King's Bishop

Sixteen

Thoresby’s chambers at Windsor were in the new wing near the royal apartments, large and comfortable, with a hearth that served both the parlour and bedchamber. Queen Phillippa had seen to his placement here, one of her many acts of generosity towards him. Alice Perrers occupied the mirror apartment at the other end of the long hallway, also the Queen’s choice. Did Phillippa ever regret inviting Alice into her household?

Tonight Thoresby and Alice would dine in the Archbishop’s parlour. Quite civilised, enemies dining on food from the royal kitchen, fine wine from Thoresby’s cellar, warmed by a fire burning in the hearth, the torches along the wall lighting the elegant tapestries depicting such courtly activities as tournaments and dancing in the great hall. Would Alice notice the tapestries? He remembered Archer’s first visit to his London chambers, the hawk eye studying the hunt tapestries that had been designed for the parlour. Thoresby did not recall Alice studying these when she had visited him in his old quarters in the lower ward. He certainly could not remember noting the decoration in Alice’s parlour when he had returned her visit; but she had been distraction enough.

She would not distract him tonight. Thoresby meant to impress Alice with his courtly manners, allow her every opportunity to display her infamous wit. He meant to sit back and watch, and listen, and make her so comfortable she would speak to him of Mary’s death.

Thoresby’s page, Adam, staggered into the room with a basket loaded with the first items for the supper. Michaelo followed him in. Already the table was covered with a linen cloth, Thoresby’s finest Italian goblets, silver platters, spoons, even a bowl of dried, fragrant herbs from Lucie Wilton’s garden to scent the room. Adam now drew several bottles from the basket, a ripe cheese, a loaf of pandemain.

Thoresby was well pleased.

Michaelo proffered a tall, narrow bottle.

‘Your family’s liqueur?’ Thoresby asked.

‘I thought the occasion might warrant it.’ Michaelo lifted an inquiring eyebrow. His family was known for this exquisite concoction, but the last time Thoresby had heard of it was when someone had used the intense flavour to mask an unsavoury, dangerous additive.

Though it was true that Thoresby would have liked to see the last of Alice Perrers, a man in his position had to take subtler action. ‘It is quite safe?’

Michaelo smirked. ‘I assure you it is. A heady mixture of herbs and honey, nothing more. However, should you require …’

‘I do not.’

Michaelo erased the smile.

Thoresby glanced at the other items. ‘You have outdone yourselves, both of you.’

Still nonplussed by the rebuff of his attempt to amuse, Michaelo bowed stiffly. ‘These are merely the accessories, Your Grace. Adam will fetch the kitchen servants to deliver the hot dishes after Mistress Perrers arrives.’

‘Let us hope she warms to the hospitality.’

‘If all is well, I shall leave the remaining preparations to Adam,’ Michaelo said, pausing by the door until Thoresby waved him away.

Adam opened the door with a flourish, bowing low to Gilbert and his lady. The young servant stepped back to allow Mistress Perrers a sweeping entrance. Resplendent in crimson velvet and silk, pearls sprinkled on the costly gown, in her hair, and on her transparent veil, Alice Perrers made the most of her arrival. The colour, Thoresby knew, had been chosen to be provocative. Which it was, it was.

‘You do me honour, Mistress Perrers,’ Thoresby said.

‘My Lord Chancellor, it is I who am honoured.’ Her voice matched her gown, all silk and velvet. ‘But will you not call me Alice? You did so when I entertained you in my chambers.’ Her smile was playful.

Thoresby had not invited Alice Perrers for a evening of cat and mouse. He wondered whether honesty might halt the game. ‘I was drunk and discourteous at that meeting,’ he said. ‘I did not invite you to dine with me in order to repeat my shameful behaviour, but rather to begin again.’ The last part was not entirely honest, but it was plausible, and it suited his purpose.

The cat eyes twinkled with amusement. ‘You are a man of many surprises. ’

‘Might we try to begin again?’

‘Certainly, Your Grace.’ She made the formal address sound intimate.

