There certainly wouldn’t. Here was my chance. My plan had begun to clarify and I would not need or want either Dale or Brockley to be present.
The card players grumblingly abandoned the parlour and went upstairs while the wispy landlady went in to clear up their leftovers. Then Wyse nodded to me and the two of us, carrying our wine glasses and, in his case, some raisins and comfits that he had tossed into a spare dish, betook ourselves into the vacated parlour. He shut the door after us. The table and its benches had been left tidy but Wyse motioned me towards two cushioned settles that stood against the walls and met at a corner, so that they were at right angles to each other. I took one and Wyse the other, and we faced each other across the corner. I sipped my wine and left it to Wyse to speak first. I had already guessed what he was likely to say and he duly said it.
‘Tell me, Mrs Stannard, have you given any more thought to the proposal I made to you back at Hawkswood, not so long ago?’
I looked down at my feet, as if shy or embarrassed, and let the silence grow, until at length, he tried again. ‘You don’t reply. But surely you have thought about the matter, at least sometimes.’
‘Yes, of course. But it’s all very difficult.’
‘Difficult?’
‘There is so much to consider; the feelings of my household to think of as well as myself; my own reluctance to enter into another marriage in any case … and … well …’
I let him think that I was stammering and tiptoeing round things I didn’t want to say outright. In the course of this second silence, a mouse ran across the floor and paused under the table, nosing at a crack between the cobbles. Wyse threw a couple of raisins to it. It started back in alarm as they pattered down, and then, scenting food, darted forward to investigate the offering. We watched as it sat up, like a squirrel, with a raisin between its front paws and nibbled at the fruit.
‘Poor little things. They have to live, just like us,’ Wyse said.
‘And perhaps,’ I said, ‘they do less harm than some human beings do. Maybe they’ve a better right to their lives!’ I helped myself to some raisins and ate them and then took a deep breath. This was the moment for the next step in my wild scheme. ‘But you were very sad, were you not,’ I said, ‘when, whatever he had done, your brother Thomas Howard of Norfolk was executed? I saw that for myself, though at the time I didn’t know that you were brothers.’
Wyse stared at me, with astonishment and something so near to outrage that my courage faltered and I retreated into asking a harmless question. ‘Who was the friend who witnessed the execution with you?’
‘What is all this?’ Wyse demanded. ‘We were talking of marriage.’
I must go on. I was launched now, like a small ship on a perilous sea. If it really was perilous. If Wyse had indeed been the man who climbed into the Brockleys’ bedroom, then he was certainly dangerous, but if he wasn’t then I was wasting my time.
‘We were also talking about mice,’ I said, ‘and whether they had more right to live than some human beings. That made me think of executions, and then the Duke of Norfolk came to my mind. Who was your friend, though?’ Having asked the question, it seemed natural to seek an answer. ‘I wondered at the time. He didn’t belong to the court, I think.’
‘Why are you interested? He was just a friend, from France. Gilles Lebrun. He’s an agent for a French merchant who sells wine to England. I’ve known him for years, on and off, because he’s often in France, of course. How did you find out that Norfolk was my brother?
‘I’ve visited your mother in Kenninghall and talked to her. She told me.’
‘Whatever did you do that for?’
‘I wanted to know more about you. It came as a surprise to find that Thomas Howard was your brother – well, half-brother.’
‘I daresay! He was a dear fellow and yes, I grieved for him most bitterly. He was good to me, a true brother, however unwise he was in other respects. But why did you want to know more about me? Oh!’ His eyes widened, as an answer occurred to him. ‘So that you could better judge what kind of husband I would make?’
‘Partly,’ I said, and once more stared at my feet, wondering how to phrase my next words and remembering that Ryder thought Wyse had previous experience in the matter of poisoning watchdogs. That was a new piece of evidence, another pointer. I did not think I was wasting my time. In which case, I was inviting danger.
Presently, he said with a touch of impatience: ‘You seem unwilling to give me a plain answer – to any question. But surely there are answers. My dear, I wouldn’t, of course, do such a thing without an invitation, but if I were to come to your room tonight, you would learn how capable and how loving a husband I would make you. Would you consider inviting me?’
