Everyone quickly denied either surprise or objection, and began instead to discuss what was needed. ‘I have a little money,’ Tyballis told them. ‘I’ll be happy to use every penny on this – this – whatever we decide.’
‘And none of us will ask where you got it, my dear,’ Felicia assured her.
Tyballis glowered and Casper cackled. ‘Reckon I knows more, and no harm in telling,’ he said. He looked, one eye blinking hard, to Tyballis for direction. She blushed and looked down meekly, so Casper continued. ‘What you lot don’t know, is this Mister Cobham is a man what leads two different lives and Mistress Tyballis be a fair part o’ both. Well, he didn’t make me swear no oaths to keep me mouth shut, so I can tell you he surely ain’t no beggar, this gent o’ yorn. Took me to his quarters in Bishopsgate, he did, right next to Crosby’s. Now, I knows, and no doubt you lot does too, that’s where the Duke o’ Gloucester lives when in London, and I reckon there ain’t no one stays there without his proper permission. So, what’s our Mister Cobham doing with dukes and barons, then? Dressed up like a duke himself he was when I seen him there. And Mistress Blessop could have been a duchess, and no argument. Nobody told me what were going on, nor I weren’t going to ask. But summit is. And I reckon that’s where the money come from, and proper legal it is, too. Understood?’
Tyballis blushed again. ‘It’s true,’ she said, though it was whether to tell the truth, or whether to lie, and which would help Andrew the most, that she was now struggling with.. ‘But I have no right at all to speak of Drew’s private business, and to be honest, I know very little of it myself. Only that he is a man of honour, he works against wickedness, and he’s loyal to the king.’
Nathaniel Tame had gone white. ‘A duke’s man? Working with the law?’
Davey shook his head at once. ‘Drew’s no informer. We’d all be in prison this twelvemonth if he were.’
Jon Spiers looked suddenly exceedingly awake. ‘Clearly Mister Cobham knows exactly what you lot get up to,’ he said. ‘It’s him we don’t know about. But my Felicia helped young Tyballis dress up grand once before, and then she went off helping him with something secret. This Throckmorton gent owes Drew money, does he? And Drew sometimes goes off and lives in duke’s houses, does he? Well, put it all together and it’s clear as the ale in my cup. Our landlord works for the crown. It’s not us little bastards he’s interested in. Reckon he’s capable of a bit of false dealing and sneak-thieving himself if needs be, not to mention a knife between someone’s ribs if called for. But it’s treason he’s fighting, and those as threatens the peace of the land. Them bloody Lancastrians, for instance, the Tudor bastard over the water, and them filthy French sinners what would drown the whole of England if they got the chance. Indeed, I’d guess our Mister Cobham is a mighty important man.’
Davey nodded emphatically. ‘A most intelligent summary. I agree with every word. Though anyone choosing to live here yet could do better, seems a touch loose-in-the-attic to me. To choose the smell of the tanneries when you could have the perfumes of palaces – well, it’s a mighty strange choice.’
Elizabeth Ingwood poured everyone more beer. Casper had the hiccups again and drank heavily. Widower Switt tapped his fingertips on the table top and said, ‘Well, my friends. It appears we are beginning to understand just what a serious situation we find ourselves in. We must save our benefactor from harm. It appears that the security of our king and country may even be at risk. Now, most humbly, I have a suggestion. In fact, I believe I have a plan.’
Chapter Twenty-Five
Tyballis pushed the door open and marched in. Margery Blessop was kneeling at the fireplace, laying twigs. She gazed up at her daughter-in-law in astonishment, and stared with even more concern at the two men who entered beside her.
Mistress Blessop, being well used to her son, a man who frightened most other men, was not intimidated by the slender, sinuous and overdressed creature with passionate eyes and voluptuous mouth. His clothes of turquoise and lavender were impressive, however, and people of quality had never before entered her house. She was even more careful of the other man, sufficiently gnome-like to be either demon or outcast from Bedlam.
Tyballis said, ‘If you lay one finger on me you’ll answer not only to the sheriff, but to his lordship.’
Her mother-in-law winced. ‘Lordship? Well, my Borin is – out. And he’s every right to lay a good deal more than a finger on you, lazy trollop. You’re his legal wife, and running away surely don’t change that.’
Smart in her green worsted, the wine stains hidden beneath her fur-lined cloak, Tyballis wore a headdress borrowed from Felicia. A felt bonnet with a cobalt peak, this was adorned with a gauze veil pinned ear to ear, covering a good deal of the bruising on her face. The low light in the house hid the rest. ‘If Borin is out,’ she said, ‘I shall sit here and wait for his return. But since I know his habits very well, if he’s not beating someone to smashed daub on Throckmorton’s orders, I’d guess he’s in bed. So, if he is, rather than put up with me and my companions all day, you’d better fetch him. It’s important.’
Never having before spoken to her husband’s mother with such imperious authority, Tyballis was enjoying herself. Margery Blessop, however, was both nervous and increasingly angry. ‘You want him, you go up and get him yourself,’ she glared.
But the commotion had woken Borin and his enormous bulk now protruded through the shadows at the top of the stairs. ‘What’s going on?’ he demanded. ‘And you, you whore! You got no right coming back here. No shame at all, you haven’t, and with your fancy men bold as bollocks. Go on with you, back to your brothel.’
Davey had unsheathed his sword and was twirling it beautifully, being rather more practised at the twirl than the thrust. It was Casper who stepped forwards. He peered up the stairs and grinned in frog-like greeting. ‘My old friend Borin,’ he said. ‘An’ a right pleasure it is, seeing you again. Reckon you’ll remember me, right enough?’
Borin grunted, now confused. ‘Thought you was in clink.’
‘I were,’ Casper admitted, ‘but held under a misunderstanding. Now released and pardoned, I am, thanks to our old friend.’
Borin plodded downstairs. ‘Throckmorton?’ he frowned, dubious.
‘No, no, he don’t know me. T’was someone o’ far more influence than that silly bugger,’ grinned Casper cheerfully. ‘The Lord Feayton, in fact. An’ he remembers you pretty good, too.’
‘Ah.’ Clearly, Borin also remembered.
‘I believe you used to work for Feayton?’ Tyballis said, nose in the air. ‘Not that you ever told me about him. Well, now I work for him, too. And he requires a message taken to Throckmorton.’
‘Take it yourself, then,’ grumbled Borin, now looming over her. ‘I never hardly knew the man. Running messages, here and there, and bossy as buggery. Nor never paid me much, neither.’
Tyballis lowered her voice, attempting a casual half-interest. ‘So, you didn’t thump people for him? Not like you do for Throckmorton?’
Borin shook his woolly head. Having just scrambled from bed, his hair was a knotty brown thatch. This now brushed the lower edges of the ceiling beams as he stood bare legged in the middle of the room. He wore only his shirt, frayed hem floating above grubby pink knees. His toenails were even grubbier and his feet were the size of a baker’s shovel. He kicked one against his mother’s rump. Margery was still crouched by the hearth, clearly deciding it safest to stay down. ‘No fire, Ma?’ Borin grumbled. ‘Bloody cold, it is.’ He turned back to Tyballis, frowning at her from his considerably superior height. ‘Never did understand a decent man’s honest toil, did you, then?’ he objected with vague affection. ‘But, no, I never done much for Feayton, as it happens. Messages. Watching folk. But it were him put me onto Throckmorton. And what I do for him is my own business.’