The Dance of Death (19 page)

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.'

‘I'll set Eloise on to do it,' I said. ‘She likes to exert her charms. In which case, I must tell her all that I've told you.'

John Bradshaw shifted his position on the hay. ‘I think it would be as well,' he agreed. ‘But not all of it. Just about Lackpenny and the Armigers. As for the rest, I can only reiterate: trust nobody, be suspicious of everyone, including Mistress Gray, and watch your back at all times. Even the Armigers may not be as innocent as they seem. But regarding this man you thought you saw being landed at the castle in the early hours of Wednesday morning, are you sure about this? You might have imagined it.'

‘No.' I was definite. ‘I did see someone. And I've told you what followed. There was the murder of the boatman Jeremiah Tucker and then, the same evening, the fellow in the common hall who went to great lengths not to be seen by me. Too much of a coincidence, you must agree.'

My companion pursed his lips but didn't contradict me. Instead, he sighed and stared in front of him for a moment or two before finally saying, ‘There's a great deal going on here, Roger, that either makes perfect sense or none at all, depending how you view things.' He gave vent to a fat chuckle that started somewhere deep in his throat and emerged as a sort of chortle. He slapped me on the thigh. ‘Which,' he went on, ‘is about as unhelpful a remark as you could ever wish to hear. I'm sorry, lad! You did right to tell me. Two of us on our guard is better than one. I might even instruct Lamprey to report if he notices anything he thinks vaguely suspicious. I shan't say why, of course.'

‘How is he? He won't let me near him, not even to express my regrets.'

John Bradshaw snorted. ‘He says barely anything. I'm beginning to think he's enjoying his grief, wallowing in it. Oh, all right!' This as I made a gesture of protest. ‘Maybe I'm wrong. If I remember aright, he was always a bit of a surly beggar when we were young, soldiering together in France. He certainly seems to have thought the world of this young woman he married. Her death must have been a great blow to him.' He slid from the bale of hay as he spoke and I followed suit.

‘I'd better get back,' I said. ‘Eloise will be suspicious of my protracted absence. There will be questions.'

Again came that throaty chuckle and another slap, this time on the shoulder. ‘My, my! You and she are really entering into the spirit of the thing. You're beginning to sound like an old married couple. You'll have to be careful, Roger.'

I realized with a shock of dismay that John Bradshaw was right: I should have to be careful. I waited while he checked on the horses: then we walked together the length of the stables. It was as we were passing the last stall, which also appeared to be empty, that I stopped suddenly, causing John to bump into me and tread hard on my heels.

‘What's the matter?' he hissed.

‘I thought I heard someone moving in there. Don't worry! I'm just jumpy. If it's anything at all, it's most likely to be rats.'

‘We'll see about that,' he whispered. ‘Just take your leave as loudly as you can and bang the outer door.'

I did as he bade me, adding a yawn for good measure as I called, ‘Goodnight!' He grunted in reply, then placing a finger to his lips, pounced forward, pushing the stall door wide and entering, his candle held aloft, the flame illuminating the narrow interior and flickering in some unidentified draught. I peered over his shoulder, but his bulk filled the doorway and all I could see were the shadows dipping and curtseying across the walls.

‘There's no one here,' he said at last. ‘It must have been a rat, like you said.' He snuffed the candle-flame between thumb and forefinger, grimacing at me as he did so. ‘Calm yourself, lad.' We emerged into the cold night air. ‘If you start jumping at every sound, you'll put yourself in danger. You won't hear the ones you ought to be listening for.'

With which parting shot, he went off to the kitchens, where he and Philip were sleeping, and I made my way back to the inn parlour to find a noisy game of three men's morris in progress.

‘You were a long time in the stables, talking to John Bradshaw.' Eloise accused me as we undressed for bed.

It was an embarrassing situation. Last night, we had been too tired to be conscious of anything but the need to tumble between the sheets and fall into an exhausted slumber. Tonight, however, we were uncomfortably aware of each other's every move. Eloise had drawn the bed-curtains and vanished behind them, occasionally asking me to pass her things, like her night-rail, that she had forgotten to take with her. I was careful to thrust my arm between the drapes no further than just above the wrist, and retired to the furthest, darkest corner of the room to shed my own clothes, except of course for my shirt. I was quite glad, therefore, to divert my thoughts of spending a night by her side with a little conversation.

‘There were things we had to discuss,' I said.

‘Such as?'

‘I'll tell you in a moment or two, when I've cleaned my teeth.'

I found the piece of willow bark I always carry with me and rubbed it around the inside of my mouth, by which time Eloise had drawn back one of the curtains and was revealed sitting propped against the pillows, her fair hair curling attractively over her neat, shapely little head. She wrinkled her nose when she saw me. ‘Don't you ever change your shirt to go to bed? Don't you have a night-shift?'

‘I usually sleep naked,' I answered shortly and not altogether truthfully, but it had the desired effect of quietening her. ‘Besides,' I went on, ‘you've grown very nice all of a sudden, haven't you? What about all those sweaty soldiers you slept amongst while you were masquerading as a boy? I'll wager they didn't bother with night-shifts.'

