A Traitor's Tears (23 page)

‘I've remembered something,' I whispered, careful to make sure she couldn't hear. ‘Roland Wyse witnessed the execution of his half-brother Norfolk, as I did. I saw him there. It's true he was very upset. He cried.'

‘W
ell,' I said as we walked back to the inn, ‘our questions have been answered before we even asked them. Agnes knows little or nothing of her son's friends or interests, and most of those, these days, are surely in London. I should have gone there first and sent you off to Norfolk without me, Brockley. My mistake!'

‘We do now know what's made Agnes and Cat so talkative,' said Brockley. ‘Only two weeks ago, Cat lost what by the sound of it was a healthy slice of income, because Agnes ran out of patience and told her so. They're both sore and spitting.'

‘I don't like either of them,' said Dale primly.

‘Nor me,' Brockley agreed. ‘No wonder Ezra never wanted people to gossip about Agnes! Once some really juicy gossip was circulating, there'd be little point in Agnes paying the Spinners to keep quiet! And now he's probably afraid that Agnes will tell the world about the extortion, so he's still trying to get Cat to hold her tongue. My God, what a pair! Well, we'll deal with them.'

We had spoken further to Agnes before leaving her, explaining that it was quite possible that Cat had not talked to anyone but us and if so, we thought we could make sure it stopped there. We parted from her on quite friendly terms. When we reached the inn, Brockley, in the kind of voice that isn't easily gainsaid, declared that we must speak to Cat and Ezra in private. Accordingly, they showed us into a very small room which, to judge by its ledgers and the ink stains on the scarred little table, the chipped earthenware writing set, the pot of spare quills and the small abacus with the cracked beads, was where they did their accounts and made lists of things to be done and stores to be purchased. It was quite difficult to squeeze us all in. Clearly, Agnes's contributions to their income hadn't been spent here. Brockley closed the door. Then he spoke.

‘We have a warning for you,' he said to the Spinners. ‘A warning that you should take very seriously.' His voice held authority, although looking at him, I noticed once more that he looked very tired. His eyes were slightly bloodshot, as though he hadn't slept. ‘We know that you have been wringing money out of Agnes Wyse, by threatening to spread scandal about her, and about the parentage of her son. She has now refused to pay you any more, and quite right, too. Extortion is a very serious crime indeed and carries some terrifying penalties. Agnes told us that she has had to pay high for your silence. No, she didn't tell us the amount but we had already noticed how prosperous your inn seems to be. There must be no more of this.'

They stared at him without speaking, their faces half defiant and half frightened. Ezra's chins were wobbling and there was sweat on his forehead but his eyes were angry. Cat's were sly, and the locks of dark hair flowing down the sides of her face suddenly gave me the creeps. They reminded me of Agnes Wyse's nasty tapestry, with Cleopatra caressing a snake. The hair lay in sinuous curves that made me think of snakes.

‘
Never
attempt to take money from anyone again, by threats,' said Brockley. ‘Agnes will not report you as long as you are silent from now on. We have her word on that. I hope that we were the first you tried to feed with scandal. If you've talked to anyone else, I advise you to find a way to retract, to say you were mistaken.'

‘I warned you, Cat. I said, don't talk about her; she'll find a way to get back at you.' Ezra glowered at his wife.

Cat glowered back and said: ‘She took the earl's fancy away from me. Maybe it was best in the end but no wench would like it. She brushed me aside as if I were nothing.'

‘Over thirty years ago,' I said. ‘Time to let it go, surely. Don't dare to rob or harm Agnes again. Leave her alone.'

‘There's talk about her without us!' Ezra snapped.

‘Then you'd best contradict it,' said Brockley. ‘You've always forbidden it in your inn, haven't you? Go on forbidding it. That was a way of guarding your private pot of gold, I suppose. No use threatening to tell what's already being said! You'd be wise to go on defending Mistress Wyse's good name. We'll leave in the morning. No doubt you would like us to leave now but it's too late in the day to get far. I recommend you to see us as good business. We'll pay our bill as we should. You can hardly complain about
that
. That's all.'

