A Traitor's Tears (14 page)

I made the introductions again for her benefit, and repeated what I had told Blanche about the purpose of this visit. Dale curtsied and Brockley bowed. Mistress Wyse greeted them in a pleasant voice with scarcely any trace of a Norfolk accent. She offered us seats and then turned to Blanche, shaking her head in reproof.

‘Whatever are you doing with that broom, Blanche? There's no need. Lucy will be here tomorrow and she can see to the sweeping.' She smiled at us. ‘My maid, Lucy, is having a half-day off. I do feel that one should be considerate towards one's servants, don't you? Do go and put that broom away, Blanche. Bring some wine for us all. And some of the honey cakes I made this morning.'

She smiled again as Blanche went out, and I noticed that her teeth were still in good repair. ‘I have a cook but I enjoy working in the kitchen sometimes. The cakes have raisins in them as well as honey and a little cinnamon too. I used to make them with saffron but saffron is too costly for me now. However, I hope you'll like them. Dear Blanche, she does try to make up for the lack of servants. I only have one maid besides the cook; life isn't always kind to widowed women, and I never wanted to marry again after my dear husband died.'

‘Was that recently?' Dale asked.

‘Five years ago. I took Blanche in just after that, for company, and to give her a home when she was orphaned. But I want it to be a real home. I do
not
want her to do the sweeping. I am hoping that she'll marry well, eventually. Kenninghall House is Crown property now, you know, and well maintained and there's an assistant bailiff on the estate there who is interested in Blanche, though I'm not sure that a bailiff is quite what I want for her. Working on the land, you know, even as a supervisor – well, it isn't exactly what I'd choose for my kinswoman, not now that I have a son at court. Now, you say that you have been brought here because of a strange situation at court. What exactly is this situation?'

Blanche came back with the wine and cakes. Unlike her cousin, Blanche was not only not pretty, but created no impression of charm, either. She was gawky in her movements and her features and mousey hair were unmemorable. She gave the impression of being in Agnes's shadow. I wondered if she was always rebuked if she did the sweeping, or only if there were visitors to be impressed by Agnes's kindness to an orphaned cousin.

While Mistress Wyse distributed the refreshments, I asked after her health. ‘We heard that Roland had come to see you because you had been ill. I hope you are quite recovered now.'

Agnes brushed this off. ‘It was a passing indisposition, nothing more. I fear I made too much of it, when I mentioned it in a letter to Roland. He came hastening to me but there was little need. I am quite well now.'

I said I was glad of that, and forthwith embarked on the full story of Jane's death. On hearing that she had been found lying stabbed among the flowers in her own garden, Agnes uttered a faint shriek and put down a wine glass in order to clap her hands to her mouth.

I gave her a moment to recover and then went on, explaining that a servant of mine (I didn't name Brockley) had been accused but that I was sure of his innocence, which was why I was making enquiries on my own account instead of leaving them to the authorities. Brockley and Dale remained carefully expressionless throughout all this. Finally, I said: ‘I rather hoped to find your son Roland still here. Since he was at Cobbold Hall that morning, it is just possible that he saw something, or someone, that might suggest an answer to the riddle. The only person who was there but has not yet been asked about it is your son. We wondered if he had said something to you about the events of that morning.'

Agnes sipped her wine and slowly shook her head. ‘I can't say that he did. No, I'm sorry. He didn't mention visiting this Cobbold Hall at all. He only talked of his work at court, for Francis Walsingham. It's a very good position for him, though I fear he finds Master Walsingham a hard taskmaster. But there, I told him, you will have to work your way up, and if your employer seems demanding, I'm sure that at least he is teaching you how to do things as they should be done. I want to see Roland do well! And make a good marriage in due course. Ah!' She sighed, reminiscently. ‘I was married off by my parents while I was very young – only fifteen. I was happy enough, I suppose, and yet I might have been happier still had they waited and let me have a chance with wealthier, more noble suitors. I could have had them!'

She pointed to one of the portraits by the hearth. Now I saw that the nearest one was of Agnes as a young girl and then, she had certainly been lovely, very bright of eye, with an inviting smile. The tip-tilted nose gave her a look of saucy sweetness.

