years, on the fifteenth of April.

JOHN: Not quite perpetuity!

ANNE: My finances don't run that far. But it's a gesture in that direction.

JOHN: Nice idea. Come on.