Mal woke with a start and swept a hand across the empty side of the bed, wondering where his wife had got to. Probably fussing over Kit, even though that was Susanna’s job. He smiled. She had taken to the boy better even than he’d hoped…
He blinked and looked around again. This was not Rushdale. The bed was too small, the windows and ceiling too low. He was in Southwark, in the house behind the Sign of the Parley.
He scrubbed a hand over his face, the remnants of the dream melting away even as he tried to recall them. A dream? More like a nightmare, a jumble of memories of the theatre fire from which he, Coby and Ambassador Kiiren had barely escaped with their lives. He could almost smell the smoke again, the stink of it on his clothes and in her hair… He shook his head. It was just the morning smell of the suburb, as the fires and furnaces were lit to power the tanneries, forges and other industries deemed too noxious to be allowed within the city itself.
There was nothing for it; he was awake now. With a groan of frustration he climbed out of bed, crossed to the washstand and splashed tepid water on his face. A trip to the barber’s, perhaps, and then to court, to try and glean information about Shawe’s whereabouts without arousing anyone’s suspicions. At least the guisers hadn’t tried to have him arrested yet. Perhaps he should write to Coby and let her know it was safe to come down to London. No, best to wait a little longer. They were safe enough where they were.
The household assembled in the park lodge a mile down the valley. A quick tally revealed only two servants missing, and there was still hope they might have fled into the hills and yet be found safe. However there was no food, and despite the chill of a March morning no one wanted to start a fire in the hearth.
“Send everyone home to their families,” Coby told the steward. “I ought to take my son to London. His father should not hear the news from strangers.”
“Of course, my lady.”
“And set some of the men to round up the horses. The coach may be beyond saving, but we can still ride.”
“Aye, my lady.” He made his obeisance and shuffled away.
She was still wearing her boy’s garb, of course, having lent her gown to Susanna. She had her jewellery box and some money, and they could clean themselves up at the first inn they came to. The important thing was to be on their way to London as soon as the horses could be found.
Whilst they waited, she took Sandy aside.
“What on Earth happened back there?” she whispered. “Did you see Frogmore?”
He grinned slyly. “I took him into the dreamlands and left him there.”
“You what? Where is he now?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
“I’ve never done it before. He might come out of his own accord, like a pea is expelled from the ripe pod. Or he might die there, or dissolve into nothing. In truth, I care not.”
He smiled down at Kit. The boy had fallen asleep from sheer exhaustion despite his terrifying night, and now lay curled on a pile of sacking.
“Still, why Frogmore?” Coby said, trying not to think about what Sandy had just said. “I thought he was our friend.”
“He was there at the capture of Selby, was he not?”
“Yes, but… You think Selby got into his mind, made him do this?”
“He must have done. Him, or one of the other renegades.”
She shivered, thinking of how she had let the man into her home even though she had not entirely trusted him or his companions. “We have to warn Mal. If Frogmore could be turned traitor, more of the Huntsmen may do likewise.”
“I agree. We should never have allied ourselves with them. Their hatred makes them weak.”
Coby left him to watch over Kit. If hatred makes the Huntsmen weak, then our love for one another makes us strong. Strong enough to defeat them – and the guisers? She shook her head. Her feelings for Sandy bordered on fear, not love. Was he really any better than them, if he could send a man into oblivion without a second thought? She did not like to think ill of him, for Mal’s sake, but she would be glad when Sandy was no longer her responsibility.
CHAPTER X
Mal stared at the sheet of paper on the desk before him, as if by sheer force of will he could make Selby’s confession resolve itself to a list of the actual guisers instead of accusing half the court. Either the guilty were named alongside the innocent, or their names had been wilfully omitted, but there were so many on each side that neither approach looked fruitful. He slammed his fist down on the table, making the ink-bottle jump. Damn Selby! And damn Shawe, for being so elusive.
The alchemist had not been seen for many months, at least not by anyone within Mal’s circle of acquaintance. Most likely he was hidden away at the home of his patron the Earl of Northumberland, but gaining entrance to Syon House would not be easy. Of Mal’s acquaintances at court, Sir Walter Raleigh was wintering in Cornwall after being wounded in the Irish expedition last year, and whilst the Earl of Essex was related through marriage to Northumberland, the two men had little in do with one another. No, Mal’s chief hope lay in Blaise Grey who, as a neighbour of Northumberland’s, might reasonably be invited to dine with him at some point.
Unfortunately that plan rather required Mal to spend time with his new employer, something neither of them would take pleasure in. It could not be postponed any longer, however. He put Selby’s confession aside, took down his cloak and hat and set off for the Strand at a brisk walk.
At Suffolk House he was shown upstairs to a grand parlour with a gilded and painted ceiling. Lady Frances Grey and her mother-in-law, the Dowager Duchess of Suffolk, sat either side of the great marble hearth, a clutter of sewing baskets around their feet.
“Sir Maliverny! What a lovely surprise!”
Mal bowed as Lady Frances rose to greet him. “The pleasure is all mine, my lady.”
“And how is that fine son of yours?”
“I left him in very good health, my lady.”
“You must bring him to court soon,” the dowager duchess said, “and your wife too. Blaise could do with a reminder of where his family duty lies.”
“Of course, my lady,” Mal replied with another bow.
Lady Frances cleared her throat. “If you came to see my husband, sir, I’m afraid he isn’t here today. Affairs of state take up so much of his time.”
