‘He lied,’ spluttered the other man.
‘Oh, I don’t believe so,’ said Andrew Cobham softly. ‘You see, not only was my witness brought before him, occasioning a confrontation he could not deny, but I threatened Perryvall with certain disembowelment. Hung, drawn and quartered is the term I think, is it not?’
‘You have no proof, sir.’ Colyngbourne was shaking from both fear and fury. ‘You presented Perryvall with a witness you say, but there is none to my so-called crime. I refute everything you have said of me. I have been engaged by Lord Marrott on occasion, but simply for the business of tailoring. His lordship, becoming rather more stout in recent months, has simply required an easing of the seams. I do not know the Earl of Richmond – Henry Tudor, as you say he is called now. But since I have some family in Brittany, I have indeed travelled there for personal reasons. Your threats do not frighten me, my lord. I am innocent of everything.’
‘Then no doubt you will sleep very well tonight, my friend,’ smiled Andrew Cobham with a slight bow. ‘A clear conscience is, after all, the best armour a man can wear.’ He reached out to Tyballis, his palm beneath her elbow as she stood again and moved to his side. He turned back once. Colyngbourne glared. ‘But remember, and think on what I have said,’ murmured Andrew as he opened the door. ‘You will be watched, and you will be followed. Arsenic, as I am sure you know full well, can kill. It is even more dangerous than – high treason.’
He was smiling broadly as they went back down the stairs and out into the courtyard. It was raining again. Tyballis said nothing. Her feelings were too confused for words and she was not sure she yet understood them herself. Finally Andrew said, ‘I hope you have enjoyed yourself, little one.’
‘Oh, enormously,’ retorted Tyballis. ‘Acting a part I have absolutely no talent for, trying to look perfectly confident while quaking in my very tight new shoes, and finally being threatened with death! What more delightfully peaceful morning could I ever wish for?’
Andrew chuckled. ‘The morning’s entertainment isn’t over yet, little one.’
‘Of course, I should have guessed,’ said Tyballis, ducking under the sleet. ‘So, before I freeze, what new charms do you have in mind?’
‘Frozen?’ grinned Andrew. ‘I’ve dressed you warmer than you’ve been since the womb.’
‘But,’ Tyballis nodded, ‘my beautiful cloak will soon be sodden. I shall be wrapped in ice.’
‘You are unaccustomed to luxury, my child,’ Andrew laughed. ‘The outer velvet will soak but the fur lining will stay dry and warm. Now, come here and stop complaining.’
Quite suddenly he pulled her into his arms and Tyballis was so startled, her headdress nearly fell off. But she had simply been drawn into the porch of an inn, its bustle, noise and heat billowing out beyond its doors. Although the squash was of standing customers, there were benches and two small tables at the back near the hearth, and it was here that Andrew led her, where the fire sizzled and spat. They sat together, and at once, seeing their clothes and bearing, the landlord hurried over. Tyballis rubbed her hands together, careful not to lose her amethyst ring, now reflecting the flames. Andrew Cobham addressed the landlord. ‘My good man, you will bring whatever you recommend as your very best,’ he told him. ‘Both food and wine for myself and my wife. I expect quality, and I expect speed. It is already past dinnertime.’
‘Eating,’ breathed Tyballis when the landlord had hurried off, ‘in an inn. I have never – ever – done that before. Is this what you meant by the morning not being over yet?’
Andrew grinned. ‘Should I let my poor wife starve? Especially after she has been so particularly dutiful, and played her part so well!’
‘Did I do well?’ She was pleased. ‘But I just sat there.’
‘You stared at the wretch with contempt, you acted with distain and you looked both extremely superior and remarkably beautiful.’
Tyballis was astounded. ‘I did?’
‘You did indeed,’ said Andrew. ‘Now, ladies do not customarily frequent common taverns, but this inn is renowned for its dining and caters for those on pilgrimage to Canterbury. Your reputation will therefore remain intact. So, eat and drink, my dear. Though not to the extent of inebriation. If impelled to carry you across the bridge, I might just be tempted to throw you over.’
Her animation faded. A sudden rush of dark waves engulfed her memory, and she shut her mouth with a snap. ‘I promise,’ she muttered. ‘I’m not used to good wine, so I’ll drink very little.’ He noted her change of expression but said nothing. The food arrived – cold meats, cheese and manchet, boiled tripe with cinnamon and radishes, and hot gingered rabbit in pastry – and while they ate, they spoke very little. Tyballis was, as usual, extremely hungry. Finally she said, ‘I couldn’t eat any more. Thank you.’
‘Unusually polite,’ he answered. ‘Clearly you have not drunk enough wine. It’s a good Burgundy, so must not be wasted. I retract my threat, and promise not to deposit you in the river.’ She obediently drained her cup but shook her head when he offered the rest of the flagon. He drank it himself.
They had once more crossed the bridge and were approaching home, now with less chance of being overheard, when Tyballis said, ‘Will you tell me, who is to be poisoned, sir?’
Andrew Cobham looked down at her. ‘I am no sir, my name is Drew, and clearly you are more cupshotten than I had supposed. I imagined you had understood the rules of this game already. No questions. No assumptions.’
‘Is it a game?’
‘A dangerous game. You are better off not knowing who, nor what, nor when, and never why.’ He continued walking and was silent for some time. They had passed through the Aldgate, crossed London’s wide defensive ditch, and the Portsoken Ward with its suffocating stench was before them when suddenly he said, ‘You are a courageous child, Mistress Blessop, and deserve a better husband. One day perhaps you’ll find your own Lord Feayton.’
Tyballis was startled. She wondered if he was cupshotten himself. ‘I don’t think I’m courageous,’ she said. ‘Or I’d have run away from Borin and Margery years ago.’ She paused, before continuing. ‘But it is my house, you see. I didn’t want to lose it. Now I don’t own anything at all.’
‘I imagine,’ Andrew murmured, ‘you did not before. I presume your husband took over ownership of anything you had. You were not married with dower rights, I imagine, nor any arranged jointure?’
The rain had turned to a muddy drizzle and was ruining her new shoes. She sighed. ‘No. You’re right. My parents both died suddenly. Borin’s mother took me in. Or rather – she moved in with me. But the house still felt like mine.’
There was a further pause, then Andrew said, ‘I must warn you that this sudden desire to unburden your past will not be reciprocated. You are better off not knowing my secrets, little one. But if you wish to talk, we may do so at home, where it is warm and dry.’
Chapter Thirteen
He poured her wine and when she refused it, he pressed the cup into her hand. It was a grand cup, fluted and scrolled, and Tyballis suspected it was silver. ‘Don’t be foolish,’ Andrew said. ‘Drink and relax. I am not going to rape you. Talk to me if you wish. If not, then dream your own dreams into the firelight, as I do.’