Within the stable courtyard, two grooms, feet wedged up against the wall and cups in their hands, sat talking under cover. Nat, shadowed by Ellen, slipped past unnoticed.
A locked door, extremely narrow and almost unseen within the building’s façade, stood two steps down. Nat already knew where it led, for Tyballis had described every entrance to him. He quickly pulled out his knife and a twist of steel wire, picked the lock and pushed through into the blackness inside. Again Ellen followed. Tyballis had warned of chief cook John Knody who would set up a cry to alarm the whole house. But another door led under the principal staircase directly into the main house. Since Baron Throckmorton would definitely be out, and his personal desire for secrecy meant few of his servants were permitted access to his private chambers, the security on his home was inevitably lax. Nathaniel Tame and his small companion would not be disturbed.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
William, Baron Hastings, regarded the bunch of oddments standing trembling before him, and wondered why his steward had considered admitting them at all. Then he looked towards the smaller of the two women, and understood. His lordship waved an impatient hand. The two huge rings caught the firelight. ‘Play, then,’ he said wearily. ‘Show me what you can do. But this palace teems with musicians, both resident and itinerant. I cannot promise payment.’
They had pushed her in front, and Tyballis curtsied, though not too deeply, uncomfortably aware of the depth of her neckline. Felicia had sewed this in gauzy linen, a bodice no more modest than that of a chemise and impossible to keep fastened either at her wrists or over her breasts. Equally improper, the gown’s hemline purposefully exposed her ankles, and although she wore her own shift beneath, it was not long enough to compensate. Now the rain had plastered the thin material to her legs, outlining each curve. At least her head remained covered, the little headdress tied tightly beneath her chin also shading her face.
Davey, overawed and frightened of losing his turban with any sudden movement, looked to Jon. Jon Spiers looked to widower Switt. Mister Switt straightened his shoulders, bowed very low and brought his flute to his lips. Jon closed his eyes, rapped a slow, steady beat on the little drum hanging at his waist and began to sing. The flute, one note held high and long on a minor key, wavered only once. Davey moved beside Jon. He raised the bowl of the gittern against his shoulder, lowered his head and put the quill to the strings. Music, soft and plaintive, oozed into the great chamber, joining the thrum of the flames from the hearth and the sound of the rain outside.
Silently praying for courage, Tyballis stepped forwards. It was then that Elizabeth followed Davey’s secret orders and, grabbing Tyballis, wrenched the neck of her bodice sharply downwards while pulling the covering from her hair. ‘Now, dance,’ hissed Elizabeth, and pushed.
Tyballis, long fair curls fluffed around her naked shoulders, knew her blushes must be vivid as the fire. With the unblinking gaze of Lord Hastings directly upon her, she tried to adjust her clothing. Hastings smiled slightly and shook his head. ‘I would not do that, if I were you,’ he murmured. ‘Whatever you were hoping to achieve will surely be better served as you are.’
The music had not hesitated. Elizabeth, moving back to leave Tyballis standing alone, was now also singing, her thin soprano echoing Jon’s rich baritone. Tyballis felt intoxicated, as she had once when Andrew had poured her too much good Burgundy. Lord Hastings’ grandeur, his arrogance and his direct gaze discomforted her. She could not remember one step of the dance she had learned. Very softly she said, ‘My lord, my companions make beautiful music, though I can neither sing nor dance and would spoil their melody if I tried. But there is something mightily important I have to say, if you will permit me to say it.’
‘I believe I can imagine what that would be,’ replied William Hastings.
Tyballis lowered her eyes, her voice meek. ‘I am not – it isn’t that, my lord. I fear for someone’s life, and have come to ask – to beg for your help. Simply to permit me admittance, and to send guards – if it pleases you, my lord – to the apartments wherever Lord Geoffrey Marrott might be found.’
Hastings frowned and sat up. ‘What trick is this? You come to me, but looking for that creature’s bed?’