While they dined, Thoresby kept to pleasantries about court, details about the wine, amusing stories of York. Alice, for her part, also kept to light topics, though she seemed unable to resist flirting with her eyes and gestures. It was not until the fish and venison had been removed that Thoresby turned to the real discussion.

‘I have not had the opportunity to extend my condolences at the loss of your maid, Mary.’ At once the cat eyes lost their sparkle. ‘I understand she was more ward than servant.’

Alice dropped her head, took a moment to reply. ‘I was fond of Mary.’

‘She was attending you at your house in town when it happened?’

Without looking up, Alice shook her head. ‘No.’ Now she raised her head. The cat eyes glistened, but with tears, not amusement. Thoresby could not remember having seen her thus before. ‘The silly girl had fallen in love with Ned Townley, as I am sure you know,’ Alice said, her voice strained. ‘I opposed the match. I pushed her too far. She ran away.’ She dropped her eyes.

‘You blame yourself?’ An unexpected twist.

Alice gestured towards Adam. ‘If your servant were to run from you, would you not feel responsible?’

‘Forgive me for mentioning it.’ His apology was surprisingly sincere.

Alice lifted her cup, sipped the liqueur. ‘Why are we speaking of Mary’s death?’

Never so deeply in mourning that she let down her guard. ‘I wondered whether you had heard of Ned Townley’s disappearance after reading a puzzling letter about Mary’s drowning?’

A flush of discomfort. ‘I have heard rumours. Have you read the letter?’

So she had not. Interesting. ‘I have. In fact, one of my men copied the contents. Would you like me to read it?’

A moment’s hesitation. ‘Please do.’

Thoresby found the pause, the tight voice, most intriguing. Apprehensive? Was the King withholding this information from his mistress? Or was this a sign of a more serious rift? Thoresby nodded to Adam, who disappeared into the next room for the letter. He had staged it thus so neither Alice nor her servant might see in which trunk Thoresby kept his papers. Perhaps an unnecessary precaution. Nevertheless …

While awaiting the letter, Thoresby told Alice of Don Ambrose’s behaviour on the journey to Rievaulx.

‘Don Ambrose?’ Alice’s hand moved up to her throat, her eyes mirrored the surprise in her voice.

He had indeed cracked Alice’s seemingly impregnable shell. ‘You had not heard of Don Ambrose’s part in this?’

Alice shook her head. ‘An Austin friar. That is all I heard.’

Adam returned with Owen’s letter. Thoresby read his transcription of Don Paulus’s letter. As he finished, he glanced up, saw an Alice drained of colour. ‘You are shocked.’

‘How could he be so cruel as to leave her there?’ Her voice was a whisper, her cat eyes were wide, battling tears.

Thoresby resisted a desire to console her. ‘Precisely why I wished you to hear it, Mistress Perrers. I thought you might be able to tell me why Don Paulus would write such a letter. Two things puzzle me — the assumption that Don Ambrose will understand why he neither pulled Mary from the river nor told anyone what he had seen, and why Ambrose and Paulus concerned themselves with Mary at all.’

‘Where is Paulus?’ Alice asked.

‘He has disappeared.’

‘And Ambrose, too?’

Thoresby nodded. ‘Were either of the friars kin to Mary?’

‘Kin?’ Alice whispered, shook her head. ‘I think I should have known. We did talk. I trust she would have said something.’

‘Can you explain any of this?’

Alice gripped the edge of the table with her hands. The gesture seemed to strengthen her. Her face took on some colour. ‘These friars must be found.’ Her voice was clear now, angry.

‘The privy councillor has organised a search for Paulus, I believe. I have men searching for Ambrose.’

‘The privy councillor? What is Wykeham’s interest in this?’

‘Don Ambrose and Ned Townley were on a mission on his behalf when they disappeared.’

Alice nodded. ‘I had forgotten.’ She took the last sip of her liqueur. ‘I would be grateful for any news.’

Thoresby nodded. ‘I did have a thought. I wondered whether I might ask your opinion?’

