‘They won’t hurt you, master,’ he said grinning up at me and plainly sensing my fear. ‘Gentle as milk, they are.’ He had all the countryman’s contempt for the townsman, particularly for the popinjay that I appeared to be. Then his eyes swiveled to Timothy and took in the Gloucester livery. At once, his manner changed. He tugged his greying forelock. ‘William Blancheflower, sir, kennel man to Sir Francis. What’s your pleasure?’
‘Where’s the steward?’ Timothy demanded, dismounting. ‘You’ve heard the news from London, I suppose?’
The man’s face was suddenly haggard. ‘About poor Tutor Machin and the young master? Yes, sir, we heard yesterday. Young Piers Daubenay was sent by Dame Copley with the dreadful tidings. You don’t know if Master Gideon’s been found yet, do you, sir?’
Before Timothy could reply, I eased myself stiffly from the saddle and asked. ‘Who’s Piers Daubenay?’
‘I am, sir,’ announced a voice behind me, and I swung round to see a smooth-skinned youth of, I reckoned, some sixteen or seventeen summers standing at my elbow. Bright blue eyes and a mop of reddish-brown curls were the most outstanding features of an otherwise unexceptional, but very pleasant face. Normally, I imagined, it was the mirror of a happy and sunny disposition, but at present its owner appeared careworn and a little frightened.
‘You’re a friend of Master Fitzalan?’
‘Not a friend exactly, sir, but I’m of his household. I’m a sort of valet, sir. I look after his clothes and help him dress and cut his hair and file his nails. But he was — I mean is — ’ the voice trembled slightly — ‘a friendly young gentleman, sir, and. . and we got — get — on together, sir.’
This was suddenly too much for Timothy, who snapped irritably, ‘For God’s sake, lad, stop calling him “sir”! This is Master Chapman and he’s no more up in the world than you are.’
But if this was meant to put me in my place, it had exactly the opposite effect. Young Master Daubenay’s eyes grew round as saucers.
‘You’re not the famous chapman, are you? The one who solves mysteries?’ He took my answer for granted and clasped my hand. ‘Oh, sir! Someone said my lord of Gloucester had sent for you. Oh, you will find him, sir, won’t you? Master Gideon, I mean.’
I dared not glance at Timothy. I could see that even William Blancheflower had shifted his respectful gaze from my companion to myself.
‘I’ll do my best,’ I assured Piers Daubenay and returned the pressure of his hand before gently freeing myself. It was a soft hand which had probably never known hard, manual labour. I added, ‘I’d like to talk to you as soon as I can. I need to know everything you’re able to tell me about the happenings at Baynard’s Castle last Saturday.’
At that moment, much, I think, to Timothy’s relief, the steward came hurrying towards us, his wand of office tapping the ground as he approached. Again, one glance at the White Boar emblem was sufficient to secure us his immediate and obsequious attention as he ushered us into the house and handed us over to an equally deferential housekeeper.
‘Mistress Blancheflower, these gentlemen are in need of supper and beds for the night. I shall leave them in your capable hands. Masters!’ He gave us a little bow. ‘I shall look forward to your company at the high table in the servants’ hall in an hour’s time.’ He left us, and I almost expected him to shuffle out backwards as if we were royalty.
Timothy, his self-importance restored, smiled pleasantly at the housekeeper and said, ‘Blancheflower? Are you related to Sir Francis’s kennel man?’
She chuckled. ‘Oh, you’ve met William, have you, sir? Yes, as you’ve quite likely guessed, he’s my husband, We’ve been married these dozen years or more. And now, if you’ll follow me, I’ll show you and the other gentleman to your rooms.’
She bustled ahead of us, a slender, upright woman of about her husband’s age, which I judged to be somewhere around forty. In contrast to her body, which tended to be angular, her face was softly rounded, its best feature a pair of large brown eyes fringed with sandy lashes beneath delicately arched eyebrows of roughly similar colour. Normally, I suspected she was a jolly soul, but the news brought from London by young Daubenay had cast a gloom over the entire household. She made no further attempt to engage us in conversation until she had seen us safely installed in two adjacent guest-rooms on the ground floor and assured herself that all was in order. Only then did she allow herself the luxury of an anxious question.
‘I suppose you’ve heard no more about poor young Master Gideon, sirs?’
Timothy shook his head. ‘Master Chapman and I are on our way to London now and hope to reach there sometime Friday morning. We must spend another night on the road after leaving here tomorrow, but it may be that there will be some good news by the time we get there.’ He was plainly loath to draw attention to me, but, seeing no help for it, went on: ‘Master Chapman has been called in by my lord Protector to try to find the boy and throw some light on the mysterious circumstances of Tutor Machin’s death. The reason we’re here is because Master Chapman feels it necessary to discover something about his and young Master Fitzalan’s life in the days before they left for the capital last week, in company with the Duchess of Gloucester.’
The housekeeper turned to me, looking bewildered. ‘There’s nothing to tell, sir. There were no unusual happenings, nothing out of the ordinary until the sudden summons for Master Gideon to go to London to wait upon the new young king. That was a surprise, I admit. None of us had foreseen such a request, as indeed why should we? If we’d thought about it at all, we’d assumed that His Highness would have his own attendants, brought with him from Ludlow; boys who’d grown up with him and been his playmates and fellow scholars for most of his life.’
I glanced at Timothy and raised my eyebrows, but he at once gave a discreet shake of his head. There was no need, his look implied, to say more than necessity demanded.
Mistress Blancheflower meantime rattled on, ‘He didn’t want to go at first. Master Gideon, I mean. And Gregory — Tutor Machin — was even more put out than he was. Carried on something dreadful about the lad falling behind with his lessons and growing up a dunderhead with his noddle stuffed full of nothing but pleasure and fine food and new clothes. That was when I saw the boy’s attitude begin to change. He suddenly decided that going to London might not be such a bad thing after all as long as Mother Copley and Piers were allowed to accompany him to attend to his well-being. He wasn’t best pleased, though, when he discovered that Gregory was also going with him.’
‘And Dame Copley?’ I enquired. ‘How did she feel about London?’
The housekeeper cocked her head on one side, absent-mindedly jingling the keys at her belt.
‘To my surprise, she quite liked the idea. I’d expected her to complain that Gideon was too delicate — she was always dosing him with some concoction or another, poor child — and shouldn’t be exposed to the foul London air. But she didn’t. In the end, she was as eager to be off as he was. Although, she wouldn’t have been, of course, if she could have foreseen what was going to happen almost as soon as he got there.’
Neither Timothy nor I volunteering any opinion on the matter, she finally took herself off with a parting instruction to present ourselves in the servants’ hall for supper in about an hour.
‘Anyone will tell you where it is. Meantime, I’ll send one of the girls with hot water for you. You’ll no doubt be in need of a wash after your journey.’
She was as good as her word, a young kitchen-maid arriving shortly afterwards, staggering under the weight of a heavy pail full of gently steaming water. A little later, having washed and changed my yellow tunic for the green one with silver-gilt buttons, I knocked on Timothy’s door and suggested that we spend the intervening time until supper by a turn in the fresh air.
‘I need to stretch my legs. They feel cramped from all that riding.’