‘I’ve not the slightest interest in the company of the others,’ Andrew replied. ‘I stayed, as I said, for you. When I returned here some days ago, I came simply to pack for my journey. But I then heard of your arrest. Arranging your release delayed my departure, and I then chose to delay it further. But no excuses remain, and I have no intention of inventing any. I leave tomorrow. You know why.’
She nodded. ‘It’s about your work. It’s about poison. It’s about the king.’
‘Do you need money?’ he said.
She raised her chin. ‘Throckmorton’s money? Profit from death and poison? I don’t want it.’
He laughed softly. ‘What a charmingly moral child you are, my dear. Why I choose to defend myself I have no idea, but let me tell you the considerable sums of money I earn come directly from Richard of Gloucester. It is the duke who paid for the Christmas dinner you have eaten, and the florins I gave you previously. I blackmail, bribe and otherwise offend against your standards in order to continue my work while the duke is absent, as he is for long periods, but principally to create fear and caution amongst those I wish to threaten. Throckmorton’s money, should he provide me with the next instalment, will certainly be spent in Gloucester’s service. However, if dear Harold takes heed of the warning I gave him, he will leave the country at once. If he stays here, he’ll be dead by Epiphany or soon after.’
‘Oh.’ Tyballis stared at her toes. ‘I see. I have eight florins left and that will probably last me until next Christmas. It’s not as if I do anything except buy food. I’ll feed the Spiers family, too, like I did before, and sometimes help the others. I expect you want me to do that.’
‘You may do exactly as you wish, my dear.’
Although she thought him tired, Andrew made no move towards his own chambers, but there seemed nothing more to say. The silence dragged, broken only by the sounds of the wind outside and the flames in the hearth. Tyballis stood slowly. She hoped he would stop her, but he did not. She paused a moment, preparing only to wish him a good night and a safe journey. He smiled, just a tuck at the corner of his mouth as if he had no energy for more. There were tiny points of flames reflected in the black depths of his eyes. She sighed and then took a deep breath, clenching her hands at her sides, her arms stiff to stop them trembling, and said quietly, ‘I wish you wouldn’t go, though I understand you have to. I worked for you before and you said I did well. If I could come with you this time, I would do anything, play any part just as you tell me. But more, too, if it interests you and if you … want me.’ She stopped and held her breath. He said nothing, but frowned at her, as if no longer sure who she was. So, she took another breath and continued in a rush. ‘I mean inclination, not obligation – as you once told me. You see, everything’s altered. You altered it. When you come into the room, it’s as if someone has lit all the candles. You don’t ever buy candles, but it’s almost as if you are one. And when you go away, the light goes, too, as if someone blew out the candles. So, if you go away for a very long time, I shall truly be left in the dark.’
Into the huge echoing silence that followed, Andrew took one quick stride towards her, his arm around her and his palm pressing firmly at the back of her waist. She was drawn close and held tight. Then he leaned down and kissed her hard on the mouth. She saw his eyes open, and closed her own, tasting the heat of his breath as it rushed into her throat.
He released her suddenly. His hands had not roamed, and his retreat was abrupt. As he stood there, watching her again in silence, she thought his expression not avid but thoughtful, while in contrast she was breathless and excited. Eventually he said, very softly, ‘I would bring you no happiness, little one. This is a dalliance I will not begin. You must neither trust me nor care for me.’
The shock hurt. She thought she might cry, turning instead to anger. ‘Dalliance? I see. Then I don’t trust you, nor care for you. Go to Elizabeth Ingwood if you want a woman.’
He smiled very slightly. ‘I’m sorry, child. Which is, strangely enough, the truth. I am sorry, though more for myself than for you. In losing me, you lose nothing. But I shall return in a month or two, and will see you then perhaps, if you choose to stay.’
Tyballis sighed and looked away, took one more deep breath and whispered, ‘But you kissed me.’
‘It is something I shall remember,’ he said, unsmiling, ‘when the nights are cold and the bed in some wayside tavern is unaired and unwarmed.’ He turned away and faced the fire, his back to her as he looked down into the flames. His voice and the flames sounded the same, one merging into the other. ‘Goodnight, little one.’
She fled, running up the stairs, stumbling and half tripping. She pushed her own chamber door shut and leaned against it, gasping and sobbing. Then she fell into bed fully dressed and cried herself to sleep.
In the morning Andrew Cobham had gone.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The winter worsened yet again. It was a bleak Epiphany and the following day it snowed. Since the weather matched her mood, Tyballis did not complain. She lit her own fires high and piled up old twigs and fallen branches collected from the gardens. When the damp wood smoked too much or became hard to find, she bought bundled faggots from the tanner’s little roofed market, where the stench of the urine kegs seeped into the taste of the bacon hanging from the rafters. But it was not so far to walk home with the weight of wood overflowing her basket, kindling cost less than the London Cheaps, and the people were friendlier. Tyballis shared her firewood and her food with the Spiers, and frequently with the others. She came to be known as a woman of means, though what fuelled her generosity puzzled them all. Questions were never openly asked but everyone enjoyed guessing. The guesses were always quite wrong.
The hearth in the great hall downstairs stayed dark, empty and unused, while the shadows took up permanent residence and the cold shivered through the old timbers, but Tyballis continued to use the kitchens and she rarely ate alone. Sometimes only Ellen joined her, sometimes the Tame twins came, sometimes Davey, often Casper, or all of them together, with stories to tell and plenty of laughter. Tyballis twice invited Luke Parris but he blushed and refused her, and she rarely cared to ask widower Switt. Elizabeth Ingwood had left the house soon after Andrew’s departure, and was not seen for weeks. When she returned, her face was bruised again and she hid away either in her own room, or in Davey’s.
With little to do except purchase, prepare and eat meals, Tyballis searched for any activity to keep her mind blank and her body tired. She darned stockings, helped wash and delouse the children, scoured pots in the kitchen and pulled weeds from the wreckage of the old herb plot in the garden. But her room was too small to scrub every day, and even the ashes from her busy fires took only minutes to clear. After too many desperate days she decided to clean downstairs. There was no one to stop her anymore.
Andrew Cobham’s quarters fascinated at once. Knowing she should not investigate without the owner’s permission, Tyballis was immediately attracted. Exploring hesitantly, she carried bucket, brush, broom and a fearsome expression of guilt.
Leading from the familiarity of the great hall was an unlit passage opening directly into the large bedchamber with garderobe, and through that a tiny staircase leading up to what had originally been a minstrel’s gallery, now enclosed and divided into two chambers. The smaller appeared to be a study and library, the other a place of storage heaped with dusty furniture, piled trunks, rolled tapestries, chairs, trestles, splintered coffers and bed stands with missing strings. These rooms were not locked, so Tyballis decided she might clean and tidy at will.