Tyballis stared at him, quite speechless. Andrew leaned back in his chair and watched her with amusement. ‘I told you I’d been busy,’ he said once the eager Mister Wallop had left the room. ‘It seems your saviour of yesterday is a man after my own heart. He has a fair understanding of the matters that interest me, and will no doubt be of considerable use in the weeks to come.’
‘But he was condemned to hang tomorrow,’ stuttered Tyballis.
‘Certainly he was,’ Andrew nodded. ‘For multiple theft. Does that trouble you?’
‘It doesn’t make him sound altogether – trustworthy,’ she admitted.
‘Trust,’ said Mister Cobham, ‘is rarely something I associate with those of my acquaintance. It is an unfamiliar – and unnecessary – commendation, bringing few benefits for the giver, and with the subsequent disadvantage of leaving oneself open to permanent disillusion. I do not trust this world, my dear, nor do I need to. But I like your Mister Wallop. I intend to find him useful.’
Tyballis finished her lobster broth and chose a small apple coddling from the platter in front of her. ‘I’m sure I’ve never chosen to trust anybody,’ she said. ‘It just happens. Either I do or I don’t. Usually I do.’
‘A particularly feminine viewpoint, no doubt,’ he smiled. ‘I cannot afford blind misconceptions in my line of work. Do you always accept life with such a total lack of discernment?’
‘Well, you certainly don’t have a very high opinion of women,’ sniffed Tyballis. ‘Nor anyone else, it seems. You probably only put up with me because you’re clearly convinced I’m no more than a small, useless child. And what exactly is your line of work, anyway?’
‘As it happens, and speaking of trust,’ he informed her, ‘I’ve already told you a good deal more than I usually tell anybody. And that is certainly sufficient. The rest does not concern you.’
‘Oh well,’ she said, ‘I suppose, since I have no judgement and probably no intelligence either, that’s just as well. And I won’t attempt to earn your trust, since that would be impossible, especially for me, being a small and lowly female. I shall simply do as I’m told.’
‘I’m glad to hear it,’ said Andrew. ‘Now you will wipe your mouth and go and fetch your cloak. We are going out.’
The cold bit but it was no longer raining. Tyballis, snug beneath sumptuous billows of fur and velvet, took Andrew’s arm as he commanded. She adored her transformation. The great hoop of her hood enveloped her face, tickling her cheeks as the fur snuggled around her ears. She watched her well-clad leather toes patter from beneath her skirts, and tried to avoid any puddles that might spoil them. She was also quietly impressed by her companion. He wore the mahogany velvet and persimmon silk with which she was now familiar, but his hat was in the Italian style, and his hose were knitted grey silk so close-fitting that his calves seemed carved from dark marble.
They did not walk far. From Bishopsgate, Mister Cobham led his charge down the slope to Cornhill, around the corner, and stopped at the tall house Tyballis recognised. But this time she did not have to creep through the kitchens. Bodge answered the door. He no longer gazed down his nose or looked disdainfully aloof, but bowed very low and stood back for them to enter. Clearly he had no idea he had ever seen this grand lady before, and Tyballis had to stop herself smiling smugly at him and skipping over the threshold with too much obvious satisfaction.
Baron Throckmorton was waiting for them in the main hall, and stood immediately they entered. He appeared nervous, and his curled red hair was dishevelled, as if he had been running his fingers through it. There was no blazing fire, but hot ashes smouldered low across the hearth. Two candles were already lit in their wall sconces, for the murk of heavy cloud had closed in the day and only a little greyish light entered through the mullioned windows. Andrew Cobham did not bow, but nodded briefly and walked to the hearthside, taking Tyballis with him. He showed her to a chair, where she sat, and he stood next to her, gazing at the baron. ‘Well, Harold,’ he said softly, ‘it seems you have been behaving unwisely – once again.’
Tyballis kept her head down but saw Throckmorton stride forwards. ‘Certainly not, my lord,’ he said at once. ‘I’ve had no contact whatsoever with any of them, neither here nor in Wales. I haven’t even been anywhere near the docks. Indeed, I’ve been extremely busy with – more personal matters. My brother, you know. He left a mountain of debts and I’ve had damnable trouble getting credit.’
‘You’ll get none from me, in case you were thinking of asking,’ Andrew smiled faintly. ‘Contact the Medici banks or try the money-lenders, Harold. There are still some in town, and I’m quite sure you know where to look. But don’t pretend you can’t pay me this month, my friend. I do not accept excuses.’
Tyballis looked up with sudden interest. The baron had clearly not recognised her, and was standing staring at Andrew, twisting his fingers in obvious alarm. ‘Just a little more time, my lord, I beg you. Your demands are a great burden to me, sir. You already understand my situation well. I have no other resources – only those you are aware of. You know almost all our family property was confiscated after Tewkesbury.’
Andrew nodded. ‘But the king was good enough to pardon your late father, and restore his title.’
‘His title but not his lands,’ mumbled Throckmorton, an aggrieved eye to the unwanted female sitting as witness to his stammering discomfort. ‘We’ve had virtually no reliable income for years. Which is why all this started – but you know that. What you don’t know is – well, now I’m working on another – possible source. I can’t explain what it is but I expect the first payment by next week or shortly after. If you’d just wait a little longer, my lord.’
‘But you see, I do know, Harold,’ smiled Mister Cobham softly. His eyes narrowed slightly. ‘I know exactly what you’re up to. Let me summarise the situation for you. A few years past, your brother Thomas, a man I despised just as much as I despise you, decided to augment the meagre family income by assisting with the purchase, import, collection, accumulation and subsequent sale of certain substances not normally associated with, let us say, any respectable transaction beyond that of apothecary or physician. In other words, he became a merchant of death and a dabbler in poisons. The deals he made for selling at the greatest profit were invariably both secret and dangerous. Some months back he sold small quantities of arsenic to a certain person of my acquaintance. The young Lord Marrott – Geoffrey by name, and friend of the highest. Although your brother was not privy to its final intended use, the buyer in question was taking no risks. He decided that Thomas, Baron Throckmorton, should be silenced. I imagine Thomas had been wise enough to make some intelligent guesses, and foolish enough to speak aloud and let those guesses be known. Your brother was murdered.’
Throckmorton was growing explosively pink. ‘My lord,’ he interrupted, ‘remember my position, sir, and say no more. I have no idea why you have brought your – companion – here this afternoon, but what you say should not be overheard by anyone. It places me – perhaps us both – in a most perilous situation.’