This time, however, the blood that drenched the attacker would not have been so easily disguised as it had been near the Shambles. But then, it was dark; fewer people would have been about, and those who were were minding their own shady business, disinclined to pry into that of others. A quick plunge into the murky waters of the nearby Thames — not something I should have cared to do, but you couldn’t be fussy if you’d just killed a man — and much of the blood would have been washed off. Or maybe the murderer had gone prepared with a change of clothing.
All of which, of course, posed the questions: who had been landed at Baynard’s Castle and why was his — her? — arrival to be kept so secret that it was worthwhile to kill a man? It was at this point that I began to realize the seriousness of the situation I was in. The murder of Humphrey Culpepper had not appeared so frightening on its own; the old man might or might not have been killed in order to prevent my having any contact with him. But if his death was linked to that of the boatman, as it so plainly was, then truly ruthless forces were against us. This had to be the work of someone who would stop at nothing.
It was my duty to inform Timothy and Duke Richard of the second murder straight away, but the thought was daunting. To begin with, I would be forced to admit that I had flagrantly disobeyed the duke’s order, flouted a royal command. Secondly, I had been seen and, with my height and West Country accent, inevitably noted at the scene of a second crime and, doubtless, my description passed on to the authorities. And, of course, to anyone else who was interested. The duke and his spymaster general would be furious, to put it no higher. I should be in for a very uncomfortable half-hour (another understatement). I might even find myself facing punishment. So, in the end, after careful consideration, weighing up this and that, I decided to say nothing. It was more than probable, almost a certainty in fact, that the murder in Southwark would be thought of insufficient importance to come to the Duke of Gloucester’s ears, or even Timothy’s — just another killing among the many that occurred every night south of the Thames.
I slid off the bed and stretched, feeling calmer for having arrived at a decision, no matter how craven it might be. I justified it by telling myself that I hadn’t asked to be put in this situation and that, on top of everything else, I didn’t deserve further recriminations and the discomfort of royal disapproval. What the duke and Timothy didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them, and I could be extra vigilant and on my guard throughout the coming journey.
It was dinnertime. The trumpets were sounding. I straightened my tunic, ran my fingers through my hair and descended to the common hall.
It was later than I intended when I finally made my way to the room overlooking the water-stairs. I had lingered over my dinner, debating with myself as to whether or not I was being criminally foolish in not divulging the latest development to Timothy and the duke, but, in the end, came to the same conclusion as before. Coward that I was, I was not prepared to bear the brunt of their wrath. I would just have to take extra precautions on my travels.
The tailor and his assistant were waiting for me, as was an irate spymaster general.
‘I was just going to send someone to look for you,’ the latter spat, ‘and haul you up here by the seat of your breeches.’
The apprentice giggled and I gave Timothy a nasty look.
‘Am I not to be allowed time to eat, then?’ I demanded. ‘I notice Mistress Gray hasn’t arrived yet.’
‘She won’t be, at least not for a while.’ Timothy smirked. ‘As you will be trying on your new clothes, I thought it best to spare your blushes.’
This time, the tailor laughed as well. I ground my teeth and bit back a withering retort. (Or I would have done if only I could have thought of anything withering enough in time. No doubt something would occur to me later, when the moment had passed.)
For the next half-hour, I was stripped naked, then pulled and prodded about while I was eased into two sets of new clothes, both of which felt alien and uncomfortable on my large body, used as it was to old, ill-fitting garments that moulded themselves to my shape. A fine cambric shirt was the foundation for two pairs of hose, one dark blue and the other brown — I had stipulated fiercely against any particoloured nonsense — and two woollen tunics, one a pale green adorned with silver-gilt buttons, which I hated on sight, and the other, nearly but not quite so bad, of a deep yellow. I was also equipped with a warm, all-enveloping cloak made from camlet, that mixture of wool and camel hair that is so good at keeping out the winter cold, and, finally, a brown velvet hat, sporting a fake jewel on its upturned brim. My feet being on the big side, I was allowed to keep my own boots, with the proviso that I cleaned them of their usual mud and grime.
‘Will he pass as a gentleman, do you think?’ Timothy asked dubiously.
The tailor gave a confident affirmative. ‘My clothes would make a gentleman of anyone,’ he said.
I thanked him solemnly, but he merely nodded, accepting the compliment at its face value. Timothy, on the other hand, grinned.
One set of clothes, together with a second shirt, were duly stored away in a small travelling chest, while I was handed the others, ready for me to wear the next day.
‘You’ll be starting early,’ Timothy informed me, when the tailor had been paid and bowed himself and his apprentice out, not without some mutterings under his breath about the niggardly rates paid by the state. ‘You’ll be a night on the road to Dover, then, the weather being fair, cross to Calais, which you should reach by Friday evening. Accommodation has been reserved for you and Mistress Gray — Mistress Chapman I should say — when you get to Paris.’ He turned towards the door as it opened. ‘Ah! Here she is now.’
But he was mistaken. It was not Eloise who entered but John Bradshaw, looking, I thought, somewhat defiant, like a man about to do battle. He nodded at me before addressing himself to Timothy.
‘I told you yesterday,’ he began abruptly, ‘that I needed help on this journey. I can’t keep my eye on Madame Eloise while Roger here is about whatever it is he has to be about as well as see to everything else.’
‘And I told you I can’t spare anyone,’ Timothy retorted angrily. ‘We’re short of men as it is.’
Bradshaw grunted. ‘I know you did. So I’ve taken it upon myself to hire someone of my own.’
There was a pregnant silence. Then Timothy burst out, ‘You’ve done what?’
The other man flushed slightly but stood his ground. ‘You heard me.’
The spymaster general appeared to be struck dumb. Finally, he managed to gasp out, ‘Have you taken leave of your senses?’
John Bradshaw scowled. ‘I’m not a fool. This is a man I know and trust. We were soldiers together longer ago now than I care to remember. I’d trust him with my life.’
‘I daresay. But what about other people’s lives?’ Timothy demanded, breathing hard.
I nodded my agreement in no uncertain fashion. Mine was one of those lives he was talking about.
‘You of all people,’ Timothy continued, his voice shaking with barely suppressed fury, ‘should know that you can’t do this sort of thing, Jack. I need to know about this man. The duke — who will not be pleased — will want to know all about him from me, and he’ll be deeply disappointed. He was only saying yesterday to Roger that you were one of the best, if not the best, agent we had. And now for you to go and do something as. . as fucking stupid as this, it’s unbelievable! For the Lord’s sake, man! Hasn’t it occurred to you that this old friend might be a Woodville spy?’