Catesby frowned, then laughed suddenly. ‘Yes, Stillington indeed. I might have guessed you’d already know him as the witness to – well, enough said. A clandestine matter – be it marriage or otherwise – is best left unspoken. You’re a master of diplomacy, and a man of many secrets. But do you respect the secrets of others, I wonder?’
Their horses trotted slowly, careful of slipping, for the streets were rimed between the cobbles. Andrew hunched a little in his saddle.
‘My answer to that,’ he murmured, ‘would depend on who asked.’
‘And if I asked?’
Drew looked abruptly across at the other man. ‘An honest answer? How unwise to ask for honesty from a man who trades in subterfuge. But in all honesty, Will, if I knew that you cheated on your wife, which you do, I would respect your secret. If I knew you occasionally cheated in your profession, which I also know, then I would keep silent to all but his grace of Gloucester. But if I knew you traded in treason, which I am sure you do not, then our friendship would end and so would the secrecy.’
Catesby nodded, thoughtful. ‘It’s a fair answer. For some time now I’ve voluntarily aided you in uncovering the threats to his highness’s life. So, you’ve reason to trust me, whatever your opinion of trust. And I have reason to trust you, whether you look for it or not. Keep me informed, if you will, my lord; I ask nothing more. My life and career may depend upon it.’
‘I’ve no objection to your personal ambitions,’ Andrew said. The wind had found the back of his neck, and he quickened his horse’s pace a little. Catesby kept alongside. ‘So, I shall keep you informed of eventualities,’ Andrew continued, ‘and I wish your career God speed. But remember ambition can also be used against you.’
‘On the contrary,’ grinned Catesby, ‘it’s a tool to use against others.’
‘An opinion,’ Andrew nodded, ‘wiser not mentioned to Lord Hastings.’
As he saw Mister Catesby back to his lodgings, already the light was waning, and a thin silver-and-crimson lining had attached behind each blustering cloud. Mister Cobham then slowly turned his horse and rode back to Bishopsgate and the small annexes fronting Crosby’s Place.
The winter evening settled sullen and chill, and the lingering sunset remained as listless as he felt. He was uncomfortably aware of an unaccountable melancholy and an unaccustomed tiredness. A sense of foreboding hung behind his more urgent thoughts, and irritated like a flea bite in the night. But the matters that had consumed him for so long, now seemed strangely less consequential, and a sudden desire to rest became paramount. He would have stayed where he was at Crosby’s, where the troubles of the world could not enter, where the bed was deep, warm and aired, and the servants well trained. But he was expected at home. His freedom of choice had become suddenly limited, not only through his promise to return, but through the inescapable fact that he wished to. The interference of his own personal desires reminded him that he had, for the first time in his memory, something to look forward to. Which meant there was something he risked losing. The dangers of his life had become unexpectedly double-edged.
Andrew quickly entered the unlit inner chambers, shook the cobwebs of unwelcome introspection away, called for a servant to bring hippocras and began to change his clothes.
It was some considerable time later when he arrived at his own home, having passed through the Aldgate on foot only minutes before it closed for the night. The bright and frosty day had shed its ice over puddles and gutters, a brittle white gloss left for moonshine reflections to come. Hunching his shoulders beneath his shabby velvets, Andrew hoped someone had kept up the main fire in the hall, and pushed open his front door.
He was not fully inside when someone screamed.
The echoes settled, telling of direction. Swallowing exhaustion, Andrew Cobham took the stairs two at a time and ran to the room where the screaming had begun.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Although it was now some months that Tyballis had lived at Cobham Hall, she had never yet entered the attic lodgings. She was therefore pleased to be invited in. She had gone up there to inform Mister Parris regarding the complicated results of his kindly written message to Baron Throckmorton. The young man had smiled widely and asked if she would care for refreshment.
‘I am not as casual in friendship as some of my neighbours,’ Luke had said, ‘and have always considered it highly improper to invite a solitary young woman into my chambers without chaperone. My upbringing, you know, Mistress Blessop, taught me a conventional attitude to feminine companionship. But we have, I believe, now become trusted friends. Forgive me, but perhaps you will therefore permit me to alter the habit of many years.’
‘Many years, Mister Parris?’ Tyballis had laughed. ‘I can’t believe you’re much older than I am myself.’
He had bowed. ‘But old in experience, mistress. Now please, won’t you come in? All those stairs must be exhausting to a delicate female and I had already prepared a little mulled wine, well spiced, which is still warm.’
Mindful of his timidity and sense of propriety, Tyballis sat on the edge of the stool, hands clasped in her lap. But within a short and amiable half-hour, she began to relax. ‘It was particularly helpful of you to write the message to Throckmorton,’ she said, ‘especially considering your position. That is, everyone else here – well, it’s no secret and you must know as well as I do – they are all petty thieves, or at least make some sort of living in a thoroughly illegal manner. Whereas you, Mister Parris, having been a man of the church, must disapprove of such matters. So, to falsify someone else’s name and signature …’
Luke nodded over his wine cup. ‘I did not copy any signature, of course, mistress. I cannot know how Lord Marrott is apt to sign, and am quite incapable of convincing forgeries. However, I was content to write the letter since one small sin must be judged against the greater good. Mister Switt’s plan was an excellent one, but if the baron had not trusted the order and refused to take the dreadful package to court, we should have been undone, I fear.’
‘Well, nothing worked according to plan anyway,’ Tyballis said. ‘But Drew has been warned of Throckmorton’s horrible plots, which is what really matters. I should have been exceedingly pleased to know the wretched baron was in gaol where he deserves to be, but at least he won’t be kidnapping anyone else in the future. He must realise he’s now in danger himself.’
Luke slowly sipped his wine. ‘To be a trader in poisons – well, I cannot even imagine such horror. I would never sleep, never rest, were such a thing on my conscience. And Mister Cobham, of course, is just the same – searching out the evil in others while denying his own most appalling –’ Tyballis looked up with a jerk, but Luke shook his head. ‘I must say no more. Andrew Cobham has been a friend to me for many years and I owe him my loyalty.’
‘You know him well, then?’
‘Longer than the other tenants here.’ Luke smiled. ‘He rescued me – if rescue is not too grand a word – from the monastery where I was an unhappy novice – forced by my father, you see, and on deciding to leave I faced many difficulties I could not solve alone. Having nowhere to go – meeting Andrew was my salvation. So, I must not speak a word against him. I’m sure you will understand the necessity for my silence.’
Tyballis frowned. ‘Well, to be honest I didn’t have any idea there was anything to be silent about. You’ve intrigued me, Mister Parris.’