Into the pause, Andrew said, ‘And the second candidate, my lord?’
‘You already know the answer to that, my friend,’ the duke said.
Andrew, still sitting, bowed immediately. ‘You have accepted this proposition, my lord. It is agreed?’
‘As far as the lords have decided, this is so. But my acceptance is tentative,’ the duke replied. ‘Under these unusual circumstances, I will not sit a throne against the wishes of those I would rule.’ He looked down at his papers spread upon the table, and to his strong, practical hands resting there. After a moment he looked up again. ‘Nor will I force my conscience, or accept such a responsibility until I am utterly convinced of its right and necessity. Once this decision is made, it cannot be unmade, and I have never doubted my decisions once sealed. I have therefore demanded time to consider, yet with the country to rule, conspiracies afoot and my duty as Protector still paramount, time is not now my friend.’ He sighed, tented his fingers and gazed over their peaks. ‘Well, Mister Cobham? You have nothing to say?’
Andrew, his smile widening, pushed back his chair and stood, coming to the side of the table facing the Lord Protector. He quickly knelt on one knee, bowing his head. He said, ‘Your highness. My life and my sword are at your service.’
The duke laughed and reached forwards, his hand to Andrew’s shoulder. ‘Up, man, and sit. This is not done yet.’ He waited a moment before saying, ‘During the lengthy discussion in the council chamber, I was interested to watch my Lord Hastings’ changing expression. You have word of him, his plans, his actions, his friends? Come, Mister Cobham, I have freely answered your unasked questions. Now give me your information.’
It was some time later when Andrew left. The shadows had lengthened into night and only a pearlised glimmer behind the cloud cover denoted the shifting moon. Now the darkness was split by the golden wind-flared flame of his torch as Mister Cobham strode through the narrow streets heading directly for the river. Within a little more than half an hour, he was in the Portsoken Ward and at the battered front door of Cobham Hall. This time there was candlelight at the windows and the sounds of laughter and argument within. Andrew pushed open the door and walked into the bright warm hall. They had lit a large fire.
Some miles northwest, Tyballis sat on the chair she now loathed, and glared at the four men who faced her.
Captain Hetchcomb regarded her with furious contempt. ‘I know her well. I had exceptional advice regarding the Portsoken House, which Murch and his men had overtaken and secured. We’d been informed the building belonged to Lord Feayton. But all I found was a parcel of ignorant commoners claiming not to know his lordship, and insisting the building they rented belonged to a Mister Andrew Cobham. This trollop was one of them, and a troublesome wench, too, with her arguments and defiance. I had them locked up safe, waiting the Lord Marrott’s orders and hoping for their precious Feayton’s return; illusive bugger. And then they got away, the whole damned ramshackle bunch of them, with me fast asleep and knowing nothing till the next morning. I’ll gladly thrash the trollop for that now, if I’ve your permission.’
Piggot shook his head. ‘Not yet, captain. Seems Mistress Blessop has considered her options. She’s interested in joining our cause.’
‘I expect not only reward,’ Tyballis said with a sniff, ‘but also civility and respect, which is more than I’ve been shown so far.’ She paused, looking at the faces in front of her. Bray was smiling and clearly disbelieving. Piggot was stoutly convinced. Hetchcomb was livid and his fingers twitched. The fourth man was unknown to her, and she was puzzled. He was finely dressed but he stood back, as if giving precedence to the lesser men, and had so far said nothing. Tyballis took a deep breath and continued. ‘It’s true, of course. Lord Feayton compromised my safety, using me to speak with Mistress Shore. Now I’m known as an enemy to Lord Feayton’s enemies. Yet it seems he has neither the time nor the inclination to look after me. I’ve been your prisoner for two long days, but my lord hasn’t deigned to search for me, nor come to my rescue. Frankly I doubt he even realises I’ve gone. Or, thinking me compromised, he has no further use for me.’ Tyballis gulped, remembering the truth which she was now forced to deny.
Reginald Bray frowned. ‘Yet the Duke of Gloucester is well known for protecting his friends and employees, madam.’
Tyballis snorted. ‘The Duke of Gloucester doesn’t know I exist. You over-estimate me, sir.’
‘Then perhaps you are of no use to us either, mistress.’
Hetchcomb stepped forwards at once. ‘In which case, give the slut to me. I’ll teach her a lesson she’ll never forget.’
‘Yes, yes, captain,’ Bray said. ‘Your sensitivities are dull, repetitive and interest me not in the slightest.’ He looked again to Tyballis. ‘And to avoid such violence and instead claim your reward, you undertake to return to your lover, discover everything he knows, and come back here to divulge each secret? And how will you convince me to trust you, mistress? Since at present, I trust you not one inch.’
‘As yet I know very little, sir,’ said Tyballis, ‘but I can tell you something to prove my good intentions. Will you trust me then, and let me go?’
‘That depends,’ Reginald Bray said at once. ‘Worthless information already known to us will hardly suffice.’
Tyballis took a deep breath and, praying for guidance, whispered, ‘Very well, I can tell you that my Lord Feayton knows that both Lord Marrott and the Marquess of Dorset have secretly fled sanctuary, and are involved with plotting the Protector’s downfall. And he knows the indirect involvement of Henry Tudor and the Lancastrian lords who befriended the exile in Brittany.’ Mister Bray scowled, but said nothing. Tyballis hurried on, her voice rising. ‘My Lord Feayton also suspects that Lord Hastings’ support for the Lord Protector is now wavering. He says in Earl Rivers’ absence, Lord Hastings sees himself as the prospective power behind the throne as soon as the new king is crowned, should the Duke of Gloucester be removed. Lord Feayton says Lord Hastings is now involved in what he calls the Woodville conspiracy.’
Four open mouths gaped at her, and four pairs of wild and furious eyes stared. Tyballis stopped speaking at once frightened she had said too much, and awaiting the first cataclysmic response.
The unnamed gentleman smiled at last. He nodded, satisfied. Reginald Bray turned to him. ‘My lord, you’re convinced of the girl’s honesty?’
‘Honesty?’ smiled the stranger. ‘Certainly not. She is clearly a liar and a harlot, but that’s exactly what we need. I’ve no use for an honest woman.’
‘You’re sure she’s not tricking us, my lord?’ insisted Bray.
The quiet man laughed. ‘I knew her husband,’ he said. ‘Worked for both my cousins while each held the title, and gave good service. Was a bruiser and a clod, a man of some violence and no brain, but obeyed anyone who paid him.’ The new Baron Throckmorton scratched in his ear and then inspected a fingernail of earwax. ‘The wife presumably shows the same metal,’ he continued, ‘though clearly apes her betters. My cousin Harold didn’t like her and told me so. Called her a whore, as most females of that class usually are. But she’ll serve us well enough, I’d guess, and if she tries to play a double game, then I know how to treat her. I’ve too much experience of the world to be tricked by a simple whore.’