Nat snorted. ‘As if they can’t see the difference. It’s clear as the moon in the Thames. Look at him. At least a finger’s-width shorter. Ankles like spindles and a great lump on his nose.’
‘And look at him,’ Ralph objected. ‘Skin blotched like a half-ripe blackberry and eyes far too close together.’
‘His eyebrows are straggly,’ Nat pointed out, busy hoisting the mattress onto the strings. ‘Mine are neat and tidy. It makes all the difference in the world.’
‘I expect,’ Tyballis said carefully, ‘I shall recognise those differences in time. For the moment, since I don’t know either of you very well, perhaps you’d forgive me if I use the wrong name from time to time. And you are both excessively kind.’
‘Call if you want me,’ Ralph nodded, edging towards the door. ‘Though not too late, you understand. I shall be out working most of the night. Nat, too.’
Tyballis sighed. ‘Do all of you work nights, then?’
‘Jon Spiers don’t,’ Nat said. ‘He don’t leave the house at all. Don’t ever work at anything.’
Tyballis sat on her bed, which was when she discovered it was exceedingly damp. ‘Doesn’t the curfew bother you? Or the Watch?’
‘Don’t be daft, mistress,’ said Nat. ‘Only a fool gets seen by the Watch.’
‘And only a fool discusses his business with a stranger,’ Ralph said. ‘See! We’re not the same at all. He’s stupid. I’m not.’
‘But you are twins, after all,’ said Tyballis. ‘And that means you are very similar.’
‘We aren’t twins,’ Nat said, looking sullen. ‘Twins means born at the same time, and we weren’t. Our Ma said as how we was born half of an hour apart. So, that’s not the same time, is it? We’re not twins at all.’
There was no dinner although it was dinnertime. Tyballis had not eaten for two days and saw no reason to expect any supper. Although she was long accustomed, the pain and heaving disappointment of hunger seemed no less bearable in her new surroundings. In the past Borin had always earned money eventually, enabling a hurried trip to the market stalls. At least one day in three she had eaten, and a pottage could be made to last four days with a sensibly regular addition of water, turnips and cabbage. Tyballis had never starved. It was different now. She would have to manage for herself.
When she could find nothing else in her chamber to scrub, she wiped her hands and went outside. Crossing from the bottom of the stairs to the outer doors, she once again passed the sudden crimson and scarlet reflections of Andrew Cobham’s fire. The stairs led directly past the archway into the great hall, and there the heat billowed as always. Tyballis slipped out into the gardens and shut the warmth away with a bang.
Fallen wood was easily found, cracked branches tumbling from each ivy-covered tree, while twig and bark lay sodden in leafy heaps. Everything was wet. Tyballis could light her own fire that evening though it would smoke and make her chamber filthy again. But better dirty than cold. She used her knotted wrap to collect what she could. It had started to rain once more, just a sloppy patter sparkling in the spiders’ webs and decorating her hair with pearl drops. It was a large garden, ruined and overgrown, and the fish pond was green with algae. Bubbles popped along the surface from the falling rain above and the fish gulping below. A tangle of blackberry bushes had long been cleared of their fruit, but she found a twist of vine hidden behind dripping foliage and collected a handful of overripe grapes.
It was too soaked to light but Tyballis stacked the firewood beside her hearth and mopped up the oozing puddles. Now wet and cold, she sat a long time and wondered what her future should become. Loneliness threatened but she was her own mistress. No one could order her behaviour, nor criticise or beat her. She was in debt to no one except the owner of this house, but as yet he had demanded nothing of her. He was, said the others, a good man. That might even be true, for a night in his bed had brought no molestation. There was Felicia and the children to visit along the corridor, and friendship might follow.
Instead, she imagined returning contrite to her own little semblance of family, to the house which was truly hers, and to the life which was, if nothing else, familiar. Hugging herself warm and resting her chin on her knees, she contemplated both the courage of such a return, and the cowardice of it. The unknown threatened, but only a fool goes back to the prison he has escaped.
She had made up her mind when she finally went downstairs again. The shadows slanted through the struts of the balustrade and across the broken boards, but at the base of the stairs the fire’s golden reflections stained the steps with light. Tyballis crept into the hall and towards the hearth, but this time she was prepared and turned, facing the large chair set there. Andrew Cobham’s deep-set eyes were closed, his arms resting on the chair arms and his hands hanging loose. His long legs were stretched towards the blaze, ankles crossed.
He did not open his eyes. ‘Can I help you, child?’ his voice no louder than the murmur of the flames.
‘How did you know it was me?’ Tyballis objected.
He opened his eyes. In the firelight they were crimson. ‘Is that all you wish to know?’ he said.
She hovered, glad of the heat at her back. ‘I came to get warm, but I hoped you’d be here. I wanted to thank you. But I know the downstairs rooms are your private quarters. If you tell me to go away, I won’t be offended.’
‘You are clearly accustomed to men of few manners, child.’ The man straightened a little and a slow half-smile softened his eyes. Not a handsome man, and heavy boned, his face was marred by a large and once broken nose. Yet his smile was gentle, lifting his expression and lightening the strength of his jaw. ‘You need not go away,’ he said, ‘but I have little use for your thanks. Has no one given you kindling to warm your chamber?’
She nodded. ‘But it’s wet. And I wanted to say more than just thank you. I wanted to suggest – to ask – if I might work for you. Cooking and cleaning. I could work while you’re out, so as not to be in your way.’ Tyballis drew a deep breath and stood looking earnestly down at the figure lounging before her. ‘I could make life – nicer for you. Polishing, and dusting, and washing. I could make this hall glorious again. It would repay your kindness in letting me stay here. And perhaps, just perhaps, if you liked what I did, sometimes you could pay me, too. Just a few pennies for food.’
She stood between him and the fire and now he sat in her shadow, his eyes changing from red to black. His hair, thicker and longer than was fashionable, was a deeper shadow. He lifted one dark eyebrow, the lazy smile remaining. ‘You look for payment? Are you wanting back in my bed, little one?’
Flustered, Tyballis took a step backwards and the heat blasted her shoulders. She recoiled, blushing. ‘That wasn’t my intention at all, sir. I’m good at cleaning and scrubbing. I’m not good at … other things. You wouldn’t want me.’
Andrew Cobham’s smile deepened, and his eyebrow raised a little further. ‘An intriguing confession,’ he said softly. ‘But I will try not to tease you, Mistress Blessop. I appreciate your attempt to compensate for your board, but I have no interest in your talents or your cleaning. Or perhaps you simply wish to remind me how unkempt my living quarters have become?’
‘No, sir. I wouldn’t be so rude.’ She shook her head wildly. ‘Of course, there is some dust, and the soot from the fire, and the window glass – such beautiful windows – but long unpolished. I could improve both their appearance and your comfort if you’d allow me. And then – there is the difficulty of food.’