‘Am I? What a nice thought.’ She whirled around, facing him, her back to the mirror. ‘And you look every bit the lord, in all that wonderful silky grey velvet. But the Duke of Gloucester knows you aren’t really a lord. Doesn’t he mind that you break the law of the land? It’s his land now.’
‘Not a jot,’ said Andrew, adjusting his sleeves. ‘And nor does anyone else. Those laws have been ignored and broken by every citizen of England ever since the day they were laid down. I dress as I must for the work I do. By choice, I’d as soon live in wool and cambric. My clothes suit the part I play, nothing more.’
She did not mention her delight at his calling her his lady. That was a pleasure she kept to herself. But as she stood in the dappled sunshine and curtsied to the duke riding by, the young king at his side, she hoped it was exactly how everyone would see her. And she savoured the secret thrill, like a tickle inside, ready to visit again in her dreams. She was too busy inwardly hugging herself to notice the assistant constable, Mister Webb, a little further back in the crowd, his mouth open.
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Having been summoned from Crosby’s annexe to the main building, Andrew Cobham waited meekly before the great mahogany writing table, his hands holding his hat, clasped behind his back.
The duke continued writing. His scribing was neat, his attention absorbed as he dipped the quill’s nib into the ink pot, and again to the sheet of parchment. He did not look up. It was after some considerable time that he spoke quite suddenly, voice soft. ‘You knew then, Mister Cobham, that Baron Throckmorton’s written confession was destroyed by the Lord Hastings before his highness’s death?’
Andrew Cobham showed no sign of the surprise he felt. He said quietly, ‘I did, your grace.’
Still the duke continued writing, head lowered, eyes to his papers. ‘Yet you failed to inform me,’ he pointed out.
‘That is true, your grace,’ Andrew replied.
The duke looked up abruptly, putting down his quill. ‘Why?’ he said. There was no evidence of anger, but his eyes had closed into expressionless hauteur and the warmth had slipped away.
‘Because at first I was not sure,’ Andrew replied with a slight bow. ‘I was not then in immediate contact with your grace, and would not put to paper a fact so scandalous, and as yet unsure. Once I knew without doubt, it was too late.’
The duke nodded. ‘So you acted on your own judgements, Mister Cobham?’
‘I did. My apologies, your grace.’
‘You are not paid to disguise truths, Mister Cobham,’ said his grace. His gaze was direct and he did not appear to blink. ‘You are paid to bring every piece of evidence, every detail, every fact, every truth you discover – to me. You did not do so.’
Andrew bowed once again. ‘I did not, my lord.’
The duke sighed suddenly, and slumped back in his chair. He again took up the pen, though did not write, smoothing the feather between his fingers. When he spoke, his voice was soft again. He said, ‘I have been speaking to Brampton. He told me what you did not, my friend. I am disappointed. But I have always trusted and encouraged your initiatives, and perhaps, in the end it would have been easier had I not known that Hastings, in effect, facilitated my brother’s death. Had the proof of the poisoning been shown the king, he would, surely, have taken note. He need not have believed in Rivers’ guilt, nor Dorset’s. But Marrott would have been arrested, and his highness would have taken the precautions that could have saved his life.’
‘I obtained the written confession regarding the poison,’ said Andrew. ‘Since you were not at Westminster, your grace, I took the proof to the Lord Hastings, as was fitting. My part was therefore done. Lord Hastings’ choices from then on were not mine to question.’
‘That part was well played, sir.’ The Duke of Gloucester smiled at last. ‘Your fault was in deciding not to inform me afterwards. Hastings has unwittingly taken a part in my brother’s assassination, and must now pay for it.’
Andrew hesitated, then said, ‘Forgive me, your grace, but the Lord Hastings acted in self defence alone. We all defend ourselves as best we can.’
‘As I did,’ the duke said, ‘by staying in the north and enjoying the peaceful pleasures of my own rule, far from the cloying scandals of the court. But you, sir, were to keep me informed of all matters of importance, and in that you failed.’ He sighed again, then nodded to the wine jug. ‘Pour me a cup, Cobham,’ he said, ‘and one for yourself. And bring a chair. Sit with me. I am not angry.’
Andrew did as he was bid, and sat, and drank. He watched the duke over the golden brim of the cup. ‘When you summoned me here this afternoon, your grace,’ he said slowly, ‘I had rather expected to be dismissed from your service.’
The duke shook his head slightly. ‘I am angry with Hastings. Not with you. You should not have denied me the truth, but in a sense you were wise, since it was already too late, and from a distance I could not have influenced the situation, only suffered from the knowledge of it. But now I can act.’
‘And I am at your service, since, by your grace, I remain in your service, my lord.’
‘The coronation has been rescheduled for the twenty-second day of June,’ the duke said, ‘and young Edward now resides in the royal apartments at The Tower, awaiting his official crowning. Before that day, I intend resolving three other situations. First, my Lord Hastings. Then the dowager queen, and the number of those hiding in sanctuary. The young duke Richard at least must attend the coronation, and be brought to The Tower to keep his brother company beforehand. Thirdly, the matter of the treasure and Sir Edward Woodville. That business is almost resolved, although not fully to my satisfaction. I have sent Brampton to reclaim the fleet, and all but two of the ships have quickly seceded and returned to us. But Woodville has misappropriated yet more treasure, claiming a good sum of money from a carrack off the south coast, while purporting to speak in the name of the king. He has fled to Brittany, and England’s gold is no doubt in the hands of the exiled traitor Henry Tudor.’
‘I will naturally go where you send me, your grace.’ Andrew had never travelled to Brittany nor had any desire to leave England. He did not say so.
‘No Protector rules unchallenged,’ the duke said, quietly, as though speaking to himself. ‘And no country easily conforms to a disciplined routine on finding itself under divided rule. But Dorset’s recent attempt to raise an army against me before my arrival in London was met with ridicule and rejection, even antagonism from the people, and so has confirmed my personal support, even during my absence. Yet disorder and danger have always constituted the patterns of my life since I was a child, and I am habituated to treachery and conspiracies.’ He looked up again suddenly. ‘You are also practised in these matters, Mister Cobham. I intend using you to full advantage, and this time I expect your cooperation in all things. Then at the end when I have organised every possible solution, and handed the reins of power on to a crowned and mature king, I will return to the north, but first I will confer on you that title which you could not yourself claim. I know your story, my friend. Forget Feayton. I will thank you for your loyalty and dub you Lord Leays.’
This time, Andrew did not hide his surprise. ‘I have never coveted that name, your grace. I do not ask it.’
‘I give what I believe is fitting,’ the duke answered him briefly. ‘I will be responding to my own sense of gratitude, rewarding loyalty as I choose, and balancing the natural order of righteousness. And in such matters I do not allow dissent, nor permit my decisions to be repudiated.’