But I had barely scraped the overnight stubble from my chin, and had only just returned from holding my head under the courtyard pump, when Reynold Makepeace came knocking urgently at our bedchamber door.
‘A messenger’s here from His Grace of Gloucester,’ he announced breathlessly when my wife had opened it in answer to his summons. ‘He says he must speak with Master Chapman.’
‘Then he must wait on me in here,’ I called out testily. ‘I’ve not yet finished dressing.’
A few moments later, the same young man who had shown me the way to Mistress Shore’s house three days earlier was ushered in by a deferential Reynold Makepeace, whose only reward was a dismissive flick of the fingers.
‘The Duke wishes to speak to you,’ the young man announced, addressing me and ignoring Adela. ‘You must accompany me immediately to Crosby Place.’
‘His Grace will have to possess his soul in patience until I’ve had my breakfast,’ I snapped, annoyed by this cavalier treatment of my wife.
‘No,’ the young man answered levelly. ‘Now! My lord is in no mood to be kept waiting. You can eat in our kitchens afterwards, if you’re so hungry.’
There was something in his tone, even though he had not raised his voice, that made me think twice about my gesture of defiance, and Adela also begged me to go.
‘You must do as His Grace commands,’ she urged.
I finished dressing as slowly as I dared with the young man’s impatient eyes fixed upon me, then I kissed my wife, assuring her that I should be back within a very short space of time.
‘I’ll return here before I visit Paternoster Row,’ I told her.
Two horses were tethered outside the inn, such, apparently, being the Duke’s impatience to see me that he could not wait for us to make the journey to Bishop’s Gate Street on foot. My guide swung himself into the saddle of one of the beasts and signed to me to mount the other.
‘You can ride, I suppose?’ he asked as an afterthought.
I assured him that I could, although it was not usually my lot to be mounted on such a spirited, thoroughbred animal.
We arrived at Crosby Place very speedily, a path through the teeming streets miraculously opening up for us at the sight of my companion’s azure and murrey livery and his badges of the White Boar and the Red Bull. The mansion looked even more impressive by daylight than it had done at night: a large, strongly constructed house of stone and timber, built around a courtyard and surrounded by what would, in spring and summer, undoubtedly be a beautiful garden. I was again shown into the great hall with its oriel window, marble floor and arched roof decorated in red and gold.
‘Wait here,’ I was instructed. ‘Someone will be with you very shortly.’ And the young man disappeared through a door beneath the minstrels’ gallery.
A number of servants and attendants passed through the hall, eyeing me with either curiosity or indifference, before the Duke’s secretary came to escort me to his master. We found the Duke seated at a table, writing, in one of the smaller chambers, but he threw down his pen and swivelled round to greet me as soon as John Kendall had announced me and withdrawn.
‘Roger! Thank you for coming so quickly.’
I felt ashamed of my former ill-humour and, at the same time, was shocked at Duke Richard’s appearance. If he had seemed unwell four days earlier, I thought him positively haggard now. The dark circles under his eyes were almost black, the eyes themselves sunk deep into their sockets. His face was all bone and no flesh, while his furred gown hung so loosely about him that it was plain to see that he had lost more weight. The hand that he gave me to kiss was skeletal.
He motioned me to the window seat and sat down beside me; or, rather, he perched on the edge, getting up to walk restlessly around the room every few minutes or so.
‘How are your investigations proceeding?’ he asked, coming straight to the point. ‘Have you been able to prove the innocence of Mistress Shore’s cousin?’
‘Not yet, my lord,’ I answered, adding defensively, ‘These matters take time. In any case, after a lapse of so many weeks, it may not be possible to uncover any proof that will solve the mystery one way or the other.’
He began to pace the floor, beating his clenched right fist into the open palm of his left hand.
‘I must have something soon that will enable me to persuade Mistress Shore to use her influence with the King in favour of saving my brother’s life.’
‘If you’ll forgive me for saying so, my lord,’ I ventured, ‘having met Mistress Shore since we last talked on this subject, I don’t believe you need a bargaining counter in order to enlist her help. She strikes me as a tender-hearted lady who wishes no one any harm.’
The Duke rounded on me almost as though I had spoken blasphemy.
‘Do you expect me to beg a favour of that woman?’ He returned to sit beside me on the window seat, and I could see that he was trembling with anger. After a moment or two, however, he controlled his emotions and raised a faint smile. ‘Forgive me, Roger! But for my own peace of mind I must have a bargaining counter, as you call it. Give me the truth about this murder, and I shall be able to enlist Mistress Shore’s support without loss of face.’
‘But what if Mistress Bonifant — Mistress Shore’s kinswoman — is indeed guilty?’ I queried.
My companion was once more on his feet, restlessly roaming from window to table, from table to door and back again. The agitation of his mind would not let him be still.
‘In that case,’ he answered, swinging round to face me, ‘I shall use that fact as a threat to force her to do my will. I shall threaten to have her cousin arrested unless she does as I request.’ The Duke gave a laugh that cracked in the middle. ‘Oh, you needn’t look so outraged and reproachful, Roger. Wouldn’t you use any means in your power to try to save the life of someone you love?’ He again sat down, seizing and gripping one of my wrists so hard that the marks of his fingers remained for hours afterwards. ‘Don’t put me on a pedestal, my friend. I can be as ruthless as any other man when it comes to something that is important to me.’
‘Would His Highness really have his own brother put to death?’ The words were jerked out of me before I had time to think.
I had hardly expected an answer to so impertinent a question, but Duke Richard was once more on his feet, banging with his fist against the wall until the knuckles were skinned and bleeding.
‘Not left to himself, no! I feel sure of it! But with the Queen and all her family determined on George’s death and constantly whispering in Edward’s ear-’ He broke off, suddenly aware of the impropriety of talking to me so openly, and stood, gnawing his underlip and nursing his injured hand. Then he went on harshly, ‘My brother of Clarence was born in Dublin, did you know that? The Irish are wild men, untameable, and it’s as though some of that wildness rubbed off on George. But they’re charming, too, with the gift of the gab, and he also has both those attributes in abundance.’ The Duke continued, talking now more to himself than to me, ‘George has always been like a child, grabbing what he wanted with both hands and then relying on his silver tongue to get him out of trouble. But he looked after me when I was young, protected me, comforted me, during those terrible years of our childhood when we never knew what fresh disaster the next day would bring. I owe him more than I can ever repay.’
I said softly, fearing that I was intruding on private grief, but not knowing what else to say, ‘It’s small wonder that Your Grace is fond of him.’
Duke Richard turned to stare at me, blinking a little, as though he had been unconscious of my presence for the past few minutes, before sitting down again on the window seat.
‘I’m fond of both my brothers, that’s the difficulty, and to see them at odds like this-’ He broke off, giving a shaky laugh. ‘At odds, did I say? Now there’s an understatement! They’re both hell bent on one another’s destruction.’