He turned on his heel and both Dale and I followed him out of the congested little office. We made our way to the stair that led up to the gallery at the nearest point to our rooms. As we were about to separate, Dale suddenly said: ‘What
is
the penalty for extortion, Roger?'

‘I don't know,' said Brockley frankly. ‘But then, neither do the Spinners. I expect it's unpleasant. We've done them a favour, warning them.' He paused, with a hand on the latch of their bedchamber door. ‘After Lewes, I wouldn't throw anyone into the jaws of the law for anything short of rape or murder – or maybe arson. But the Spinners don't know that, either.'

That night, I found it hard to sleep. I didn't like the feeling that we were under the roof of two people who hated us. I didn't really suppose that they would murder their own guests in the night, but I felt their hatred as though it were a loathsome smell, oozing under the door of my room.

The night was too warm for comfort. I left my bed curtains open and opened a window as well, but still sleep eluded me. Restlessly, I turned and turned again, seeking a cool place on my pillow and then losing the pleasant chill because my own hot skin warmed the linen. At last, cross and weary, I got up, put on a robe and slippers and went out on to the gallery to lean on the balustrade and gaze into the courtyard. A misshapen moon, two or three days past the full, cast a pallid light into the courtyard. By it, I saw a dark figure emerge from the shadows below, and begin to prowl back and forth.

I leant further over the balustrade, trying to see more clearly. Then I recognized the figure. Its shape, its proportions, the set of the shoulders, the manner of the stride, were all familiar to me. For some reason, Brockley, too, was sleepless and was now pacing about in the open air as though in desperate unease.

I made for the stairs and hastened down to the courtyard. When Brockley's ramblings brought him within earshot, I said his name in a low voice. He stopped short and spun round. ‘Who's there? Who is it?'

‘Ursula Stannard,' I said. ‘Brockley, why are you out here in the middle of the night? Did the heat keep you awake?'

I saw his shoulders slump. ‘Did it do the same for you? I hope it's only been this once, at least. I've not had a good night's sleep since we heard that Heron was out to re-arrest me.'

‘I've thought once or twice that you seemed tired.'

‘Tired! It's like a continual ache. Madam, what progress have we made? Didn't we come to Kenninghall hoping to learn something, anything, new about Roland Wyse, something that might point to a new solution, a new answer to these deaths, Mistress Cobbold's and John Jarvis's? Something that would make sense of all that and this business of worsted looms? But have we? It's plain that even if we'd asked the questions we had in mind, Mistress Wyse didn't know the answers. I can't suppose that anyone else in Kenninghall does either. Most of Wyse's life is at court, nowadays.'

‘But we did learn a few things we didn't expect,' I said. ‘Maybe coming here wasn't a mistake after all. Perhaps the answers we need are hidden in the things we did learn. We know now that Wyse can be violent – enough to worry his mother. We know that he has become harder as the years go by. And we know that he has a grudge against Walsingham. Admittedly, I can't quite see how that connects up, but it looks like the beginning of some sort of track. Brockley, I think I
must
go to London.'

‘I can't see what you mean by the beginning of a track, madam. Yes, we now know for sure that Wyse has a violent temper and we've found out that he was half-brother to the Duke of Norfolk and grieved by Norfolk's execution and detests Walsingham on that account, but does that really help? Will any of that send Heron off on another scent?'

‘Not on its own,' I said. ‘And that's why I must go to London. I think I ought to look at that cipher letter for myself. I know I said to Master Cobbold that Walsingham was sure to have had it checked, but how do I know? If he didn't, then there may have been some deception by Wyse. That was a clever idea that Cobbold and Poole came up with. I have the key – what's supposed to be the key – and I want to decode it and make sure that the letter really is about that loom. I should have thought of that before.'

‘Perhaps,' said Brockley carefully, ‘no useful piece of evidence exists.' He paused and then said: ‘Have you ever
really
considered, madam, that perhaps I might be guilty?'

‘
Brockley!'
I was taken completely aback. ‘Of course not!'

‘It would make sense.' His voice was cool, without inflection. ‘Perhaps I did slink into the Cobbold Hall garden, catch Mistress Cobbold there alone, tax her with the way she had slandered you, receive a dismissive answer, lose my temper with her and kill her?'

