There was something strangely familiar about the voice. Tyballis looked up. ‘But it must be, sir. I must speak with the new Baron Throckmorton. Is that not you, my lord?’
Then she saw that his boots were scuffed and his coat, though of mahogany velvet and fur-trimmed, was old. The hem was worn and one long sleeve, the cuff drifting loose to his side, was partially torn. The man read her eyes. ‘As you see, child, I am not the man you want,’ he said softly. ‘His lordship Baron Throckmorton is now standing behind you, and not, I am afraid, much amused.’ The man smiled, and his face softened. ‘Not that dear Harold is a man much given to amusement,’ he said. ‘I believe he will attempt to throw you out. You had better speak quickly.’
Tyballis whirled around and tripped over her toes. She sank directly into another curtsey and kept her head down. ‘My lord forgive me. It’s about my husband, my lord. He is in terrible circumstances, my lord, and not of his own making.’
The baron resembled his brother, after all. ‘What the devil are you talking about, drab? Who are you? How did you get in?’
‘Tyballis Blessop, my lord. My husband worked some years for his lordship your brother. And he is innocent, sir, I swear it.’
Throckmorton flicked one long white finger. ‘Whoever my brother employed is of no interest to me. You should never have been allowed in. Now, get out.’
‘My lord –’ Tyballis stuttered, but she was interrupted.
The tall man remained motionless. When he spoke it seemed even his mouth did not move, and his voice stayed steady, low and soft. The bursting fury of the fire spoke louder. ‘Listen to the child, Harold,’ he murmured. ‘She will take up very little of our time.’
To her astonishment, the baron hesitated, biting his lip. ‘Oh, very well. Speak up then, trollop. Quick, quick. What is it you want of me?’
Tyballis found herself gabbling. ‘My husband was loyal to your brother, my lord. He would never have killed him. Yet he’s shackled in Newgate’s Limboes without food or medicines and can afford no attorney to plead his case.’ Bent almost to one knee, Tyballis saw only the baron’s blue silk ankles and the high shine on his pointed shoes. She continued hurriedly, ‘In your great mercy, my lord, and your brother’s memory, and in consideration of my husband’s long service, would you give something – anything at all – for his rations in prison, sir, and for the safekeeping of his wife and mother?’
She did not dare look up. She could hear only the busy crackle of the fire. The pause stretched. Finally, it was not the baron, but the other voice that said, ‘I believe you might offer some charity, might you not, Harold? From your – renowned generosity, let us say, and the – great kindness for which you are so unconscionably famed.’
After a moment, Tyballis heard metal chink against metal and a small purse was flung at her feet. Its ties were well knotted, but the leather seemed full and heavy. She leaned out and clasped it before his lordship changed his mind, then scrambled up and for the first time looked at both the men who faced her. The unnamed stranger, his back to the blazing flames and his legs solid to the rug, had not moved. His heavy-boned face appeared expressionless. The baron, in height only to the other man’s shoulder, was animated and clearly angry. ‘Now get out,’ spat the baron. ‘And don’t ever dare come back, or I’ll have you thrown into Newgate yourself.’ His hair, as red as the fire, was thick-curled and carefully arranged, but his face sweated and his mouth clamped thin. Tyballis straightened, turning quickly to leave. She was stopped.
The soft voice softened further, and she could barely hear it. ‘And did you keep my cloak, little one?’ said the stranger. ‘Or did you sell it, since you now wear only a thin cape? And I see you have not run – or walked – away from your wretched husband. A mistake, I imagine. No matter. I wish you better fortune to come.’
Tyballis stood a moment. She could find no words for reply. But the baron had already begun talking to his visitor, and so she turned again, and ran.
Chapter Five
‘Whoring. No doubt at all,’ spat Mother Blessop.
‘If you don’t want it, give it back,’ said Tyballis. But her mother-in-law kept a tight hold. It was a fine leather purse, marked with the Throckmorton arms, and held the unexpected weight of three marks. Tyballis had never seen such a fortune together at one time, forty shillings and almost equal to a year of Borin’s salary. ‘I’d be a fine whore,’ Tyballis said, ‘if I could make as much as this just for raising my skirts.’
‘Then Throckmorton’s miserable brother is a better man than ever expected,’ muttered Margery.
Tyballis shook her head. ‘It was someone else shamed him into giving the purse or he wouldn’t have given a penny. He told me never to come back.’ She thought a moment, as if preferring not to speak. Then she said it anyway. ‘You know the Throckmorton household better than I do. There’s a man, a very large man, who talks like a lord but wears shabby grandeur. His hair’s out of style and his boots have holes. But he seems to have influence, despite his appearance. Do you have any idea who he might be?’
Margery Blessop tied the heavy purse tightly to her belt and snorted. ‘Could be anyone. How should I know?’ She hung up her apron and wrapped her cape around her shoulders. ‘Six shillings of this is going straight to Borin for his keep, and then I’m off down the market. You keep that fire going till I get back.’
‘The fire doesn’t need tending,’ Tyballis said. ‘I could come with you. Or go to market alone while you visit Newgate. I’m tired of sitting here doubled up like an old crone. I got the money for us. Don’t I have any say on how it’s spent?’
Her mother-in-law turned on Tyballis in fury. ‘There’s times when I regret ever having taken pity on you in the first place, let alone allowing you to marry my son. Been like a mother to you for years, I have, miserable orphaned waif that you were, and never any good for anything. And what respect do I get? A pert trollop, you are, and no better than the whore Borin suspects you of being.’
Tyballis accepted the slap. She did not move aside, though her face stung. First, she controlled her breathing. Then, keeping her voice low, she said, ‘An orphan I was, but not such a waif. Ten years old, and the only heir to my father’s house and furniture. It’s his house you live in now, and his bed your son sleeps in. You and Borin were only tenants next door, and when my parents drowned you took me in just to lay claim to the house and chattels. You won’t admit it, but you know it, and I know it, too. And you made me marry Borin soon as I turned fourteen, only so the house became his and I couldn’t claim it back. Maybe I can’t do anything about it, but at least don’t think me a fool. I know your mind and I know Borin’s.’
‘And I know yours, whoring bitch,’ Margery shouted, slamming down her shopping basket and aiming another slap. ‘I’ll get no thanks for all my sacrifice and kindness, that’s clear. But I won’t take your impudence, and I won’t take your insults. I’ll have Borin tip you out in the gutter if you talk like this when he comes back.’
‘If he comes back.’
‘Oh, he will, dirty little harlot, and will beat you black and blue soon as he walks back in.’
Tyballis sighed. ‘Borin only calls me whore because you’ve filled his simple head with lies,’ she said. ‘There’s never been an instant, not one, when you had reason to believe it of me. Why are you so ready with the word? Was that what you once were yourself, to think of the accusation so readily?’
Never before had she dared say as much. She expected retaliation but had not expected the broom, swung full force. The bundled reeds cut across her cheeks and mouth and Tyballis tasted blood. She stumbled to her knees, head down. Through warm red trickles, the old splintered floorboards heaved up towards her. She staggered, her ears buzzing, as the room rocked around her like a cradle in the wind. When she shook her head to clear her sight, it hurt her more. Then the broom’s handle crashed against the back of her head and she fell again. Her chin hit the floor and she bit her lip. More blood filled her mouth, dribbling in bright spots onto the floor she had scrubbed that morning. She thought vaguely of how she would now have to scrub it again.