‘Well,’ said Felicia, ‘personally I have always found the greatest satisfaction in the blessed union of a Christian marriage. But then, dear Mister Spiers is a most exceptional man. There are not many in the world like him.’
‘That’s certainly true,’ muttered Tyballis. ‘But I’m selling my house so a cluster of horrid men don’t pretend they want me, just to get their hands on the property.’
‘None of my business, I’m sure.’ Felicia aimed her nose skywards. ‘Those who prefer the less respectable forms of partnership must doubtless make their own choices.’
‘So we must. But,’ Tyballis said crossly, ‘I think it most unwise of you to inform anyone else of Andrew’s private address. As Lord Feayton, you know, he prefers absolute secrecy.’
‘Oh pooh,’ Felicia said, ‘I was hardly precise and never mentioned the names of the nearby streets. And no harm speaking to a constable, my dear.’
‘I am fairly sure,’ Tyballis pointed out, ‘that Drew’s secret activities are not always, shall we say, in strict accordance with the law.’
‘Nonsense.’ Felicia walked faster. ‘Mister Cobham may be involved in espionage, but it is in the service of his highness and the Duke of Gloucester, so must surely be considered absolutely proper.’
Tyballis caught her up. ‘Proper. But secret,’ she said. ‘Besides, Robbie Webb is just a very ordinary person despite his position, and not always as clever as he’d like to think. He can’t be, if he wants to marry me. And there are so few large houses in the Portsoken near Aldgate; after your description he could certainly find me now if he wanted. Drew has always warned me about keeping silent when possible, and so please don’t tell anyone else.’
‘I think you have laboured the point sufficiently,’ Felicia said with a sniff. ‘But I assure you, dear Mister Cobham would never object to any remark of mine. Some of us are naturally respected for our wise decisions, and I flatter myself I’m one of them. Now, let us discuss matters nearer to practical necessity. What do you think we should purchase for tomorrow’s dinner?’
‘We?’
‘Of course, Tybbs dear. Funds being a little short at present, I presumed you would buy whatever we need. But I shall help cook, I promise, and we can surely plan the meal together.’
The king’s health continued to improve and the doctors permitted a return to a solid diet. They insisted, however, that he remain permanently in the well-heated and draught-free bedchamber, and refused to consider a return to royal duties. In fact, the doctors’ strictures constituted a convenient excuse, for his grace had no desire to leave his bed and had little strength for anything more strenuous than stumbling from mattress to commode and back again. His appetite remained feeble and his limbs pained him. The daily bulletins reported only the positive, but the darker truth, admitted only in private, was less reassuring.
By the eighth day of the month the weather had improved. The sun shone on the city. Alleys steamed, puddles dried and the sleek rolling surface of the Thames heaved with a golden sheen, all its filth turned to pleasant reflections. At Westminster the corridors adjoining the royal apartments had returned to order and his highness had begun to find the confinement to bed irksome. He became fractious, complaining to Mistress Shore that the continuous heating was tiring him and that tepid hippocras was all very well but he would prefer a good strong cup of red wine. He was looking forward to his first bath in a month, promised for the end of the week if there had been no relapses in the meantime. Water on naked limbs might prove dangerous, but days of vomiting and diarrhoea made the anticipation of bathing a pleasant necessity.
Tyballis and the other lodgers met together each midday for a shared dinner at the long table and again at the beginning of each dreary evening, discussing both their own daily business and what they imagined their absent host was presently up to. There had been no word from Andrew Cobham, but this was no surprise since there was no manner of communication available to him.
‘Chatting with dukes and dining on roast venison and swan three times a day,’ Ralph assured them. ‘Our Mister Cobham is living the high life. Them lords will be falling over themselves to thank him for all he’s done.’
‘And ladies,’ muttered Elizabeth.
Tyballis regarded her with studiously dignified silence. Ralph squeezed Elizabeth’s waist and grinned. ‘Not jealous, are we? Remember you’re mine now, Elizabeth my love, and I reckon Mister Cobham’s dreaming of our Tybbs, not dallying with them ladies of York. Besides, he’ll be busy. Talking dawn to dusk, and prayers for the king every day. Up there folks is five days behind the news and will know nothing of the king getting better.’
‘I cannot imagine Mister Cobham on his knees at chapel,’ sighed Felicia. ‘I think he would find an excuse.’
‘No excuses ’mongst dukes and duchesses, not when it’s the king’s life needs praying for,’ Ralph said.
‘You must be missing Nat, too,’ nodded widower Switt. ‘Twinned siblings share a special understanding, they say. I understand the great sadness of loss, and I commiserate.’
‘Ralph don’t miss Nat when he’s got me,’ said Elizabeth. ‘Better to share a bed with me, eh, my love?’
‘Nat snored and had bony elbows,’ Ralph agreed, ‘but at least he never poked me awake a hundred times each night to ask if I loved him true.’
Elizabeth glared. ‘Then let me back to work the streets and earn a decent wage, and I’ll be out of your way.’
‘You’re mine.’ Ralph hugged her again. ‘And I love you true, so no more working with no man but me. I’ll earn the wage. And with them crowds clamouring outside St Paul’s, I’ve been earning well enough lately.’
Felicia sighed. ‘My dear Jon – a little unwell today, I’m afraid, and now taking a well-earned nap – does not believe in stealing from outside churches. He believes it a sin and against God’s –’
‘I think,’ Tyballis interrupted suddenly, ‘there are some very strange noises outside. Is Drew back already? Listen – a clank and a rustle.’
‘What? Where?’ Casper jumped up.
‘Someone from the tanneries,’ Ralph stood quickly, crossing to the long windows and peering out. ‘Mighty late for visitors, but they used to come sometimes, begging a scrap of food when times was bad.’
‘Then why so furtive? Why don’t they knock on the door?’
Although Andrew was away, they had kept up the habit of the fire. The days had warmed but the evenings were chill and gloomy, and without candles the quickening dark shortened the days. A small blaze now lit the hall, but outside the unshuttered windows, the night was pitch. ‘Can’t see anyone,’ said Ralph. ‘It’ll be foxes. Wandering dogs, or ducks up from the pond.’
Tyballis was peering through another window, widower Switt beside her. ‘Look, there,’ he said and pointed, ‘a flash in the dark. That was metal, I’d swear.’
And Tyballis said, ‘We are surrounded. And they are armed.’
Chapter Forty-Nine
Casper pulled his knife and snatched up the carver from the table. Ralph ran up the stairs and fetched the sword he kept in his room. Felicia raced to her chamber to protect the children, and widower Switt strode, a little bent, to the front door.
‘I shall go and investigate,’ he said sternly. ‘An elderly man is less likely to be seen as a threat if there are thieves around.’
‘Thieves?’ said Tyballis. ‘But that’s what we are already – most of us, anyway. And indeed, Mister Switt, they might just find you an easy target.’