‘My lord,’ Margery persisted. ‘I shall stand up in court and swear this doxy admitted to me in the morning what she’d done in the night. I saw the blood on the cloak myself – as I said, a thick red velvet cloak with dark fur, it was – I’m sure you could corroborate that your good brother owned just such a one, my lord. I seem to remember his fine figure wearing exactly that in the past. And if we can arrange for my poor boy’s release, I will get him to find the wretched trollop, and beat the truth out of her. She can’t be gone far.’
‘I shall hunt her down,’ said Throckmorton with quiet satisfaction. ‘I will not allow my brother’s murder to go unpunished.’
Chapter Eleven
The straw smelled musty with rat urine and poultry droppings, but it was dry and had blown thick where it banked at the back wall of the stables and into the corners. There had been no horses for a very long time though the straw had once been theirs. Tyballis was searching for fresh laid eggs.
Outside it had begun to rain and the chickens were seeking shelter as she was. The slosh and pound pelted over the wooden roofs of the outbuildings and cascaded outside the open doorways. The stables had all lost their doors where broken hinges had never been repaired. Some stalls had kept their divisions. Others had tumbled altogether, straw, splinters and planks hiding the horse manure so old it had turned to straw itself.
The hens were fussing and pecking through the upturned bales. Tyballis waved off the squawking of wet feathers in her face. Careful not to kneel or stand where eggs might have been laid, she had no wish to break her last chance of supper. Digging deep, she was almost upside down when she heard the noises. First the heavy footsteps, running in from the rain. Laughing. A woman. Then the crash as someone hurtled down onto the straw, and a smaller thump as someone else landed on top.
Two people laughing. ‘You’re sodden, girl. Get your clothes off.’
‘Such a naughty suggestion, Mister Cobham, considering what a good girl I am, as you ought to remember. And what if I catch a cold?’
‘Don’t be foolish, my dear.’
‘How ungallant, Drew. But – if you promise to keep me warm,’ said the woman’s voice, ‘then perhaps – if you help me undress.’
‘What I have in mind should keep you warm enough.’
Tyballis dared not move. With straw in her hair, dust up her nose, her skirts around her thighs and stalks scratching her legs, she sat as still as she could and hardly dared breathe in case she sneezed. The hens were squabbling. Their noise, she hoped, would disguise any of her own. The sounds of energetic movement and laughter from the adjacent stall were also increasing. She clutched her basket to her lap, two small white eggs nestled within it.
The girl giggled. ‘Drew, you’re tearing the hooks of my gown. Wait. Will you promise me something first?’
There was a pause. ‘Unlikely, my dear,’ said Andrew Cobham. ‘I never make promises.’
‘I believe you’re going to be unpleasant again, Drew. If you are,’ said the girl, ‘I shall leave you here and go back into the house.’
‘A terrible threat indeed.’ The man chuckled softly. ‘So tell me what you’re after, Elizabeth, that’s so different from the usual. I already give you enough for food and anything else you need. My means are hardly unlimited.’
The rustling straw was stilled, the two bodies had settled and they spoke quietly. ‘I don’t want paying, Drew dearest. That makes me – well, you know what it makes me. I want – well, let us say – presents.’ The woman’s voice was plaintive. ‘I heard you gave – that other female – presents. Clothes. Beautiful things.’ Receiving no immediate answer, she continued, ‘That skinny trollop’s too young to be properly experienced. She can’t be any better at it than me.’
Andrew Cobham sighed. ‘You’re a whore, my dear, why be shy of the word? I’ve no objections. Never have had.’ He lay back, hands clasped behind his head. ‘My own profession is one of the world’s oldest, as yours is, and quite as disreputable. Must we argue niceties?’
‘You never talk about your work, Drew.’
‘No, and won’t now. I don’t make promises, I don’t discuss my private life and I don’t answer questions. You know that.’
The sounds of upheaval again, and the female voice was muffled. ‘Don’t be horrid, Drew dearest. Can’t I expect nice gifts too? And don’t I have the right to be jealous?’
‘No, my sweet, you don’t,’ Andrew said softly. ‘Now follow through on your threat if you wish, and go back to the house. I shan’t restrain or chase you.’
The girl had begun to sniff. ‘Don’t say that, it isn’t fair. Make love to me Drew, passionate love. That’s all I want.’
‘Then don’t cry, Lizzie.’ There was still laughter in his voice. ‘False tears don’t mix with passion, my dear, and too much playacting will have me losing inclination altogether, which will do neither of us any good.’
She continued to sniff. ‘Drew, you never lose all inclination.’
‘Then come here,’ he answered, ‘and I shall keep one promise at least.’
‘You will? Which promise, my love?’ She was suddenly excited.
‘To keep you warm,’ he said. ‘Your skin is puckered blue in the cold and your nipples are tight as barnacles. Come here.’
The sounds that followed made Tyballis increasingly uncomfortable. She wondered whether she might make some sort of careful retreat. She began to edge forwards.
‘Oh, Mister Cobham,’ crowed the woman’s voice. ‘You are – you are –’
But Tyballis had underestimated the depth of the straw. She had crawled only a short distance when the debris beneath her collapsed and she tumbled through, feet in the air. When she scrambled up, she first had to put down her basket in order to push back her hair from her face and tug her skirts back over her legs. She managed both, took a deep breath and looked up.
A very tall man, entirely naked, was standing on the other side of two rickety planks, once the division between the stalls. He was gazing down at her with uncontrolled amusement, the shadows emphasising the deep cut of his cheekbones and the slant of his broken nose. Beside and slightly behind him, a naked woman was trying to hide. Tyballis gulped. Andrew Cobham appeared completely unconcerned regarding both his nakedness and her embarrassment. He said, ‘I believe you have a hen on your head.’
Tyballis escaped. Outside the rain was a freezing torrent. She had forgotten the eggs.
She was sitting on the floor in front of her own little hearth and drying herself at the small fire she had lit, when her landlord made a personal visit to her chamber. He had brought her basket back to her. It was almost full of eggs. After knocking, he walked straight in, put the basket on her table, and said, ‘On reflection, I decided you’d be more comfortable if I apologised.’
‘Oh.’ Tyballis stayed where she was.
His shirt, open necked and unbelted over his hose, was soaked. ‘As it happens,’ he continued, ‘I’m not entirely clear regarding the precise nature of my apology. However, apologies may be considered appropriate. I don’t normally choose to dance naked in front of respectable young women, especially those barely known to me.’ He indicated the eggs. ‘Bribery,’ he said, ‘to fog the inconvenient memory.’
‘It’s your house. I probably shouldn’t have been there,’ mumbled Tyballis.
‘You shouldn’t, as it happens,’ he smiled. ‘But stealing my eggs is a common enough practice around here, and I doubt I ever bothered to expressly forbid it. Every man, woman and child living in this house is a practised thief and I expect no different from you. Indeed, I hereby offer the free use of both eggs and outhouses at any time you wish. But perhaps you should make sure the place is empty of – all other activity first.’