I raised my eyes to study his face. Candlelight is kind to the human countenance. It had softened Wyse’s eyes, blurred the pugnacity of his jaw, and he had dropped his voice to a gentle, almost purring note. The fingers round the stem of his wine glass were shapely and masculine.
How nature can betray us. For a long time, in fact since I first knew that I was carrying the child who had been christened Harry and was at Hawkswood, being cared for by Sybil and Tessie, desire had not troubled me. But I was not yet forty and I had for years been used to the comfort of regular lovemaking. Of late, I had felt uneasy stirrings. That moment with Brockley in the courtyard had been one such. Now, as I looked at Wyse’s fingers, I experienced another.
My face felt hot. To cover my confusion, I seized a hazelnut comfit. I was horrified by my own treacherous body, appalled to find myself so vulnerable. How could I possibly feel the slightest desire for this man? I didn’t like him, wouldn’t like him or want him for a husband even if I were not so suspicious of him. And I was here in this room with him only because of those suspicions which I must either confirm or dissipate, for I owed that to Brockley and Dale. If this man were innocent then I must seek further, to discover who was guilty. If he was not, then I must see that justice was done. And I had no other business with him.
‘Tell me, Master Wyse,’ I said at last, ‘was it you who came uninvited into the Brockleys’ bedchamber at Hawkswood one midnight, with a knife?’
Wyse stared at me and then burst out laughing.
‘You think that?’ he said, with scorn, and took the last of the comfits. ‘Mrs Stannard, how could you? How foolish women can be! Why should I do such a thing?’
The scorn dispelled my carnal urges most effectively. It also drove me forward, a wind in the sail of my fragile ship. It reminded me so strongly of something that Wyse had said when he came to Hawkswood to propose.
As a woman, you naturally think with your heart rather than your head. As I said, women’s minds are different from men’s. It is wisest for ladies to let the menfolk take the hard decisions.
Only a foolish person would say to his face the things I now intended to say, but he clearly considered all women foolish. He even imagined that Elizabeth was ruled by her council instead of the other way round.
‘I have been probing into the deaths of Mistress Cobbold and John Jarvis,’ I said. ‘Did you know that on the day that Jane Cobbold died, she may have overheard you talking with Jarvis when you visited him in his cottage? She was seen there, pausing outside, near a window. It links the three of you. Sir Edward Heron wasn’t impressed when he was told but I do intend to tell Francis Walsingham. He may think differently. I am on my way there now. Tell me, how can I possibly even think about your proposal, while you are under such a cloud?’
He was staring at me again. And no longer laughing.
‘I told you when you visited me at Hawkswood that I did not intend to remarry,’ I said. ‘I don’t think I will ever change my mind, but as things are, I can’t even consider such a thing. I have not confided my misgivings to anyone else, by the way, not even to my closest associates. That would be quite improper.’ Will he really swallow such blatant bait? Well, I can but try. ‘That,’ I said virtuously, ‘would be to slander you an
d that I will not do. For the misgivings themselves, I pray you will forgive me. But I must clear my mind.’
‘There’s nothing to forgive,’ Wyse said. ‘I am armoured in my innocence. But I am sorry that you think so ill of me, when I admire you so much. You have hurt my feelings, Mrs Stannard.’ He stood up, looking affronted, and abandoning his wine glass. ‘I think I must bid you goodnight. Be thankful you are but a woman. A man, I would call out for the kind of things you have … hinted. Goodnight. I shall go upstairs now, and salve my wounds in private.’
He went out, shutting the door after him almost with a slam. I let him have a minute or so, during which I hoped he would indeed go upstairs. We had finished the comfits and raisins and he had left their little dish lying on the settle. Thoughtfully, I picked it up and slid it into the hidden pouch inside my divided skirt. Then I went out of the parlour in my turn. There was no sign of Wyse but Dale, Brockley and Ryder were waiting for me, still seated round their table. I joined them.
‘Did Wyse go upstairs?’ I asked. ‘He said he intended to.’
‘Yes, a minute or two ago.’ Dale eyed me with open interest, obviously longing to know what had passed between us in the parlour.
