‘Rest,’ he suggested. ‘You cannot face danger every day, my love. Today at least, choose some other more peaceful pastime.’
‘Sewing hems, for instance? Darning stockings, perhaps. Or plucking my eyebrows again? Because I’m a woman and therefore not capable of anything more difficult?’
Andrew had grinned, half-dressed in rough peasant costume and already more than half-concentrated on his own business. ‘And our recent discussion regarding a woman’s strengths? Does that confirm my masculine contempt?’
Tyballis looked scornful. ‘Respect for some women. Not for the silly ones who can’t even stand up to their husbands and have to be rescued and looked after all the time.’ She slumped, looking away. ‘Honestly, Drew, once you even told me women are useless at lying.’
He bent and kissed her cheek. ‘You are good at a great many things, my love, as you know perfectly well. But bringing you into danger is hardly something I choose to do on a daily basis, and besides, what I do today cannot involve a woman at my side. Indeed, it’s sheep I need. I shall take you with me tomorrow.’
So Tyballis had walked down Cheapside to look at the stalls, to hear the gossip at the market and to dream of cosy evenings with her lover in her arms again.
Both finely dressed but entirely unknown to her, they had come from the shadows but with unexpected courtesy, one either side, so that she found herself walking at their pace, tightly squeezed between them. ‘My lady,’ one said, ‘it is a pleasure to find you enjoying the sunshine. But unexpectedly alone and far from home. And where would your future bridegroom be today, leaving you so unattended?’
‘I beg you, let us escort you, my lady,’ said the other, taking her elbow as though a friend of long standing.
Tyballis shook her head. ‘I’ve no need of escort, and no desire to know you, sir,’ she said, looking around a little wildly. The streets were busy, but no one took any notice of her for as yet there seemed no obvious indication of misconduct. The crowds reassured her, however, for she knew she might quickly create alarm if she wished. ‘In fact,’ she said rather loudly, ‘if you don’t leave me alone at once, I shall call for help.’
The first man smiled. ‘But my dear lady, we are your help,’ he said. ‘We are friends of Lord Feayton, and have been sent to bring you to him.’
Tyballis stopped suddenly. ‘That sounds most unlikely,’ she said. ‘My betrothed is – otherwise engaged today. And as for being his friends, I’ve never seen either of you before in my life.’
The second man smiled pleasantly. ‘A quiet word in your ear, my lady, since we do not want all the word hearing those matters that are – you will understand at once – of some secrecy. You see, we work for his grace the Duke of Gloucester, our honourable Lord Protector. We have been sent by his grace, and with the full knowledge of Lord Feayton, to escort you to where your lord awaits you.’
The other continued, ‘You must believe us, my lady, for otherwise how should we know you, or your relationship to his lordship? And as for his grace the duke, his word is surely law. The streets are dangerous, so if you will come with us?’
Tyballis frowned. ‘There seems a great deal less danger now the Lord Protector is in charge,’ she said. ‘And I hardly think he has any need of me.’ Unable to explain that she was not the Lord Feayton’s intended bride, Tyballis hesitated. She was unsure what to believe.
‘Only a few steps, my lady, and a respectable goldsmith’s nearby – what could be more innocent? It is barely past midday, a bright afternoon and the city is full of shoppers. If anything displeases you, you may call out and a dozen good citizens of London will run to your assistance.’
Just two steps, a busy, fashionable shop and no possibility of abduction. So, she had gone with them. She had been shown behind a curtain where the wares on display shone with gold, customers jostling, and no threat conceivable. Yet she had been aware of nothing more until she woke to see the glum reflection of twilight through a high window. Half-blind with headache, she managed first to sit, then stagger to her feet. She banged on the door and eventually a sad slouch of a girl had brought small-beer, though refused to speak. Another man came for her soon after.
Her interrogator remained carefully polite. Tall, plainly dressed and determined, he brought her to the empty chamber where now she sat. His threats were implied rather than spoken, but she was still a prisoner. Furious, though as much with herself as with him, Tyballis retained her dignity. Her head hurt, her heart raced and she was terrified, but she showed none of it; for life with Andrew had taught her well. ‘I have no idea what you want from me,’ she said. ‘And anyway, why would I cooperate with ruffians who drugged and abducted me?’
‘An unfortunate necessity, my lady,’ bowed the man. ‘But I swear I’ve no intention of harming you. I have promised the greatest respect. A gentleman does not mistreat his womenfolk.’
Tyballis sniffed. ‘I’m not your womenfolk,’ she said. ‘And I’m not a lady. Nor, as far as I’m concerned, are you a gentleman. I’m Tyballis Blessop. I don’t know dukes or lords and I don’t know secrets. I don’t know where we are either, and I should very much like to.’
‘Unfortunately I cannot oblige, my lady, nor satisfy your curiosity.’ The man bowed again. ‘But rest assured, should you cooperate fully, afterwards I will make sure you are taken safely back to your own front door.’
‘You don’t know where I live,’ Tyballis objected.
The man started to answer but was interrupted when the door opened abruptly and someone else strode in. Tyballis looked up in alarm. The newcomer was handsomely dressed in violent cerise with black and scarlet trimmings to both doublet and surcoat, lustrous linings of sable and rich purple hose. He slammed the door, raised a querying eyebrow to the man interrogating her and, receiving only a shake of the head, turned immediately to Tyballis.
He began, ‘My lady, my apologies for –’ and then stopped abruptly. He stared a moment and then growled, ‘You!’
Tyballis turned pink. ‘My Lord Marrott,’ she said, sitting up straight and twisting her fingers in her lap. ‘This is – such a surprise. I had supposed you still hiding in sanctuary to escape the impending executioner’s axe.’
The Lord Marrott stood over her and glared. ‘How unwise, mistress trollop, to antagonise me yet again. Your life rests in my hands, and I might easily decide not to waste any further time on you.’ He turned back to his henchman, who stood somewhat startled beside him. ‘This is no lady, fool. She’s Feayton’s whore, and I’ve had her in my own bed before now. Get the answers you want from her and quick about it, or I shall thrash her myself, and with the greatest pleasure.’
Tyballis stood up, trying to disguise the shaking of her knees. ‘How dare you, my lord,’ she said. ‘So much for respect. Your servant has more manners than his master.’
Marrott stood over her, and with the flat of his hand against her face, pushed her back onto the chair. Then with slow deliberation he placed his foot on the seat between her legs so that she was trapped where she sat. He remained looming over her, his boot pinning her skirts hard to the chair, both his arms folded over his knee, his eyes hard to her eyes. ‘I’ll show no respect for another man’s doxy,’ he sneered, ‘and I’ll get answers out of you any way I wish. Where is Feayton?’
Tyballis remained silent. Her coarse duffle skirts stretched thinly across her lap and Marrott’s humiliating pressure rubbed against the inside of her thighs. She wore her old felted stockings, which gartered only as high as her calves, so her legs had little protection as Marrott’s boot pressed purposefully up towards her groin. She finally managed to say, ‘If this is how you think it proper to behave, my lord, I can only be glad that the Lord Protector now rules the land.’