‘If you will all excuse me,’ I said, ‘I must speak with John Bradshaw about the arrangements for tomorrow. I said I’d meet him in the stables after supper.’
I noticed Eloise glance sharply at me, but no one else, of course, saw anything unusual in this decision.
‘Don’t be long, then,’ she admonished me in a very wifely spirit. ‘When the table’s cleared, we might while away the evening with a game or two of three men’s morris. I see a board and counters up there on the shelf.’
William Lackpenny endorsed this proposal with great enthusiasm, in no way dampened by Master Armiger saying austerely that he would prefer to sit by the fire and read a book.
‘A good idea, sir. We shan’t disturb you too much, I hope, with our nonsense.’
‘Meantime,’ said Eloise, ‘I propose taking a short walk outside, just to get a breath of air. Would you care to join me, Mistress Armiger?’
‘Oh, yes, indeed. If. . That is if. .’ She looked timidly at her husband.
‘Oh, go! Go!’ he answered irritably. ‘But don’t start snivelling tomorrow that you have a rheum.’
‘No, I won’t, I promise. I shall wrap up warmly.’ She smiled at Eloise. ‘I’ll just run upstairs and get my cloak.’
‘And I must have one, too.’ Eloise turned to me with a winning smile. ‘Sweetheart, will you go up to our bedchamber and fetch mine for me? The grey one that I’ve been wearing for the past two days.’
What could I say without appearing a curmudgeon? I noticed that Robert Armiger didn’t offer to get his wife’s cloak. But then, she didn’t ask him to.
I followed Jane Armiger upstairs and I followed her down again, a neat little figure in a brown cloak.
A familiar figure in a brown cloak.
I realized with a shock that I was looking at the back of the same young woman who had waited for William Lackpenny on the water-steps of Baynard’s Castle just a few days ago.
Eleven
‘You have been keeping things to yourself, my lad, haven’t you?’ John Bradshaw sounded amused rather than either reproachful or condemning.
He and I were sitting comfortably together on a bale of hay in an empty stall of the inn stables, a candle in its holder placed on a ledge just above the manger and suffusing the confined space with a warm, golden glow. From neighbouring stalls came the occasional shifting of hooves or a gusty breath blown through flaring nostrils as the horses of our party and those of Master and Mistress Armiger settled themselves for the night.
Bradshaw took a swig from a leather bottle that he had produced from some capacious pocket, then wiped the neck on his sleeve and handed it to me. I took a generous gulp of some wine I had never tasted before but which seemed to run like fire through my veins and made the world at large appear a much less harsh and hostile place.
‘What is it?’ I asked, but my companion shook his head and shrugged. He knew no more about fine wines than I did.
‘Got friendly with one of the cellarers,’ he said in explanation. ‘Asked him to fill the bottle with something warming for a cold autumn evening.’
‘Ever tasted that Scottish stuff?’ I enquired. ‘Usquebaugh they call it. The water of life. More like liquid fire, if you ask me. Disgusting taste! Distilled from grain, so they say. No civilized person would touch it.’ I drank another mouthful of wine before handing back the bottle, starting to wipe my mouth on the back of my sleeve and then remembering that I was wearing Master Taylor’s handsome yellow tunic, which eventually had to be returned to him. (Timothy would not be pleased if he had to pay extra costs for damages incurred.) ‘So!’ I leaned forward, clasping my hands loosely between my knees. ‘What do you think I ought to do?’
John Bradshaw stoppered the bottle and restored it to his pocket. ‘Nothing you can do, is there? Not as far as confessing the error of your ways, I mean.’ I opened my mouth to speak, but he waved me to silence. ‘You don’t have to go over all the reasons for your silence again, lad. I understand perfectly well. I know what Timothy can be like when he gets on his high horse. He’s a good friend of mine and an equally good man at his job, but conceited ain’t the word for him. Not to mince matters, he’s an arrogant little sod. I don’t know much about the duke, mind. Don’t often come face to face with him, not like you. But I wouldn’t care to get in his bad books. There’s a forbidding look about him on occasions that makes me think he could be the wrong man to cross. I reckon he could be unforgiving if he took against you. Like the Woodvilles, for instance. It’s a well-known fact that at one time or another the whole Woodville clan have done their best to win his friendship, knowing how much the king loves and esteems him, but even after all this while, he remains their enemy. Especially these past four, nearly five years since the Duke of Clarence’s death, which people who are close to him say he blames them for. Anyway,’ he continued, ‘we’re straying from the point. I’m just saying that I understand why you didn’t tell Timothy and His Grace everything. So! Let’s consider what we know.’ He slid off the bale of hay, opened the door of the stall, peered up and down in the blackness, then shut us both in again and resumed his seat. ‘No one about,’ he announced. ‘Lamprey’s gone for his drink in the ale room. I told him not to hurry. We have the stable to ourselves. Now-’
‘There’s one thing I want to ask you,’ I interrupted. He raised his eyebrows. ‘Something that’s only recently occurred to me. Last Wednesday evening, the evening I saw William Lackpenny in Edward Woodville’s train — ’ he nodded — ‘why wasn’t it the king who gave the banquet to honour Earl Rivers and his brother? Or why wasn’t he at least present at the banquet given by His Grace of Gloucester? The only answer that suggests itself to me is that King Edward was too ill to do either. Do you think I’m right?’
My companion prised a bit of his supper loose from between his front teeth before replying. ‘Your solution could well be the correct one,’ he admitted. ‘The rumours circulating around Westminster all say that His Highness is a sick man. Sicker than he or anyone close to him will let on. Gossip infers that the queen is very worried, that there have been certain secret meetings between her and her brothers, that messengers between Westminster and the Prince of Wales’s court at Ludlow have doubled in the past few weeks, that during his stay in London, between the end of the Scottish invasion and his return to Ludlow, Earl Rivers has been in daily contact with Her Grace.’ John Bradshaw turned his head and regarded me curiously through the gloom. ‘Why are you interested? Might this have any bearing on. .?’ He broke off abruptly. ‘No! Say nought! I don’t wish to be told anything. It’s better that way.’ He offered me another drink from his bottle, but I refused it. The stuff was potent and I needed to keep a clear head. He nodded understandingly, putting it away again. ‘Now, as I was about to say before this digression, let’s reckon up exactly what is known and what is surmise.
‘First, two men have been killed by having their throats cut. That is fact. Their deaths might be linked to whatever it is you’re up to in Paris for Duke Richard. Maybe, maybe not. Probable but not certain. You saw William Lackpenny in Stinking Lane at the time of the first murder, but other than that — which could well be pure chance — there seems to be nothing to connect him with anyone else except, you think, Mistress Armiger.’
‘I’m sure she was the woman I saw with him on the water-steps at Baynard’s Castle,’ I insisted. ‘And we know she and her husband have been staying there.’
‘True,’ John agreed. ‘But she’s young and pretty, Lackpenny is young and handsome, and Master Armiger is elderly and dull. On the face of it, nothing puzzling about that. Somehow or another, the two young people have met and been attracted to one another, leading to secret meetings. On the other hand, we also know that Lackpenny is a member of Edward Woodville’s household, which might be significant. And we haven’t yet discovered why Master Blue Feather is going to France. I’ll leave that to you, Roger. I can’t ask him. I’m only the servant.’