‘Of course.’

‘Is it possible that Mary’s death is related to the death of Sir William of Wyndesore’s page, Daniel?’

A flush. The amber eyes flamed. ‘Neither Mary nor Ned had anything to do with Daniel’s accident.’

‘You are convinced it was an accident?’

Alice rose. ‘In truth, I have given it little thought. Daniel was not my concern.’

Not true. She was trembling with emotion. But what emotion? ‘You vouched for Ned Townley.’

‘I stepped forward as someone who knew the truth. Ned had been with Mary that night.’

‘Do you know Sir William of Wyndesore very well?’

Alice’s blush competed with her crimson clothing. So. Lovers, were they? He felt a disturbing stab of envy. ‘I know him,’ Alice said. Her chin up, she motioned for Gilbert to prepare to depart. ‘I went to him when his men accused Ned Townley of frightening Daniel into drinking too much.’

‘Is that what they accused him of?’

The cat eyes were wary. ‘What did you think?’

Thoresby shrugged. ‘A push from the tower?’

Alice closed her eyes, shook her head. ‘There was never any question of that.’ She stood tensed, as if awaiting the next uncomfortable question.

Was it possible only Michaelo had noted the marks on the lad’s wrists? ‘Sir William never doubted it was an accident?’

Alice opened her eyes slowly. ‘I would not know, Your Grace.’ This time the last two words were icily formal.

Stalemate. Thoresby bowed. ‘Forgive me for ending the evening with an unpleasant topic.’

‘I thank you for reading the letter, Your Grace. I regret that I have been of no help to you. The excellent food, wine and company more than compensate for a little unpleasantness.’ Her smile was polite, but it could not hide the strain in the eyes, the voice.

*

Michaelo stood up as the door to Thoresby’s chambers opened. He smiled in the darkness as he heard Thoresby’s farewell, saw Alice Perrers’s profile against the lighted doorway.

He watched Alice and Gilbert move down the torchlit hallway. As soon as they turned into the crossing corridor, he stole after them. He was disappointed to see Gilbert open the door to Alice’s chambers. But perhaps she required a cloak. Michaelo ducked into an alcove, waited. At last the door opened, but it was only Gilbert, off to his bed in the servant’s hall below. Michaelo followed him just to make sure. Indeed, Gilbert entered the room and did not leave.

Thoresby sat slumped in his chair by the fire, his stomach beginning to register a complaint at the rich food followed by a tense conversation. And his latest battle to resist Alice Perrers’s attraction. Michaelo’s disappointing report was shrugged off. It would have been convenient to identify another with an interest in this matter, but no matter. It was enough to see Alice Perrers’s unease.

Adam coughed politely beside him. Thoresby glanced up. The lad held a drinking bowl nestled in a cloth. Something hot.

‘What is it?’

‘Mistress Wilton’s tisane for the stomach, Your Grace. I thought perhaps with the rich food …?’

Thoresby made the effort to smile as he accepted the warm bowl. ‘You must be weary, lad. To bed with you. The rest can be removed in the morning.’

‘You are ready to retire, Your Grace?’

‘Not quite yet. Prepare my bed, then go to yours. I shall drink this, think a while. I can undress myself, Adam. It is more important that you are awake to dress me in the morning, eh?’

Adam nodded, went about snuffing candles, then disappeared into the bedchamber.

Thoresby sipped the minty tisane and tried to slip into pleasant thoughts, tried to conjure up his goddaughter’s face, her throaty laugh. But it was no use. The unhappy faces of William of Wykeham and Alice Perrers were burned into the insides of his eyelids. Two intelligent people made miserable by their ambition. It was no surprise that Alice Perrers was uneasy at court; the position of a royal mistress was only as stable as the King, and Edward was an old man with flagging powers. But Thoresby had not expected Wykeham to lose his peace of mind so soon.

Of late, it seemed the worst fate of a courtier was to win the confidence of the King. Yet who would utter such treasonous advice?