‘I was twenty-three when that was painted,' she said wistfully. ‘But I was even better-looking when I was seventeen. That was in 1542, when Henry Howard visited Kenninghall. He was the Earl of Surrey, you know, and the father of the Duke of Norfolk who died so dreadfully on the scaffold last year. Henry Howard never became Duke of Norfolk because his father outlived him. Henry was executed for treason too, poor man. I cried bitterly when I heard of Henry's death. I'm sure he wasn't guilty. He didn't live at Kenninghall but as I said, he visited it in 1542. He was twenty-four and I was seventeen and we met.'

She paused, as though looking back into the past, and there was a silence, until I said: ‘How did that come about?'

‘Oh, there was a great ball at Kenninghall House and my husband, Robert, was a respected local lawyer, and so we were invited. Henry Howard asked me to dance with him and – well, he fell in love with me. He was a poet and he dedicated one of his poems to me. It's called “Vow to Love Faithfully”, and the last line runs
Content myself although my chance be nought.
We were both married, of course, but for men these things don't matter so much. For women … well, I would never have betrayed my dear Robert. Master Brockley, do have another cake. I always feel that men need plenty of sustenance. You have a fine-looking husband, Mistress Brockley, and I'm sure he is an excellent servant to you, Mistress Stannard.'

She gave Brockley a sparkling smile and rose to her feet to present him with the plate of cakes. He took one and she patted his arm with approval. ‘That's right! It's a joy for a woman to see her cooking appreciated.'

Beside me, I felt Dale stiffen and I saw Blanche give her cousin a surprisingly sharp look. Then she glanced towards the window and said: ‘Gilbert is coming along the street! I do believe he's coming here.'

‘Gilbert Shore? Your assistant bailiff?' Agnes Wyse turned away from Brockley to look out of the window. As she did so, presenting us with a view of her profile, I experienced a curious jolt in the pit of my stomach. Seeing her side-face in that way meant that I could see the white in the outermost corner of her left eye and the effect was disconcerting. Gone were the charm and the mystery. The outer white of that eye, and presumably the other eye was the same, was a large, fierce, blue-white triangle. I had never before taken conscious note of such a thing, but now, all of a sudden, I recognized it. In the days when I was one of Elizabeth's ladies, I had noticed it in two of the other ladies. Both had doubtful reputations. And once, when Hugh and I were on foot in London and passing through a dubious-looking lane, a woman had stepped out of a dingy doorway and walked past us, close enough for me to see that she also had eyes like that. I had said to Hugh: ‘I wonder who that woman was. That gown wasn't showy but it cost something and yet, look at these surroundings! Where are we, by the way? You know London well.'

‘Yes, I do. That building's a brothel,' said Hugh. ‘Or said to be. I've never put it to the test, I promise. At a guess, I would say that that was the madam.'

I was still staring at this phenomenon when Mistress Wyse said: ‘As it happens, I sent a message to Mr Shore a few days ago, asking him to call, at his convenience. I am responsible for you, Blanche, and I felt I really ought to meet him and ask what his intentions are. So far, he's only been someone I once saw you walking with, after which I naturally asked who he was. Yes, he
is
coming here. Well, go and let him in. And bring another glass and more cakes.

I got up. ‘We ought to go. You will want to talk to Blanche and her young man in private, I feel sure.'

‘Yes, quite so.' Brockley, too, was on his feet.

‘No, no, finish your wine first. I would never expect a man to leave his glass while it was still half full. I shan't plunge straight into enquiries about his income and lineage! That would be
most
discourteous!' Agnes's merry laugh invited us to share her amusement, but most of the invitation was directed at Brockley. As we sat down again, I saw Dale flush angrily.

Blanche hurried out of the room. We heard the front door open, and Blanche's voice greeting someone, and then feet went past the parlour door, presumably to the kitchen. Glasses clinked in the distance and there was a giggle from Blanche and what might have been the sound of a kiss. Agnes, hearing it, ceased being amused and sighed instead.

