Chapter Nine

After shoving my clothes into my saddlebag and strapping on my sword, I made my way to the stables, where I saddled Cinnabar and paid the groom more than enough to ensure at least his temporary silence. We cantered furiously out of Whitehall under a darkening sky.

Flurries of icy sleet stung my face like needles. The weather had turned foul, the morning’s clarity subsumed by an incoming storm, and as I rode, I welcomed the chill seeping into my marrow. I did not want to dwell on the implicit accusation in Kate’s words, the charge that I had once again chosen to risk my personal safety for Elizabeth.

I hated to admit that to some extent, Kate was right: To venture alone to the north on a secret assignation was reckless. If whoever had taken Lady Parry was the same person who sent the poisoned box, I could not fail in my task, as more than just Lady Parry’s safety hung in the balance. Should something befall me, whom could Elizabeth turn to?

Still, I had not fully acknowledged what I was about until I found myself riding down Tower Street to the Griffin, reining outside the door. Tethering Cinnabar to the hitching post, I stalked into the tavern. The clammy smell of spilt ale and dissipated smoke greeted me; in the dismal gloaming of the storm brewing outside, the tavern resembled what it was—a seedy establishment with warped plank flooring, daub walls stained with grease, stools stacked on the scarred tables like pitted mushrooms, as though rats had been gnawing at them with tiny teeth.

I came to a halt. The Griffin might be tawdry, a watering hole for dockhands, whores, and laborers, yet at least here was a place someone called home, while I, with my king’s sword and expensive clothes, my royal favor and enviable repute, had nowhere of my own.

Shaking aside my contemptible self-pity, I called out. From behind the hutch, young Tom stumbled into view, his mop of hair askew, grimy hands rubbing at his sleep-swollen eyes. He gasped. “Your … your lordship—”

“No lordship today, lad. Just me. Where is your master?”

“Upstairs, still abed.” Tom looked anxiously to the door. “Was it unlocked?”

“Well, I am no ghost,” I replied dryly, and he let out a moan. “I forgot! Mistress Nan told me last night to bolt it but I forgot. Please, my lord”—he clasped hands before him in supplication—“don’t tell her. She’ll kick me out and I have nowhere else to go.”

His plea cracked the hardening shell inside me. Looking at his thin, disheveled person, oversized breeches hitched about his skinny waist with a bit of twine, revealing dirty ankles above ill-fitting shoes he must have stolen from some corpse, I saw my lost squire again. Peregrine had also been obliged to fend for himself until I hired him, an anonymous piece of gristle for the court to devour. Bowing my head, I said with a catch in my voice, “Do not worry, boy, I won’t tell.” I looked toward Shelton’s empty chair. “Where’s his ugly dog?”

“Crum?” Tom shrugged. “Upstairs, too; he follows the master everywhere.”

“So much for guarding the establishment,” I muttered. I could not look into his eyes for too long. Memories of Peregrine threatened to engulf me as I rummaged in my purse, tossing out a coin. “See that my horse isn’t stolen,” I told him.

He eagerly scurried out, heaving the tavern door shut. Its closure echoed in the empty room; as I stood there, uncertain, thinking I had made an error in coming here and should just make for the North Road before the storm struck, I heard the dull thud of footsteps. Moments later, a heavy clamber down the staircase preceded Shelton in a rumpled shirt, his thick, veined legs bare and limping under the hem, one visibly deformed and shorter than the other. He brandished a cudgel as he peered suspiciously at me with his one good eye. At his side, Crum growled, baring discolored stumps of teeth.

I yanked off my cap.

“Lad.” Shelton lowered the cudgel. “Rather soon for another visit. Missed us that much, did you?”

Nan sidled around him, clutching a shawl to her throat. Silver-threaded hair escaped her flattened hood. Despite her evident anxiety that an intruder had broken into the tavern, the telltale blush in her cheeks made me grin.

“Do I disturb you?” I said.

“Not at all,” she declared, more loudly than required, betraying that I had. “We were just waking. The hour … it got away with us.” She scowled. “Good thing you returned when you did. That slattern Alice was supposed to be here by now, to scrub the hearths. And where is good-for-nothing Tom? I told him to—”

“I sent him outside to mind my horse. He opened the door for me.” I met Shelton’s eye as I spoke; his expression shifted, indicating he had read my unvoiced purpose.

“Hungry?” he asked. I nodded, sending Nan straight to the kitchen. Shelton set the cudgel aside. “I’ll be a moment. You wait here and break your fast.” He trudged back up the stairs, leaving Crum to stare balefully at me. “Don’t mind him,” Shelton called out. “He won’t attack unless I tell him to.”

I was hardly reassured. Though the dog’s teeth looked fit only for gnawing boiled meat, fending him off would still be an unpleasant experience. Easing a stool down from the nearest table, I sat cautiously. With a snort, Crum lowered himself onto the staircase landing and broke wind.

Nan returned with a tray. She winced. “God save us, he feeds that cur too much.” She set the tray before me: a tankard of small-beer, carter’s bread, and a bowl of porridge. “I haven’t been to the market yet, and they ate us out of everything last night. The winds: No one could do much work on the docks, so every lazybones ended up here. Not that there’s much to choose from at the market these days,” she added, “what with the whole country in the poorhouse: The harvests have been terrible and we’re lucky to find decent turnips, let alone much else. But, I have my sources.”

“This is fine, thank you.” As I reached for the food, she planted her hands on her hips and glared. “I assume this isn’t a friendly waking call? Not that we’re not delighted to see you, but you were just here.” She paused, waiting. When I did not answer, she harrumphed. “Just as I thought. You’ve come to drag him off into more mischief.”

“Nan, I—”

“No, no.” She wagged her finger at me. “It’s none of my business, as that old goat upstairs would be quick to remind me. I’m not to say a word.” She thrust her chin at me. “Except that I will. I do not like it. I do not like it and I never will. He has had enough of the highborn and their intrigues. Almost killed him the last time, that Wyatt revolt; after it was quelled, we spent weeks keeping our noses down so the authorities would not come knocking on our door to ask if we knew something. Lucky for him, he wasn’t seen running around with you, because you’d already gone into hiding and it wasn’t as if grand Master Cecil was about to vouchsafe our contribution to helping save the kingdom.”

“I know,” I said quietly. “He risked his life. I won’t ask him, if it will upset you.”

“Bit late for that now,” she retorted. She went silent again, considering. “I can’t say he didn’t warn me. When you showed up, he told me he was going to do whatever you asked. He says he owes you, as he was not the man he should have been when you were growing up. But whatever mistakes he’s made in the past, he’s different now,” she said, her voice quavering. “He’s a decent soul and God knows there are too few of them these days. Swear to me you will not let anything happen to him. It would be the end of me. I’m not worth a farthing without him.”

“I swear it. I will lay down my life for his, if need be.”

She hesitated, as if she was going to say more, then she turned away as Shelton trudged back down the stairs. He wore outdoor garb: a hooded cloak and sword sheathed at his hip, his battered wedge-heeled boots that balanced his stance. Crum sighed in dejection.

“Not done yet?” Shelton eyed the platter before me. “Best hurry and fill your belly, lad. The day’s not getting longer, or any warmer, by the looks of it.”

Dutifully breaking bread, I averted my eyes as Shelton cradled Nan in his arms and she rested her head on his shoulder.