‘I think it’s too early to retire,’ I said. ‘Master Ryder, tell us more about this errand you have in Dover.’
When finally we went upstairs, Dale came into my room with me as usual, to help me undress. The wine I had ordered was there, on the table by the curtained bed: flagon and glass. She gazed at it in puzzlement and a degree of disapproval, but I paid no attention. Instead, I said: ‘Dale, it may be inconvenient, but I wish to sleep in your room tonight. None of us should sleep in here. Is there a truckle bed I can use?’
‘There is but Roger will insist on sleeping there, for sure, if you have to be with us. He’d say you and I must share the bed,’ Dale said. ‘But ma’am, what is this all about? What did that man say to you?’
‘He renewed his proposal, of course,’ I said. ‘Without success, naturally. But I took the chance of making myself into the cheese in a mousetrap.’
I was running an eye over the room. At the foot of one wall, there was a hole – a mousehole, surely. I took the comfit bowl out of my pouch, placed it carefully beside the hole, and then unstoppered the wine flask. While Dale watched me in amazement, I poured a little into the bowl. ‘Now,’ I said, ‘we’ll join Brockley next door and I’ll explain.’
Brockley, after hearing what I had to say, shook a disbelieving head. In fact, he was near to laughing at me. ‘Madam, it can’t work! Even if he did think of … of doctoring your wine – or creeping into your room in the night to harm you – he won’t do it. He’ll see the trap for what it is. He can’t be that simple-minded.’
‘He thinks that I am. He believes that all females are simple-minded! He virtually said so, the time he came to offer me marriage. He offered to take over all my burdens. He said the female mind isn’t suited to running estates or taking decisions, or words to that effect. I told him tonight that I hadn’t confided my misgivings to anyone, even those closest to me.’
Brockley actually clawed at his hair, in a mixture of horror and something like admiration. ‘You used the enemy’s weakness against him! Very good soldierly tactics. But if he is guilty … madam, how could you put yourself in such danger?’
‘If this dangerous mouse takes the cheese,’ I said, ‘I really will have some evidence to put before Walsingham. There’s what Ryder said about Wyse knowing how best to poison the dogs, as well. It will all add up to something stronger than just the fact that Wyse owned several daggers like the one that killed Jane Cobbold, stronger than the little fact that on the day she died, Jane Cobbold may have overheard him and Jarvis talking, though for all anyone knows, they were discussing the weather.’
‘I’ll sleep in your room tonight,’ said Brockley. ‘And if he comes creeping in …’
‘You’ll sleep in here. No one occupies my room tonight,’ I said.
Brockley frowned but met my eyes and gave in. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘But before we settle down, I’ll slip in there and leave a marker to tell us tomorrow if anyone did intrude. I’ll put a couple of my hairs in the crack of the door as I close it. If anyone opens the door in the night, the hairs will fall. Then we’ll know. I’ll use the truckle bed tonight.’
‘Wake up! Wake up, Fran; madam.’ We came awake, to find Brockley, already dressed, leaning over us and gently agitating the bed. We sat up. It was after dawn, though still early, by the sound of the birdsong outside and the quality of the light. ‘What is it?’ I asked.
‘I’ve been up since cockcrow,’ said Brockley. ‘I slept well, thanks to Gladys’ recipe, but I made sure not to sleep for too long. Ryder and Wyse and the rest of them have risen and gone. That poor downtrodden landlady was up as well, making breakfast for them. I crept down the back stairs and heard her grumbling to herself. She and her husband sleep in a room at the foot of those stairs and he was still snoring; I heard him. Selfish lout,’ said Brockley censoriously. ‘It’s time we had a look at your room, madam. I’ll wait in the passage until you’re dressed.’
Dale and I lost no time in getting some clothes on. In a very few minutes, we joined Brockley and approached the door of my unused bedroom. It was dark in the passage, which had no window except a small and dirty one at the far end but Brockley had sensibly brought a candle. He held it close to my bedroom door, just under the latch.
‘The hairs I left are still here,’ he said, beckoning me to look. ‘No one went in here after you came upstairs last night. Well. Let’s go inside.’