‘Oh, get into bed,' she retorted irritably, ‘and stop evading my question. What were you and Master Bradshaw talking about all that time?'

I did as she said, ostentatiously keeping to my side of the mattress as far as possible without actually falling out again, and sitting bolt upright. Since leaving John at the kitchen door, I had had time to consider the advisability of following his instruction not to tell Eloise everything, only what I had seen concerning William Lackpenny and Jane Armiger. Indeed, I couldn't think how I had been foolish enough to suggest otherwise. I still knew nothing more about her and where her true sympathies lay than I had done five days ago. I realized with a shock that, in spite of the past, I was beginning to like and trust her, and that both emotions could be fatal to my safety and to the mission I was employed on for Duke Richard. I was going to have to watch myself and guard against the strange fascination she was starting to have for me. I reminded myself that sorcery was one of the charges against her dead master, the Scottish Earl of Mar.

‘Well?' she demanded when I continued to be mute.

‘If you must know,' I told her at last, ‘we were talking about Master Lackpenny and Mistress Armiger, both of whom I've seen before.' I proceeded to tell her about their meeting on the water-steps of Baynard's Castle and how I had noticed the former landing on Wednesday evening from Edward Woodville's barge.

She was immediately intrigued, as I had known she would be, by the implied romance, but she was quicker-witted than that. ‘And you said nothing to Master Plummer?' she queried with raised eyebrows and a little accusatory smile hovering on her lips.

‘It didn't seem important at the time,' I excused myself, saying nothing of having seen my smart young gent in Stinking Lane.

‘Not even when you found him to be a Woodville adherent?' She regarded me quizzically for a second or two, then burst out laughing. ‘Confess it, Roger! You were afraid of a tongue-lashing because you'd omitted to mention him earlier.' She adopted Timothy's scathing, pompous tone when he was riding his high horse. ‘“Nothing is ever too small or too insignificant to be kept to oneself in this business. Your safety and the safety of others may well depend on sharing every single scrap of information. Do I make myself clear?”'

I had intended strenuously to deny being afraid of Timothy, but her impersonation was so vivid and so accurate that I could only join in her mirth and smile ruefully. ‘Perhaps,' I admitted.

She reached over and patted my hand where it lay on the coverlet. ‘I shouldn't let it worry you,' she advised. ‘I feel certain that you've merely stumbled on a secret love affair that has nothing to do with anyone or anything else but themselves. The fact Will is a member of Sir Edward Woodville's household is probably just a coincidence.'

Like the fact that he was on his way to France? Like the fact that he had been lying in wait for us – for that was how it was beginning to seem to me now – at Rochester? Like the fact that he had arranged to meet the Armigers, also making their way across the Channel, at Canterbury? I said none of this to Eloise, but as I have remarked before, she was nobody's fool.

‘If the Armigers are going to France,' she pointed out, reading my thoughts, ‘to visit her kinfolk, then don't you think her lover – if that's really what he is – would find some excuse to go, too? Will and the lady would have arranged this rendezvous here, in Canterbury. I doubt if Master Armiger had anything to say in the matter. A wily woman – and I can tell you that Jane Armiger is neither so silly nor so ingenuous as she looks: I know the sort – could easily persuade a doting husband of almost anything. She may seem afraid of him, and doubtless, in some respects, she has reason to be, but she can twist him round her little finger when she wants. You saw tonight how she coaxed him to play at three men's morris when all he wanted was to sit by the fire and read.' Eloise gave my hand another pat. ‘No, no! I don't think there's any mystery about those three, not now you've told me about that meeting on the water-stairs. When he saw us at Rochester, Will must have considered how much more innocent his and Jane Armiger's meeting here would appear if he were attached to another party.'

‘Yes, you're right,' I agreed.

But my relief was limited. Her reasoning, as far as it went, was good, except that I knew she was only in partial possession of the facts. Once again, I was tempted to take her fully into my confidence: she looked so pretty, sitting there a few inches away from me, those violet-blue eyes regarding me so limpidly, her mouth so soft and tender. Although I even had my own mouth open to speak, common sense reasserted itself at the crucial moment. I forced myself to think of the last time I had seen her before our recent meetings in London. There had been nothing vulnerable or yielding about her then, and however much she protested the opposite, I still couldn't bring myself to believe in her innocence.

She abruptly withdrew her hand from mine. She had sensed my change of mood and was not a woman to waste time trying to recover lost ground. She probably told herself that there would be other opportunities. She could wait.

‘I'm tired,' she said, lying down with her back to me and nestling into the pillows. ‘Goodnight. God be with you. Sleep well.'

I grunted something ungracious in reply, feeling conscience-stricken and yet annoyed with myself because I had no cause to be. I blew out the solitary candle I had left burning on the table on my side of the bed, pulled the curtain to shut out the draughts and the glow from the dying embers of the fire, and settled down myself, my back also turned towards her.

It must have been an hour or so later when I felt her hand on my shoulder, shaking me awake. My first thought was that this was an approach I could well do without, but there was something about the urgency of her voice as she whispered, ‘Wake up!' that made me revise my opinion.