Kate Sedley - The Dance of Death

We went to Mass, to Tierce, having risen far too late for Prime, and I left the choice of the Île de la Cité’s twenty-one churches to her. She decided eventually upon Saint-Pierre aux Boeufs, with its lovely slender spire, and stood beside me, eyes downcast, like a sweet and dutiful wife. As we left, she tucked a hand into the crook of my elbow and gave my arm a squeeze. If not entirely forgiven, I was not the pariah I had been an hour or so before.

‘Let’s go for a walk,’ she said, but still quiet and inclined to be sombre. In much the same spirit I agreed.

So we strolled around the Île, saying little but with a growing sense of harmony, from the groves of the Jardins Royals in the west, by way of the cloisters and galleries behind the cathedral of Notre-Dame and the Bishop’s Palace to the tangle of wasteland in the east, with its view of the neighbouring islands of Notre-Dame and the Île aux Vaches. I remarked again on the splendid flagging of the streets with their furrows for the horses’ hooves and was intrigued by the little twisting turret staircases and the conical roofs of the houses. From one of the tarred booths of the Palus Market, already open for Sunday trade, I bought Eloise a green ribbon to match her green dress. And finally, in the shadow of the nearby Sainte-Chapelle, we stopped and faced one another, holding hands.

‘Tell me I’m forgiven,’ I said. ‘My behaviour was abominable.’

‘No, I was the one to blame,’ she answered gently. ‘Mine was the original fault. I must have sounded like a shrew, and without reason. I’m sorry.’

I smiled at her. ‘Then we’ll forgive one another, and I’ll go with you to see Jane and Robert Armiger after we’ve eaten.’

I didn’t add that I had an ulterior motive in wanting to speak to Jane Armiger again. It seemed wiser not to.

And so, after dinner — a meal that Eloise and I ate together in the parlour, neither John Bradshaw nor Philip putting in an appearance — we crossed back to La Ville and made our way to the Rue de la Tissanderie, to a house only a few doors distant from the great main thoroughfare of the Rue Saint-Martin.

We were fortunate in finding the Armigers in sole possession, Jane’s French kinfolk having, so we were told, gone to visit yet another relative who was ailing and had sent that morning, demanding their immediate assistance.

‘Tante Louise is rather demanding,’ Jane said, obviously feeling the need to excuse her relations’ absence.

‘A miserable, exigent old harridan,’ Robert snorted in his usual forthright fashion. ‘But I don’t suppose Master and Mistress Chapman are worried whether your cousins are here or not, my dear.’

He was right, of course, but his brutal way of expressing himself only upset his wife further. Her eyes were constantly full of unshed tears, which she surreptitiously wiped away before they could provoke another outburst from her husband. I saw Eloise compress her lips and guessed that she was, most unwisely, on the verge of giving Master Armiger a piece of her mind, but the arrival of Will Lackpenny averted what might have turned into an unpleasant situation.

It struck me that Robert was not as happy to see his fellow traveller as he had once been, and I wondered if his suspicions were at last aroused or if he had simply tired of Will’s company. But the visit could not have served my purpose better because Eloise, in a spirit of sheer mischief, immediately set out to monopolize Will’s attention, preventing him from getting close to Jane and bombarding him with a series of questions that he was too polite too ignore.

I seized my opportunity and drew my stool nearer to where Mistress Armiger was sitting, a little removed from the rest of us, by the window. After ascertaining that there was no more news of her brother, and sympathetically patting her hand when she showed signs of breaking down, I asked swiftly, ‘What exactly did you mean, that morning in Calais, when you said, “Yes”?’ She stared at me uncomprehendingly, and I went on, ‘I’d asked you if your grandmother — the French one, the seamstress — had ever mentioned any scandal regarding the Duchess of York and one of her bodyguard of archers. You didn’t answer at once, but just as I was leaving, you said, “Yes.” Do you remember?’ She gave me a watery smile and nodded. ‘You haven’t mentioned my enquiry to anyone else, have you? Your husband or. . or Master Lackpenny?’

‘No.’ She added apologetically, ‘I haven’t really thought about it since,’ and gave a little sob. ‘There. . there have been. .’

‘Other things on your mind. Of course. I understand that. And I don’t want you to say anything to either of them. To anyone at all. I ought not to have asked you what I did. But. . well. . as I did, what made you say, “Yes”?’

‘Because I did once overhear my grandmother tell my mother that there had been some scandal concerning the duchess and an archer while she was in Rouen.’

I was glad to note that she had lowered her voice almost to a whisper and I couldn’t resist glancing over my shoulder. Eloise still held Will Lackpenny in thrall, while Robert Armiger was looking at them both, distinctly bored.

‘Did your grandmother happen to mention the name of the archer concerned?’

Jane Armiger shook her head. ‘No. I think, from what I can recollect, that she didn’t know much. There had been some talk among the women, but that was all. In fact, young as I was, I can clearly recall her saying that the duchess was far too proud a woman to take a common archer to her bed. She didn’t believe it, she said.’ Jane nodded again. ‘Yes, I can remember her saying that.’

I sighed. I was no further forward. But there had been a rumour; that was something, I supposed. I still needed to find Robin Gaunt, however. I leaned a little closer to Jane. ‘Will you promise to say nothing to anyone about this conversation? I. . I’m sorry. I can’t explain, but it is important.’

‘I shan’t say anything.’ She smiled sadly. ‘I don’t talk to my husband much anyway.’

‘And. . Master Lackpenny?’

The smile deepened and grew tender. ‘Oh,’ she murmured shyly, ‘we. . we have other things to talk about.’

We were interrupted by Eloise, who had grown tired of flirting with Will and now wanted to reclaim my attention.

‘What are you two talking about so cosily over here?’

‘I was asking Mistress Armiger if she had received any more news of her brother,’ I answered, getting to my feet. ‘And commiserating with her concerning his loss.’

‘I keep telling her Oliver’s dead,’ Robert Armiger said bluntly. ‘And she might as well make up her mind to it.’

There was an awkward silence; then, not surprisingly, Jane Armiger burst into noisy tears. ‘Oh, Robin, how can you be s-so cruel?’ she gasped and fled from the room.

Her husband had the grace to look uncomfortable, but he brazened it out. ‘Women!’ he exclaimed disdainfully. ‘What unaccountable creatures they are! There’s no reasoning with them.’

Eloise had her mouth open to refute this statement. I could see that she was fuming and caught her by the arm, giving it a little nip with my fingers.

‘We must be going,’ I said, and extended my hand to Robert Armiger. ‘Please convey our farewells to your wife and say we perfectly understand how she feels. I don’t know if we shall see one another again — it depends how long we stay in Paris — but if we do, I trust you may have happier news to give us.’

He snorted sceptically, making no effort to detain us, and we were barely clear of the house before Eloise, unable any longer to contain herself, forcibly and loudly expressed her opinion of Master Armiger’s manners.

‘Hush,’ I reprimanded her. ‘He might hear you.’