Throckmorton house was, as he had expected, in turmoil. The steward Bodge opened the door, and it was Bodge whom Andrew had come to see. ‘My lord,’ Bodge bowed. ‘His lordship is not at home. There has been an unfortunate –’
‘I’m aware of the baron’s death, and of its circumstances,’ Andrew said quietly, and stepped inside. Servants, aprons askew, were running up and down the stairs carrying trunks, coffers and occasional items of furniture. Three liveried gentlemen stood watching, noting, itemising and murmuring. The sheriff and two assistant constables watched from the entrance to the great hall. Andrew signalled to Casper to wait, and led the steward into the small annexe. There he leaned against the window ledge and nodded. ‘Mister Bodge,’ he said softly, ‘you have seen me here many times and you know exactly who I am. And I believe you also learned your late master’s business and the nature of the merchandise he handled. Because of this you were in the process of leaving his employ.’
Bodge looked uncomfortable. ‘Indeed, you are quite right, my lord. But I shall now stay until his lordship’s household is satisfactorily passed into the hands of his heir.’
‘The heir?’ enquired Andrew, vaguely curious. ‘Who is that?’
‘A second cousin, I believe, my lord,’ Bodge said, ‘a gentleman considered of minor importance amongst Canterbury’s wealthy tradesmen. Mister Esmund will now inherit the title, and is expected to take possession of this Hall within the month. But in the meantime there is the sheriff, and Assistant Constable Webb, both instructing us as to his lordship’s property, regarding what should be kept in storage for Mister Esmund, and what should be handed over to the sheriff.’
Andrew nodded. ‘Since we are therefore likely to be interrupted, I shall immediately get to the point. My own line of investigation comes from a higher authority, and has little to do with his lordship’s death but more to do with his previous business. So, tell me who else, apart from myself, was a regular visitor here over the past two or three months?’
The steward quietly closed the door behind him. ‘Four gentlemen were particular visitors in recent months, my lord,’ he said. ‘But I have the names of only three. The fourth, a foreign gentleman, gave his name in such an accent that I was never able to decipher the pronunciation.’
‘French?’ suggested Andrew.
‘I believe so, my lord, or perhaps from the Italian states,’ Bodge answered. ‘The gentleman spoke Latin to my master, but was florid both in appearance and speech. Since I do not speak Latin myself, sir, I know nothing more. The other three, to the best of my knowledge, were respectable English gentry, and came either on normal business, or in friendship.’
‘Their names?’ Andrew insisted.
Bodge nodded and cleared his throat. ‘A Mister Bray, a Mister Colyngbourne and a Mister Yate,’ he said. ‘They were frequently here both individually and together. But I was never privy to their discussions, my lord, and know nothing of their dealings with his lordship.’
Andrew frowned. ‘A Mister Parris, for instance? Do you know that name?’ Bodge shook his head. ‘I assume,’ continued Mister Cobham, ‘you are prepared to confirm these identities to someone else, should I require it?’
‘Oh, my lord, indeed if it will help in any way,’ Bodge said. ‘But I intend leaving this household at the earliest possibility, and would hope to have as little to do with this regrettable business as possible.’
‘I understand,’ Andrew said. ‘However, I expect both your discretion and your future cooperation should I ask it of you.’
Mister Cobham did not finally arrive home until mid afternoon. It was raining again.
Chapter Forty-Six
‘Luke has gone out again,’ Tyballis told him. She had been cooking and came from the kitchens with flour dusting her nose.
‘But this time you chose not to follow?’ Andrew strode in, throwing his wet gloves and hat to a chair.
She hovered in the doorway, watching him. ‘You seemed to think I shouldn’t., I’ve been busy preparing – baking, you see, eels for the Easter Friday, and then crab soup for the Saturday – so, by the time I could even run to get my cloak, he would have been too far gone.’
‘Good.’ He slung off his coat and the raindrops scattered, finding their own level where the terracotta floor tiles had worn concave. ‘There’s little point in following phantoms. I have spent a far more interesting day, talking about you.’
She blinked. ‘Me? How?’
‘With your friend the assistant constable. I first met Webb while extricating you from Bread Street Gaol. Now he’s investigating the deaths of three people in and around your house. I wanted to know exactly what he’d discovered, and he wanted to know how you are.’
‘Did you tell him I was your – that I’m living here?’ Tyballis blushed faintly.
Andrew stood over her, licked his finger and wiped away the residue of flour decorating the tip of her nose. ‘No,’ he grinned. ‘I didn’t tell the good constable that you’ve become my mistress. I told him you had taken excellent lodgings in the same premises as myself, and that you were keeping well, had friends and were becoming prosperous. In fact, I told the truth, which surprises even myself.’
‘But not all of the truth.’
‘No one is entitled to that,’ Andrew said. He had taken her into his arms and now kissed the pale curve of her forehead. Her little starched headdress was knocked askew. He straightened it. ‘You realise, of course, my love,’ he continued, ‘the house your parents left to you lies empty, and is yours again. As a widow, you’re now entitled to move back there, reside alone and do as you wish.’
She blinked up at him. ‘A widow? So I am. I hadn’t even thought of it.’
‘A widow, owning her own property.’ He nodded. ‘You’ll have suitors, my love.’
Tyballis stood motionless in his embrace for a moment, and then wriggled free. ‘That’s horrid, Drew. Don’t say things like that. Or do you think I ought to rush back home and start interviewing prospective husbands?’
‘I think,’ he said, still grinning, ‘you should do whatever suits you.’
She tossed her curls, bonnet again askew. ‘What suits me,’ she said rather loudly, ‘is to get back to the cooking. Something smells as if it’s burning, and if the eel pie is ruined, you can still damn well eat it. And I hope it scalds your tongue.’ She turned with a flounce and marched back into the kitchens.
Andrew remained thoughtful, as if undecided whether to cross the hall and sit by the fire as he so often did, or go on to his own chambers. Instead he sighed, turned and followed Tyballis. He found her staring sightlessly into the great fire and the cauldron hanging there upon its chains. She held a wooden ladle, but was stirring nothing. Andrew came behind, put both arms around her and turned her to face him. Then he extricated the ladle from her grasp, popped it back into the cauldron, led her to a bench at the long kitchen table, sat and pulled her firmly onto his lap. ‘You dislike being my mistress?’ he asked her.
She shook her head. Escaping curls stuck to her cheeks. ‘I suppose – it’s just the word. It’s the perception. No, I don’t dislike it. Or I wouldn’t – well, I wouldn’t do it. But Borin always called me … and I think Margery was one once, long ago. So, I don’t like to think I’m no better. It’s silly, but with you talking about suitors, as if you’re trying to offload me …’ She gazed at him suddenly. ‘Drew, if you do ever want to get rid of me, then say so. I have my pride, too – even if I am just a woman.’