Moonlight shows outlines more than detail. I could see Brockley clearly enough but I could not see his eyes. He was a shape and a voice, a voice so devoid of feeling that it was almost sinister. Which was nonsense. This was
Brockley
, whom I had known for years, who had shared danger with me. We had protected each other, been loyal to each other. That Brockley could not possibly have done what he had just said.

‘Well, did you?' I asked, keeping my own voice as brisk and normal as possible.

‘No, I didn't,' said Brockley. ‘But will I ever be able to prove it?'

‘You were in Woking, within two miles of Cobbold Hall at the time of her death, and on previous occasions you were rough with men who repeated the slanders. That is all the evidence against you that there is. No, Brockley. I don't believe you did it and unless you are prepared to go into a church and put your hand on the Bible there and swear that you are guilty and are making a true confession, I never will.'

‘I'm sorry to be causing you so much anxiety, madam.'

‘There's no need to be sorry, Brockley. It isn't your fault.'

‘Thank you.' He turned his head away from me as though he didn't want me to look at his face, even by the inadequate light of a waning moon. Then, painfully, he said: ‘The truth is, I'm afraid. I'm more than afraid. Lewes was … Dear God, I've been a soldier. I've fought. I've killed – in battle, not in cold blood; but yes, I have killed. I have also been in danger, many times. But I've never been afraid like this before. The thought of that place … the thought of hanging … I can't …'

I made a quick decision. ‘I shall go to London, as I said, but I'll go alone. You and Dale must make for … Lowestoft would do, I should think. You know how to get there. I'll give you some extra money.'

‘The ports could have been warned, madam. If Heron has sent word that he's issued a warrant to take me, a port could be a trap.'

‘I doubt it,' I said. ‘He'll have been told by now that I've gone to London, taking you, and he doesn't know we were aware of the new warrant. I think the ports are probably safe for the moment. It shouldn't be too hard to get a passage across to Norway, Denmark, Sweden – any of them. One day you'll be able to come back; I'm sure of it. But no, you must never return to Lewes.'

Brockley was shaking his head before I was halfway through this speech. ‘No! You can't travel all the way from here to London unescorted, madam. I can't allow it.'

‘Of course I can! I've travelled alone before and stayed in an inn alone – don't you remember? You had been captured and I came to your aid. I'm perfectly able to—'

‘I daresay, but it wasn't right or safe. Lone travellers – lone women above all – are always at risk. Footpads exist. I repeat, I can't allow you to make such a journey with no escort.'

‘And I can't allow you to risk yourself for me, Brockley!'

‘I know my duty,' said Brockley. I could hear the tremor in his voice and it tore my heart. ‘And Dale would agree. We can't run off and leave you alone. We're your servants; we take wages from you. We have duties.'

‘Your duties include doing as I tell you!'

‘Not always,' said Brockley.

‘I'm trying to protect you!'

‘And we, you,' Brockley pointed out. He added: ‘Dale is afraid for me, just as you are. I think that now that things seem to have come to a head, she finds even the idea of exile in a strange country bearable. But she knows it would be wrong to desert you so far from home. That is final.'

‘
Oh, really!
' I didn't know whether or not to be furious with him. I also knew that if I lost my temper, it would have no effect on him. I searched for a compromise. ‘Very well, but neither of you are to enter London. On that I do insist. You know the danger. God's teeth, I can surely ride unescorted for just a short distance through London, in broad daylight to wherever Walsingham is – assuming he's
in
London! Through thronged streets and on a good horse I'm not likely to come to harm. I need not spend a night away from you, or if I do, it will be at court or perhaps with Lady Mildred in Cecil's house. But you and Dale must stay outside the city. If, when I get to Walsingham, I can't lift the threat from you, I'll get word to you. Either in person, or by hiring a courier privately.
Then
you and Dale must pack up and make for the coast – Lowestoft, Dover, as you choose – and do it immediately. If Cecil isn't there, Lady Burghley will see I have an escort when I go home. On this matter I
won't
be argued with. Do you hear me, Brockley? I can't bear to think of you being taken again and nor can Dale. Will you at least obey
this
order?'