We did so. I had left the windows unshuttered and the room was full of the early sunlight. It was also full of a disagreeable smell, though not an unfamiliar one. Most householders are bothered by mice and most set traps or else keep cats to hunt them. Trapped mice lie where they have died and injured mice sometimes escape from cats’ claws and die inside their holes. One knows about it soon enough for the decaying body will start to stink within hours. My room reeked of dead mouse. I went to the hole where I had left the little bowl of wine.
It was empty, and there were two dead mice beside it. They had died unpleasantly, in puddles of their own faeces.
‘Oh, ma’am!’ said Dale, holding her nose.
‘So it worked!’ Brockley was awed. ‘No one entered this room after I placed those hairs but he had time before you ever came upstairs, and he put something in your wine, just as you hoped he would. He’d assume it would be put down to food poisoning, I fancy. In a place like this, who’d be surprised!’
‘Yes. He did what I thought most likely,’ I said. ‘As I said last night, I purposely annoyed him in the hope that he’d walk out, leaving me in the parlour and then I kept us downstairs until he’d had his chance to get at my wine – which I’d ordered in his hearing. When I gave that order, Dale, I was afraid you were going to exclaim in surprise!’
‘I couldn’t understand it,’ Dale said. ‘You’d never done such a thing before. But madam, what made you think of it? What gave you the idea?’
‘It was when Ryder said that Wyse provided poison for use on guard dogs,’ I said. ‘Apparently, he told Ryder that he’d mixed it with something to make the dogs sleepy as well, to keep them from making much noise. It was obvious that Ryder thought that Wyse had poisoned guard dogs in the past and perhaps they did make a noise, so this time he added something that would prevent that. Well, poor Sandy cried. Maybe that was Wyse’s piece of past experience. I kept thinking about it. Then I remembered that Sandy once had his nose in Simon’s ale tankard. If dogs liked strong drink, I thought perhaps mice might. And if so, maybe it would be a way of finding out if anything had been done to my wine. It was chancy. The mice might have crept off and died out of sight under the floorboards but they didn’t. We have our evidence for Walsingham.’
Brockley had unstoppered the wine flask and was sniffing at it. ‘There’s a queer smell,’ he said. ‘Faint, but it’s there.’
‘We’ve got to get rid of it,’ I said. ‘What’s below the window?’
Brockley, flask in hand, went to look. ‘A dusty-looking bush,’ he said. He wrestled for a moment with a stiff latch, got the casement open and emptied the flask out of it. ‘I don’t know whether it can harm the bush but the poor thing looks half-dead already.’ He turned back into the room. ‘The flask will need a good wash.’
‘Better break it,’ I said. ‘I’ll apologize for the accident and pay for it. Lucky it’s glass and not metal or leather; it’ll be easier to destroy. And then, Brockley, I must leave you and Dale here, while I make haste to Whitehall. And Walsingham.’
EIGHTEEN
Beyond Reason
I was recognized this time and admitted to Walsingham’s presence with little delay. As usual, he was busy at a cluttered desk while his clerks were also busy, three of them in an outer office and Humphrey Johnson, their senior, in the same room as his master. Walsingham wasn’t in a good temper, and his face looked drawn. I suspected a return of the mys-terious stomach trouble from which he so often suffered. I wondered if perhaps his ailment was the reason why he so often seemed so stark and joyless and wished I could ask Gladys to advise him.
Still, he was gracious enough to grant me an interview though his response to what I had to say was disappointing.
‘Granted, it sounds as if there are some bits and pieces of evidence that point at Roland Wyse, but what do they really amount to? You say you have learned from his mother that she once had an affair with the Earl of Surrey, the father of the late Duke of Norfolk, and that Wyse and the duke were brothers. And Wyse wept when at his brother’s execution. I urged that on, which explains why he probably detests me, but where does that get us? Then there is what you say about Jane Cobbold …’
‘On the day of her death, she may have overheard him talking to Jarvis. It brings the three of them together,’ I said, interrupting him and repeating what I had already told him. And others. Ad nauseam, I thought irritably.
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