In the truckle bed he found Simon Barnet, lying on his back and imitating his noisy uncle.
‘Quicker if I dress myself,’ said Carey, passed his hand over his chin and decided to shave now. He doubted he would have the time to go to the barber’s later and he certainly didn’t trust Simon with a razor yet. On the other hand he needed hot water.
He shook the truckle bed vigorously until Simon sat up on his elbow and blinked at him.
‘Wha’?’ Simon asked.
‘Good morning,’ Carey said brightly. ‘Run and fetch me a pitcher of hot water to shave with and something to eat and drink, there’s a good lad, Simon.’
Simon swung his legs over the side of the truckle bed and rubbed his eyes. Like most of the boys in the Castle he hardly ever bothered to take his clothes off. ‘Yessir,’ he muttered, got up, swayed, hauled his boots on and shambled out of the door.
‘I said run,’ Carey called after him reproachfully. ‘I’m in a hurry.’
‘Urrh,’ sighed Simon and speeded to a tottering trot.
One of the boys from the kitchen eventually turned up with a pitcher of hot water, saying Simon was on his way. Stuffing his face again, Carey thought, as he worked the soap into a lather and nipped through to Scrope’s chamber to borrow his razor; I’ll have to get him new livery soon, the rate he’s growing. It was a lot of trouble shaving himself, but life at Court had ingrained it into him that he couldn’t appear in any official capacity with a chin covered in stubble. And he couldn’t regrow his beard until the black dye in his hair had finished growing out, which he hadn’t thought of when he did it. The Scropes were still fast asleep, along with their respective maid and manservant, their bedchamber a choir of snores. Amazing how people wasted the best part of the day lying in their beds.
Half an hour later he was in his green velvet suit and shrugging the shoulder strap of his swordbelt over his arm. As usual, Simon Barnet was taking three times as long as Barnabus to do a perfectly simple job and Carey soon got tired of waiting for him. He put his hat on, crept through the intervening chamber and his sister and brother-in-law’s bedroom, and clattered down the stairs of the Keep. Nobody was stirring in the hall, where most of the servants still slept wrapped in their cloaks, on benches or in the rushes, and out into the cold morning air. There wasn’t anybody about so Carey went across to the Keep gate and had a quick word with Solomon Musgrave. Then he went to his chambers in the Queen Mary Tower, greeted Buttercup, lit a candle and did some hurried paperwork. Finally he went to the new barracks, and knocked on the door of Sergeant Dodd’s little chamber next to the harness room.
It took a while but eventually there were thumping sounds inside and Dodd opened the door in his shirt and hose, with his helmet in one hand and his sword in the other.
‘What the hell is it…?’ he demanded. ‘Och, sorry, sir. Is there a raid?’
‘Er…no, Sergeant,’ said Carey, trying not to look past his shoulder at where Janet Dodd lay in the rumpled little bed. ‘Only we have a lot to do and not much time to do it in.’
‘Oh. Ah,’ said Dodd, slowly catching up with this. ‘There’s no raid?’
‘No.’
‘Och God, it’s still the middle of the night, sir; it’s…’
‘Dodd,’ said Carey patiently, wondering what on earth was the matter with the man. ‘It’s a couple of hours before dawn and I want to start rounding up witnesses for the inquest, so I’d be grateful if you would get yourself dressed and come and help me.’
Dodd leaned his sword against the wall and then put his hand across his eyes and moaned like a cow in calf.
‘Ay sir,’ he said heavily at last. ‘I’ll be wi’ ye.’
Dodd yawned and shut the door. Carey went outside the barracks building and stood in the yard, mentally making lists. Janet came out still lacing her kirtle and hurried past him with an amused expression on her face.
‘Have they opened the buttery yet, do ye know sir?’ she asked him.
‘I don’t know, Mrs Dodd.’
‘Och,’ she shook her head and hurried on.
By the time Dodd was ready, the stable boys were beginning to stir although the gate wasn’t due to open for an hour yet. Solomon Musgrave opened the postern gate for them and Carey and Dodd went down past the trees and into Carlisle town. There were a few lights lit in the windows and a night-soil wagon clattered slowly down Castlegate ahead of them, while two men with shovels picked up the least unpleasant piles of manure and tossed them in the back.
‘Now,’ said Carey. ‘Firstly, what did you find out last night, Sergeant?’
Dodd blinked and rubbed his eyes. ‘Ay,’ he said with great effort. ‘Er…well, after I found Michael Kerr, I spoke to the men working on the roof by the Atkinsons’ house and asked if any of them had seen aught, and the foreman said they hadnae but they had found a bloody knife stuck deep in the new thatch and they were going to give it to the master.’
‘To John Leigh?’
‘Ay. So any road, I got them to give it to me and it’s in my room now.’
‘Excellent, Sergeant, well done. Anything else?’
There were a few women moving about the streets, maidservants who didn’t live-in going to their work.
‘Ah…Janet went to speak to Julia Coldale again, but got nothing but cheek from the girl, so she came away. None o’ Mrs Atkinson’s gossips saw aught; it was too early in the morning and they were too busy. Janet says none of them save Mrs Leigh thinks Kate Atkinson did the murder. Maggie Mulcaster was wanting to know was there anything they could gi’ ye to persuade ye to leave it.’
Carey sighed. ‘What did she say?’
‘She said she didnae think so and besides ye’re a courtier and verra expensive, but in any case she thought ye had enough sense to see she didnae do it, but it was a case of convincing the jury and ye hadnae set that up, Lowther had.’
‘Well, that’s something. Though Lowther still thinks it was Barnabus. Anything else?’
‘Then we went to Bessie’s to see if anybody there had heard anything, but they hadnae except that Pennycook’s left town and gone back to Scotland.’
‘Very wise of him,’ said Carey. ‘And that was it?’
‘Ay sir,’ Dodd saw no reason to fill Carey’s enquiring pause with the details of their evening in Bessie’s. ‘Janet says she thinks ye should arrest young Julia and frighten her into…’
‘Speak of the devil,’ said Carey softly. ‘Look there.’
It was hard to miss the girl’s wonderful fall of hair, even under her hat, as she walked quickly down the street ahead of them. Carey put his arm out to stop Dodd and then followed her cautiously. The girl went to the door of the Leighs’ house and knocked softly. The door opened at once and she stepped in.
‘What’s she up to?’ Carey said to himself, walking about under the spidery growth of poles and planks on the Leighs’ house. The workmen had pulled up all their ladders when they left the night before. Carey whistled very softly between his teeth.
‘Right, Dodd,’ he said. ‘Give me a leg up.’
‘Eh?’
‘Give me a boost. I want to get up the scaffolding.’ He was already unbuckling his sword.
Dodd sighed, bent his knee next to one of the poles and Carey climbed from knee to shoulder, to an accompaniment of complaint from Dodd, caught the horizontal pole of the first platform and heaved himself up.
Carey’s legs were kicking, so Dodd backed off a bit. It was the Courtier’s padded Venetian hose that were causing the trouble; they had caught on the edge of one of the planks. No doubt they were well enough for a life spent parading in front of the Queen, though Dodd with sour pleasure.
At last Carey was onto the first platform, a bit breathless. He let down one of the ladders and Dodd climbed up after him, bringing the sword belt, then he pulled the ladder back up to use it for getting to the second platform. Once there, Carey went to the boundary with the Atkinsons’ house and called Dodd over. He nodded at the place where Carey was pointing.