‘It's a worry, being in charge of a young girl without a husband to help one. Blanche seems to attract such unsuitable men. First of all, it was a smallholder, one of the tenants of the big house. Samuel Goodbody, his name was. Just a plain man, always with mud on his boots, growing vegetables and fruit for a living and paying rent for his ground.
Not
what I want for my cousin. And now it's this Gilbert Shore and he's not much better. What will become of Blanche, I really don't know. I—'

She broke off as the two of them came in, with Master Shore carrying a dish of cakes and a spare glass. I looked at him with some interest, wondering what kind of man it was who had been drawn to the plain and gawky Blanche. She seemed less plain now, however, for she was becomingly flushed and her eyes were shining. Gilbert Shore put his dish and glass down on the table where the other refreshments were, and politely let himself be presented first to Agnes and then to me and the Brockleys.

‘It's a pleasure to meet you all,' he said, accepting an invitation to be seated. His voice was deep and slow, his Norfolk accent marked. ‘I've wanted to see where you live, Blanche, and to meet your cousin.'

He wasn't at all what I had expected. I had rather supposed that Blanche's suitor would be himself unremarkable, the sort of young fellow who isn't much to look at and is of modest status and knows it. Gilbert Shore was none of these things. He was squarely built, tow-haired and tanned and had an air of being quietly sure of himself. He wasn't handsome but one day he would be striking. In later life, that bony, arched nose and those prominent cheekbones would make his face craggy. It would be a strong face, but not a harsh one, for when I met his hazel eyes, I saw that they were both intelligent and kind. He had a workmanlike leather jacket on over an open-necked shirt, and stout breeches above well-polished boots. It was a form of dress that didn't go with Agnes's ladylike parlour but he managed to seem completely at ease there.

‘Mistress Stannard,' said Agnes, ‘and her companions the Brockleys, called thinking they might find my son Roland here.' Like me, she was taking him in, scanning him from head to foot. ‘I fear,' she said, ‘that my young cousin Blanche was badly named. Blanche means white, but she is a dark horse! I had no idea you were taking walks together until I chanced to see you. Then I asked Blanche who you were, of course. It was wrong of you to be so secretive, Blanche, though I admit you have good taste. You've picked a fine young fellow.' Gilbert Shore remained expressionless and took a draught of wine in a self-possessed manner. ‘How did you meet?' Agnes enquired.

‘Blanche and my married sister are friends,' said Gilbert. ‘My sister is Mistress Susannah Lyon that you've met at the church. Both of you do dusting and cleaning there now and again.'

Badly, if Dr Yonge were anything to go by. Agnes would no doubt like to be known as the pious parishioner who dusted the benches in St Mary's, but I couldn't imagine her enjoying it, or being thorough.

‘Susannah invited you and Blanche to supper maybe three months ago,' Gilbert was saying. ‘You couldn't come, but you let Blanche accept. We met over my sister's supper table.'

‘Ah, yes. I remember. I was expecting a neighbour to sup with me here. So that's when it began. Blanche, refill Master Shore's glass for him. She tells me you work at the Kenninghall Estate as an assistant bailiff, Mr Shore. What does your work involve?'

Gilbert, balancing a plate on his knees, sipping wine and nibbling a cake alternately, began on a description of an assistant bailiff's daily duties. Agnes Wyse commented admiringly on the number of things he needed to know and the masculine skills he possessed and wondered if he could ever spare an hour to deal with a drainage problem in her garden. ‘I do have a man to look after the garden, but he has never been able to solve this.'

‘I'll help if I can,' said Gilbert neutrally.

‘We'll settle a time.' Agnes's attention had veered from Brockley to Shore. ‘One evening, perhaps? You could sup with us. I have an excellent cook and I have been teaching Blanche how to cook, as well. If you are truly interested in her, you'll want to know that your future wife can make tasty meals. She shall prove her skill, while we sit and talk of serious matters, worldly or godly, as the fit takes us.'

Her smile had become unmistakeably conspiratorial. They might have been alone together. The atmosphere in the room had become suddenly tense and when I looked at Blanche, I saw that she was now eyeing her cousin not just sharply, but with something remarkably like hatred. My glance flickered to Dale and Brockley and I knew that they too felt uncomfortable.

Gilbert said, ‘Thank you,' very quietly. A silence fell.

It was time to leave. I got to my feet for the second time and the Brockleys did the same. We made our farewells. Outside, the air was chill with the approach of more rain.