Shakespeare still held his eye. Was there more there, inside him, unspoken? Surely a man brought low with grief would deny himself the pleasure of the tennis court. Would he not, too, adopt a more sombre aspect?
‘Again, I know what you are thinking. But I will not spend my days in black weeds. We live with death, and so it is my duty to live my life to the full. If you think the worse for me because of that, then so be it; but I refuse to play the hypocrite.’
‘I wish only to get to the truth, Mr Giltspur.’
Giltspur raised his palm. ‘Indeed, and it is your job to have suspicions. Mr Secretary pays you for your jealous mind. Think nothing of it. I desire every bit as much as you to find the truth of this matter. If Katherine is behind it, then she must pay the penalty. But if she is not, then we must clear her name and look further afield. You must look further afield, sir. But you are not alone. I will give you what little assistance I can.’
‘You could begin by telling me what you know of your uncle and his business dealings – and then I would like to be taken around this house. I would like to know more about the way he lived. Who makes up this household? I see you have many sentries, all armed, even within the house itself.’
‘The walls are ten feet high and yes, we do have guards, to keep out unwanted intruders.’ He raised an eyebrow in Shakespeare’s direction with meaning. ‘I think you can imagine why this is necessary.’
‘I believe the Queen herself does not have such security.’
‘Perhaps she does not have so much gold.’
Shakespeare pushed on with his questioning. How many servants did he keep? Were there other kinfolk here? ‘And I would like to know more about your uncle himself. Was he married before? Did he have enemies? Most wealthy men do, Mr Giltspur. And if so, who might have wished him harm?’
‘Well, I can answer two of those questions straightway. Yes, Uncle Nick was married before, twenty-five years since. But his wife died in childbirth at seventeen years of age; the babe died, too, so he has no issue. I am told he loved his wife very much and that he could never bring himself to find a new wife – until he met Katherine and fell under her spell. She charmed him and he was beguiled. I am sure you know all about that, sir. At the time of his death, Uncle Nick was fifty-six, but he was no December fool falling for a May schemer. He knew what he was about.’
‘What other kinfolk did he have, apart from you?’
‘There is only one other relative here: my grandame.’
‘I would like to meet her.’
‘That may not be possible. While she has the constitution of a ploughhorse, she has taken the death of Uncle Nick very badly. I think she has aged ten years in a week. She scarcely stirs from her apartments. But as you are here, I shall send messages to her. She must wish this matter concluded satisfactorily, as much as you and I do. And she can only say no.’
‘Thank you, Mr Giltspur.’ He hesitated a moment, then forged on. ‘And what of your uncle’s enemies?’
‘I am sure there were people he loathed and others who disliked him. Which of us can honestly say otherwise? But in my uncle’s case, I could not name them. He was a genuinely likeable man. His handshake was his bond and to my knowledge he never reneged on it. I did not play a great role in the fishing fleet, but I never heard him speak ill of anyone with whom he had dealings.’
‘I have one more question for the present: what manner of man is Mr Sorbus?’
‘He had been with Uncle Nick for as long as I can recall. To tell true, I have no idea whether he even has a Christian name or not. We always called him Sorbus, nothing more.’
‘He seemed very reluctant to grant me access to you.’
Giltspur laughed loud. ‘That is Sorbus! He is the gatekeeper. He believes his main purpose in life is to keep the common rabble away from his master and his master’s family. I am afraid he has airs more haughty than a Hatton or Leicester. As far as he is concerned, you are the common rabble, Mr Shakespeare.’
‘How did he take to his master’s new bride? Was she, too, part of the common rabble?’
‘Oh, the commonest of common rabble. I saw the way he looked at her and how he affected not to hear her when she gave him commands or made requests of him. No, no, Katherine would not have been at all to Sorbus’s taste. The mere sound of her northern vowels must have given him an apoplexy.’
The house was not as big as Shakespeare had imagined from its wide frontage, tennis court and elaborate courtyard. Yet he considered it to be all the finer for its relative compactness; every room had been renovated or built anew with the wealth accrued by the Giltspur brothers. Even the extensive kitchens had a modern character. What was most surprising, however, was the number of servants. Shakespeare lost track of them, but estimated that there were twenty or more, which seemed a great number for a household that until recently had consisted of only Nicholas Giltspur, his new wife Kat, his mother and his nephew Arthur.
‘Has there been any trouble with any of the serving staff, Mr Giltspur? Has anyone been dismissed recently – someone who might perhaps bear a grudge?’
‘I think that most unlikely, but you would have to speak to Sorbus.’ They were walking through the hall. Giltspur raised his racket to point ahead. ‘And speak of the devil, there he is. Sorbus!’
Sorbus acknowledged the summons with a stiff little bow and walked with his precise, measured steps towards Arthur Giltspur, where he bowed again and said, ‘May I be of assistance, master?’
Of course, thought Shakespeare, this young man is now the steward’s master. How was the surly old retainer taking this change of circumstance? No, the word old was wrong. He might have been with Giltspur as long as his nephew could recall, but Sorbus was not old. Shakespeare put his age at about thirty-five. He was a stiff-shouldered little man with a nose as sharp as a sundial’s gnomon and a costly suit of clothes in unseasonal black broken only by the crisp white ruffs at his cuffs and collar.
‘Master?’
‘Mr Shakespeare here would like to ask you some questions. Do him the courtesy of telling him everything he wishes to know.’
‘Yes, master.’
The lack of conviction in Sorbus’s voice was deafening.
‘Did anyone among the servants bear a grudge against your former master?’
‘A grudge, sir?’
‘You know what a grudge is, do you not, Sorbus? It is a desire for retribution for some perceived hurt.’
‘Forgive me, Mr Shakespeare. Of course, I know what the word means, but I wondered why you should use it in respect of the servants. I run a well-ordered household. If a man or woman did not measure up to my exacting standards, they would be dismissed instantly.’
‘And such a one might have cause to feel vengeful towards this house and all in it.’
‘If you say so, sir.’
Shakespeare looked from Sorbus to Giltspur, who shook his head and laughed.
‘Really, Sorbus, I think you could be a little more helpful. Mr Shakespeare wishes to discover the truth about Mr Giltspur’s murder.’