My demand for an interview with Master Plummer produced the information that he was at present unavailable, being closeted with my lord of Gloucester.
‘Splendid!’ I said to the supercilious steward who was regarding me as though I were something slimy that had just crawled out of the wall. ‘I’ll see the duke as well, then. It’ll kill two birds with one stone.’ The steward raised haughty eyebrows and curled his lip, but I kept my temper. ‘You’ll be sorry if you don’t take my message to His Grace,’ I said coldly, in a voice every bit as disdainful as his own. ‘He will not be pleased. In fact, he’ll probably be very annoyed.’
In the event, I was the one who found himself in hot water.
‘Will you stop drawing attention to yourself like this, Roger?’ Timothy demanded furiously. ‘You can’t insist on access to a meeting between my lord duke and myself without arousing people’s curiosity, and that’s the last thing we want at the moment. I’m due to see you, anyway, after dinner.’
I could tell by the duke’s frown that he agreed with his spymaster, but once I told them what had happened, they were both too concerned to be angry.
‘And you got away from the house without being seen?’ Timothy asked anxiously.
‘As far as I know,’ I said. ‘I went down the back lane behind the cottages that comes out into the Shambles. After that, I lost myself in the crowds.’
‘No one could have noticed you from the other houses?’ the duke put in.
I shook my head. ‘The only windows are at the front, and as far as I could tell, most of the residents keep their shutters closed because of the stink.’
‘Stinking Lane lives up to its name, eh?’ Prince Richard gave a little half-smile, but immediately sobered again. ‘This means that someone knows something,’ he muttered, looking at Timothy and twisting the ring on the little finger of his left hand round and round, as he always did when troubled.
‘Not necessarily, my lord,’ Timothy protested. ‘There’s no proof that this murder has any connection with Roger’s mission. It might simply be a revenge killing — a personal grudge settled in a violent way.’
‘You don’t really believe that,’ the duke answered quietly, ‘and neither do I.’ He glanced at me with a rueful grin. ‘And I’m sure Roger here doesn’t, either.’
‘It would be too much of a coincidence, Your Highness,’ I said firmly.
Timothy looked as if he might be ready to do murder himself, but all he said was, ‘Whoever did the deed must have been covered in blood. It might be worth a few judicious enquiries to find out if anyone in Stinking Lane noticed a person in bloodstained clothing.’
I laughed. ‘That could be difficult. You won’t find many men around the Shambles district who aren’t wearing bloodstained clothing.’
Timothy gave an embarrassed laugh. ‘I suppose not,’ he agreed.
The duke, who, up until now, had been standing warming his hands at the fire, threw himself back into a cushioned armchair with a muttered curse. ‘If this man Culpepper,’ he said, ‘has been killed by a Woodville agent, how on earth did they find out what I’m up to?’
I raised sardonic eyebrows at Timothy, who reddened and looked highly uncomfortable. Obviously, he had so far failed to acquaint Duke Richard with my previous night’s experience. This he now proceeded to do with much self-blame for not having mentioned it earlier.
The duke looked furious, realizing, as he must have done, that Timothy had been intending to keep the incident quiet had not circumstances forced him to reveal it. As usual, though, he kept his anger in check, never, to my knowledge, berating one of his officers in front of a second person; and for someone who undoubtedly had the Plantagenet temper, I have always thought this consideration for others one of his most endearing traits. (And whatever our present lords and masters would have you believe to the contrary, he had many.)
‘Do we know the name of this server? Has he been found?’
The spymaster looked even more unhappy as he haltingly explained that the man appeared to have fled the castle as soon as he possibly could. ‘But I still do not see, Your Grace, how he could have known anything about Culpepper.’
‘Maybe not.’ The duke pushed a lock of dark hair back from his forehead. ‘But the moment he reported to his superiors, someone would have been set to follow Roger and keep an eye on what he was up to. When he knocked on the door of Master Culpepper’s house, it would have been noted.’ He frowned. ‘If only you hadn’t gone away, Roger, but stayed to watch the house, there would have been no opportunity for anyone to enter and murder this poor man.’ He added repressively, ‘However, it’s done, and there’s no good to be gained by apportioning blame.’
I remembered the smart young gent with the blue feather in his hat and knew that I ought to mention him. Feeling disinclined to draw further attention to myself, however, I kept quiet. With luck, the duke might decide to abandon his enquiries for Robin Gaunt.
But luck, as usual, was against me. After further discussion between him and Timothy, it was agreed that the Woodvilles could have no real knowledge of my true mission in Paris and that my trip in the company of Eloise Gray, posing as her husband, and her meetings with Olivier le Daim, would provide sufficient cover to conceal my main purpose.
‘And it’s still by no means certain,’ Timothy pointed out eagerly, ‘that the murder of Humphrey Culpepper is in any way connected with Roger’s visit to him.’
Duke Richard conceded the fact, but without, I thought, any great conviction. ‘What was the man’s use to you?’ he asked.
Timothy explained, ‘We know him to have fought alongside Gaunt at Pontoise and to have been a part of the Rouen garrison. We hoped for some description of our friend — enough to say whether he is short and stout or tall and thin.’
The duke nodded. ‘Perhaps the name Gaunt itself is descriptive,’ he suggested. ‘It may have been a nickname. Perhaps he was thin and haggard-looking. It’s little enough to go on, I agree, but worth consideration.’ He glanced at me with raised eyebrows.
I made no answer, but Timothy hurried to fill the breach. ‘It’s most certainly worth a thought, Your Grace,’ he smarmed, his eyes furiously signalling to me to contribute my groat’s worth. But I maintained a stubborn silence, signifying my disapproval of a scheme whose success hinged on such a lack of practical knowledge.
Duke Richard accepted this with a wry smile and prevented Timothy from bullying me into submission by announcing that it was the dinner hour and he knew that I was always hungry. ‘Roger’s a good trencherman,’ he laughed. ‘And with that great frame to feed, it’s small wonder.’ He rose to his feet, giving me a hand to kiss, at the same time delaying Timothy’s departure by laying the other on the spymaster’s shoulder. There were evidently things they had to discuss that my arrival had interrupted. ‘I’m relying on you to do your best, Roger,’ he added.
I bowed. ‘I always endeavour to do that, Your Grace.’ I realized I sounded offended.
The duke kept his grip on my hand, pressing it strongly. ‘I know,’ he said, ‘and I appreciate it, the more so when I’m aware that I don’t have your wholehearted approval.’ He laughed again as he released me. ‘Timothy’s trying to look shocked, pretending he believes I have a mandate straight from God.’ The dark eyes twinkled. ‘He knows it’s not true, of course, just as we do.’
The duke’s caustic sense of humour, always so unexpected in someone who outwardly seemed so serious, caught me off guard as it had a good many times in the past and completely won me over. It was, I decided, the secret of his charm, a side of himself he revealed only to those whom he liked and trusted, and explained why men accorded him either their deepest devotion or their instant dislike. I have always been one of the former. (And that admission is another reason why these chronicles must never be made public in my lifetime.)