Disappointment warred with relief in Mal’s breast, and an idea came to him. Perhaps his journey needn’t be wasted after all. He took Lady Frances by the elbow and guided her towards the window, out of earshot of the old duchess.
“In truth it is you I came to see, my lady,” he said in a low voice.
“Oh?”
“I need to put a spy in the Earl of Northumberland’s household, but it has to be someone completely unknown to our enemies. I therefore cannot assign any of my own men, lest Selby betrayed them, and my own presence in the vicinity of Syon House would be noted immediately.”
Lady Frances’s eyes sparkled with mischief.
“So you were hoping I might oblige, is that it?”
“I would not want you to put yourself in harm’s way, my lady. But perhaps you have connections you can use?”
Lady Frances pursed her lips, and her dark brows drew together.
“There is someone. A gardener at Richmond Palace–”
“A gardener? How is he to help us? Syon House is on the other side of the river.”
“And with it his lady-love, a maidservant in the Countess of Essex’s service. Fear not, he is a quick-witted lad with a keen memory. I shall speak with him when I next visit the Princess of Wales.”
“Thank you, my lady.”
“And whilst you are here,” she said more loudly, guiding him back towards the fireplace, “you must dine with us, so that you can tell us all about your family. I am so longing to meet Lady Catlyn; when will you bring her out of hiding, Sir Maliverny?”
“Very soon I assure you. But I need a household fit to receive her.” He gave the duchess his most charming smile. “Perhaps you ladies would advise me?”
Dinner passed slowly, for the ladies were far more intent upon giving Mal instructions on the running of his household than on consuming the food on their plates. Mal tried to pay attention whilst discreetly wolfing his own meal; the Greys were wealthy enough to eat well even in times of famine, though in deference to the Lenten season there was more fish on the table than meat.
At last the meal ended and servants brought round fingerbowls and napkins. The dower duchess excused herself, saying she customarily read her Bible in private after meals, though Mal suspected a nap was a more likely habit. He felt drowsy himself, truth be told: his belly was fuller than it had been in months, and the house’s tall glazed windows had distilled the spring sunshine into languid summer heat.
“What I wouldn’t give,” he said, as he escorted Lady Frances to the entrance hall, “for a cup of caffè right now. Just the thing for after dinner.”
“Caffè?”
“An Eastern beverage I encountered in Venice. Most stimulating, though the bitter flavour takes a little getting used to.” He ignored the pang of guilt at the memory of the equally stimulating company he had enjoyed it in. He had been a bachelor back then, entitled to his pleasures. “I wonder that the habit has not reached these shores yet.”
“I dare say it shall, soon enough. Italian fashions are still very much the vogue at court.”
The coolness of the marble-lined hall was clearing Mal’s head a little, and he recalled his other pressing problem: the identity of Jathekkil’s amayi. Surely some clue must lie within these walls, and it would be foolish to leave without at least trying to gain Lady Frances’s aid in finding it. Not here, though; the hard stone magnified the slightest whisper. He inclined his head towards the parlour opposite.
“Might I have a word in private, my lady?”
Lady Frances said nothing, only gestured gracefully for him to lead the way. He ushered her inside and closed the door. It was risking gossip, even scandal, but he dare not risk the servants overhearing.
“My lady, has Lord Grey made any further progress in his own investigations?”
“I do not think so, not beyond what you have told him.”
“Then he has not found anything useful in his father’s papers?”
She shrugged helplessly.
“An unbiased eye might help,” Mal went on. “Blaise loved his father, or at least respected him.”
“As any man should.”
“Of course. But loyalty can blind one to a loved one’s flaws, can it not?” When she nodded thoughtfully, he pressed on. “Let me take a look at the late duke’s papers, as many as we can find. Perhaps right away, before Lord Grey returns from court?”
Mal held his breath, praying that curiosity would get the better of her. He wanted to be there, to ensure that nothing incriminating was conveniently lost.
After a moment Lady Frances grinned like a naughty child. “Yes, why not? And I have an idea where to start.”
She led him through room after room of the mansion’s west wing until Mal was sure they would end up in the Thames. At last she opened a hidden door in the panelling and they went up a narrow flight of stairs to what must surely be the very top of the house. She halted at a low door and sorted through the keys on her chatelaine for a few moments. At last she found the one she was looking for, and the door creaked open into darkness.
“This is the family archive,” Lady Frances said, coughing into her sleeve as a cloud of dust rose around them. “Every letter, household bill and account book since before the Black Death, according to the steward.”
Mal stared in disbelief. Though low-ceilinged, the attic room was a good ten yards long and almost as wide, with one cobweb-festooned window at the gable end. And every square foot of floor was covered with stacks of mouldering paper, some of them as high as his waist.
“It could take a lifetime to sort through this lot, assuming the mice haven’t eaten half of it already.”
“You did say you wanted to see everything.”
“I suppose I did, didn’t I?” He picked up a handful of sheets from the nearest stack. Tailor’s bills, unpaid by the look of them, and several decades old. “Are the late duke’s personal letters here?”
“I’m not certain. They might still be in the library, if my husband has not finished with them.”
“You’ve seen them?”
“Yes, in the desk. It has a great many pigeonholes and drawers.”
“Locked drawers?”
“Some of them, yes.” She looked abashed. “I could not find a key to fit them, and I could hardly ask Lord Grey.”
“I think I can help you there. Please, show me.”