‘No, my lord, I swear.’ Her whisper almost faded. ‘It concerns not only Lord Marrott, but the safety of the realm, my lord.’
‘You make no sense, girl. What nonsense is this?’
‘Danger, my lord. Poison, and treason.’ She sank to her knees and clasped her hands. ‘I come from Lord Feayton. But he is away with the duke, my lord, and cannot know the imminent threat to his own life. Someone is planning to kill him because he knows too much. He knows of plots – of treachery – and of poison brought to the court within the hour, ready for sale.’
Sitting abruptly forwards, Hastings, eyes narrowed, gripped Tyballis, his fingers biting into her naked shoulders. ‘What duke? Who is Feayton? There’s no Lord Feayton at court, nor ever has been. I know every peer of the land, and Feayton is not one of them. If you lie to me, girl, I’ll have you whipped within an inch of your life.’ He then relaxed suddenly, as if guessing at something, and released her. ‘This Feayton,’ he said more gently, ‘who does he work for? Who are you?’
The music stopped. ‘Tyballis Blessop, my lord. I work for Lord Feayton who works for the Duke of Gloucester. And what I can prove is of the utmost urgency.’
‘Are you implying,’ Hastings said, the quiet menace in his voice now silky, ‘that Lord Geoffrey Marrott, close friend to his grace the Marquess of Dorset, is complicit in crimes against the state? I warn you again, if you lie I shall have you punished. But if you have proof, present it to me immediately.’
Tyballis cringed. She had forgotten her own near-nakedness and was now conscious only of the threat in Lord Hastings’ eyes. ‘If you will allow me access and set guards to watch, then there will be proof, my lord. Baron Throckmorton is coming in less than an hour, selling poison. The sale must be secretly witnessed. But the baron believes himself expected, and unless I see Lord Marrott first, he will not be, and the sale will not go ahead. ’
‘What foolishness is this?’ His lordship was impatient. ‘Throckmorton was found dead not four months past.’
One nervous squeak came from a plucked gittern string, and then was quiet. George Switt stepped forwards and bowed. ‘If it pleases you, my lord, we speak of the new baron, Harold, the dead baron’s brother.’
Hastings stared at Switt with contempt, then turned back to Tyballis. ‘And you claim Throckmorton comes to see Lord Marrott for what purpose?’
There was a pause. ‘To sell arsenic,’ Tyballis whispered. ‘Not as medicine, but for murder.’
She was allowed to adjust her clothing. Hastings watched her calmly, waiting as she fumbled with her bodice. Elizabeth helped her tighten the laces at her waist. At age fifty-three the baron had frequently felt some of his old strengths diminishing, but not yet in the area of libido. Now he was trying to remember when he had last seen such a delectable pair of breasts, high-set, firm, clear-skinned and just the right size for his hands. He sighed, looking to the slim pink wrists and then further down to the neat little ankles. The face above was remarkable, but it was not the face he would likely dream about later that night, for Hastings now knew the name of Gloucester’s informer, whose identity the duke had refused to share. And the wench promised a more orgasmic climax still, for it seemed that vile little bastard friend of Dorset was close to proving his own guilt, and if Marrott could implicate Dorset too, so much the better. The deal would be witnessed, and Hastings would finally carry clear evidence to the king. He scratched the greying stubble on his chin, called for his page and smiled benignly at Tyballis. ‘Tell Lord Marrott,’ Hastings chuckled, ‘you’re a gift from Throckmorton. He’s a fool and will suspect nothing. Meanwhile I shall set guards outside the doors. Immediately Throckmorton arrives they’ll disperse, allowing sufficient time for the transaction to take place.’ He looked Tyballis over again, and nodded, satisfied. ‘Meanwhile I advise you keep to the bedchamber. Once Throckmorton leaves, I shall have him arrested. Then my men will push in and take Marrott into custody. I shall also send my page to bring you back to me.’