Without giving me time to catch my breath in order to phrase a suitable reply to this wicked calumny, she pulled the pillows down around her ears and the bedclothes up to meet them, leaving me standing at the foot of the bed feeling, and probably looking, remarkably foolish.
The remainder of our journey to Dover, the following day, was accomplished in almost complete silence between Eloise and myself, but the fact passed almost unnoticed in the general chatter of our enlarged party. Eloise and Mistress Armiger suddenly became great friends, their light-hearted chatter relieving them of the necessity of paying too much attention to their menfolk. Any animosity the former might have originally experienced towards the latter was submerged in the greater need to ignore my existence. As for myself, Will Lackpenny devoted himself to me and Master Armiger in equal measure, entertaining us and passing the weary miles with the sort of aimless conversation that needed little more than a polite smile or an infrequent nod of the head to give the impression that I was listening. The older man didn’t even offer this much, seemingly sunk in his own all-absorbing reflections, but the fact that he made no interruption was enough encouragement for Will to continue with his artless prattle. John Bradshaw and Philip brought up the rear of our little cavalcade, exchanging nothing but the briefest and most necessary words concerning the journey.
To begin with, it was a day of sunshine and showers, the late-October sun occasionally emerging to stain fields and woodland pathways gold, but later on, towards midday, the sky grew overcast and the wind increased, blowing the clouds into an ever-changing panorama of shapes, the light that filtered between them becoming murky and unwholesome. A day for agues and the shivers. Each time I glanced back at John Bradshaw, his expression had grown a little more worried. The weather appeared to be worsening the nearer we got to the coast.
We faced the prospect of being stranded at Dover for several days, perhaps much longer. My hopes rose. Maybe the crossing, everything, would have to be abandoned and we — Eloise, myself, John and Philip, that is — could return home.
Twelve
It was a hopeless dream, of course.
The weather had certainly worsened by the time we reached Dover, great squalls of wind and rain blowing in from the Channel, but no one was going home. John Bradshaw had been adamant about that, and there was no reason for the Armigers to abandon their journey to see Jane’s French relations. Their time was their own and they could wait indefinitely for the weather to improve, but I did consider that William Lackpenny’s might be limited, forcing him to return to his duties elsewhere.
Eloise was able to disabuse my mind of such a notion. ‘He is, indeed, employed in the household of Sir Edward Woodville,’ she told me, as we unpacked our saddlebags once again in the front bedchamber of the little quayside inn where we had all found accommodation for the night, and for however many more nights proved to be necessary. ‘He is a gentleman-in-waiting, but has been granted an extended leave of absence by the steward to visit his sick mother.’
‘In France?’
She laughed. ‘No, stupid! In Salisbury. At least, that’s what Master Steward believes. So you see, it would appear to be an afair of the heart, after all. In fact, he told me so and swore me to secrecy.’
‘You seem to have wormed yourself well into his confidence,’ I said, shaking out my yellow tunic, now looking somewhat crumpled from its frequent packing and unpacking. ‘When did you discover all this?’
She gave a provocative smile, and for a moment I thought she was going to play silly, coquettish games with me, but then she said, ‘Yesterday evening, after Mistress Armiger and I returned from our walk. We didn’t stay out long, it was too cold, and Jane went upstairs to put away her cloak. During our absence, Master Armiger had also gone up to their bedchamber and it was a little while before they both came down again. A circumstance that I fancy didn’t please our young friend overmuch, so he decided to flirt with me as a sort of revenge. I was able to extract quite a lot of information from him. I virtually accused him of being in the throes of an affair with her and he’s so set up in his own conceit that he couldn’t resist admitting it. They met, apparently, when he was sent to Baynard’s Castle to arrange some of the details of the banquet with the Duchess of York’s high steward — like how many attendants Sir Edward would be bringing with him, their order of precedence at the table and so forth. He says it was love at first sight. He could tell right away that she was unhappy, and once he had clapped eyes on Robert Armiger, he could see why. Their friendship blossomed from there, and on the next occasion he visited the castle, she met him, by prior arrangement, at the top of the water-stairs. That must have been last Monday, when you saw them. The following day, Tuesday, Master Armiger was from home all morning, so Will went to call on Jane at her house near Aldersgate. . Now, why are you looking like that? As though you’d laid an egg?’
‘Am I?’ I queried, attempting to sound offhand and thanking heaven most devoutly for the interruption of a chambermaid arriving at that precise moment with a jug of hot water and the information that supper would be served in the inn parlour in half an hour’s time. ‘No reason. No reason in the world. I was just wondering if I wouldn’t simply change my hose and wear this green tunic I have on with the blue. What do you think?’
She regarded me straitly, her head tilted to one side. ‘I think you’re trying to change the subject as well as your hose. But if you are going to continue wearing green, I shall put on my red dress. We don’t want to look like twins.’
With which tart remark, she unfolded the red gown from her saddlebag, along with a clean undershift, pulled the bed-curtains, as was becoming her habit, and vanished behind them.
‘And don’t use all the hot water shaving,’ she admonished me.
I sat down on the window seat, listening with only half an ear to the drumming of the rain against the closed and bolted shutters, and to the wind whistling eerily between them and the oiled-parchment window panes. My mind was busy going over what Eloise had just told me.
If my smart young gent had spoken truly, then my sighting of him in Stinking Lane was explained. He had been on his way to Aldersgate to take advantage of Robert Armiger’s absence and had had nothing to do with Humphrey Culpepper’s death. But of course the question was, had he been telling the truth? He might well have been. On the other hand, if he was a Woodville spy and had been despatched to follow me and discover the reason for this journey to Paris on the Duke of Gloucester’s behalf, he must have worked out by now that whatever Eloise learned she would pass on. Telling her was as good as telling me, and it was an explanation that fitted the facts as I must have grasped them over the past two days.
I sighed and got up to change my brown hose for the blue, then poured some of the hot water into an earthenware bowl in order to shave and wash my face. I felt travel-stained and weary and none too clean. Tomorrow morning, whatever the weather, I should have to brave the pump in the inn yard, although stripping naked in this wind and rain held little appeal. (But I’d known worse. If you’ve never washed in the snow-broth of a Scottish burn or pump, you don’t really understand what cold is.) I dragged a comb through my hair and rubbed my teeth with the willow bark, then sat and waited for Eloise to emerge from behind the bed-curtains, marvelling as she did so at how she always appeared sweet and fresh however many miles we had covered, and however tired she must be.
A particularly vicious gust of wind seized the shutters and rattled them like the teeth in an old man’s head.
‘How long do you think we shall be stranded here?’ I asked miserably. Every day’s delay added another seemingly interminable stretch to the time between me and my final arrival back in Bristol, where my family were eagerly awaiting my return. (Awaiting my return, anyway.)