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Read Online [Roger the Chapman 02] - The Plymouth Cloak by Kate Sedley - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Kate Sedley
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his bed into position, there was a tell-tale groan from one of the stairs. It was a tread somewhere in the middle of the flight, and I had noticed its board was loose as we returned to our room yesterday afternoon. Moments later, the latch of the bedchamber door was quietly lifted and the door eased inwards, only to come up against the unyielding barrier of the bed. There was a second's pause before it was tried again; then, to the accompaniment of a faint, muffled curse, we heard footsteps retreating hurriedly down the stairs. I moved rapidly to the window and leaned out, hoping to catch a glimpse of-the intruder, but he used the front door, as we discovered when we went in search of assistance, leaving it unbolted and standing open.
John Penryn, roused from sleep, was grimly apologetic, particularly when it was found that the downstairs shutter had been left unbarred, an oversight of which our enemy had taken full advantage. He must have been prowling round the inn, trying all the doors and windows; and had I not been awake yet again, we would have had a repetition of the incident at Buckfast, this time, perhaps, with fatal results.
After we had returned to our room, Philip to sleep in my bed and I in his, where he had replaced it across the doorway, I lay awake for a long time, thinking. Was tonight's intruder Silas Bywater, who had managed to return to Plymouth well ahead of the time expected by getting a ride from a passing carter? Alternatively, was he our assailant of the Abbey, and if so, who was he and what was he after? Was he an agent of the Woodvilles? In which case, he was more concerned with taking Philip's life than with the letter he was carrying. Or was he working for the Lancastrian dissidents, whose main aim must be to prevent Duke Francis of Brittany withdrawing his support from Henry Tudor? And to that end, King Edward's conciliatory missive had to be prevented from arriving.
There was, of course, a third possibility; that tonight's interloper had been neither Silas nor the gentleman of Buckfast, but a different assailant altogether, who, in his turn, might be either a Woodville or a Lancastrian agent...
My head began to spin, and in spite of myself, I slept.
I awoke feeling neither refreshed nor rested, to find Philip Underdown already up and dressed. The girl, Moll, was tapping at the door, calling out that she had our shaving water and breakfast outside, but could not get in. Quickly I pulled on my boots and jacket and helped my companion move the bed back to its normal place.
We shaved first, before the water cooled, but my blackhandled knife needed sharpening and I was left with almost as much stubble as I had started with. Philip cut himself twice. We ate little, our appetites diminished by worry and the uncertainties of another day. It was, moreover, Sunday, and the church bells were already summoning people to Mass.
A sharp knock at the bedchamber door made us both jump, such was the state of our nerves after the events of the previous night. But it was only John Penryn.
'There's a man downstairs, asking for you by name,' he said to Philip. 'He said to give you this.'
Philip took the silver disc which the landlord held out to him and laid it down on his bed with a sigh of relief. I could just make out from where I was sitting that it was engraved with a coat-of-arms.
'Let him come up,' he said. 'He's a King's Messenger, like me.'
I stood up. 'We'll come down, if you can find us a comer of the ale-room where we shan't be overheard or disturbed.' I met Philip's furious gaze calmly. 'There will be safety in numbers. I don't suppose it's impossible to steal one of those tokens, or to obtain it by other nefarious means. If the landlord here and a couple of his men will stay within call, I shall feel safer.'
John Penryn gave me his backing, but in the event our caution was unnecessary. No sooner did Philip clap eyes on the other man than he hailed him by name.
'Simon Whitehead, what brings
John Penryn, roused from sleep, was grimly apologetic, particularly when it was found that the downstairs shutter had been left unbarred, an oversight of which our enemy had taken full advantage. He must have been prowling round the inn, trying all the doors and windows; and had I not been awake yet again, we would have had a repetition of the incident at Buckfast, this time, perhaps, with fatal results.
After we had returned to our room, Philip to sleep in my bed and I in his, where he had replaced it across the doorway, I lay awake for a long time, thinking. Was tonight's intruder Silas Bywater, who had managed to return to Plymouth well ahead of the time expected by getting a ride from a passing carter? Alternatively, was he our assailant of the Abbey, and if so, who was he and what was he after? Was he an agent of the Woodvilles? In which case, he was more concerned with taking Philip's life than with the letter he was carrying. Or was he working for the Lancastrian dissidents, whose main aim must be to prevent Duke Francis of Brittany withdrawing his support from Henry Tudor? And to that end, King Edward's conciliatory missive had to be prevented from arriving.
There was, of course, a third possibility; that tonight's interloper had been neither Silas nor the gentleman of Buckfast, but a different assailant altogether, who, in his turn, might be either a Woodville or a Lancastrian agent...
My head began to spin, and in spite of myself, I slept.
I awoke feeling neither refreshed nor rested, to find Philip Underdown already up and dressed. The girl, Moll, was tapping at the door, calling out that she had our shaving water and breakfast outside, but could not get in. Quickly I pulled on my boots and jacket and helped my companion move the bed back to its normal place.
We shaved first, before the water cooled, but my blackhandled knife needed sharpening and I was left with almost as much stubble as I had started with. Philip cut himself twice. We ate little, our appetites diminished by worry and the uncertainties of another day. It was, moreover, Sunday, and the church bells were already summoning people to Mass.
A sharp knock at the bedchamber door made us both jump, such was the state of our nerves after the events of the previous night. But it was only John Penryn.
'There's a man downstairs, asking for you by name,' he said to Philip. 'He said to give you this.'
Philip took the silver disc which the landlord held out to him and laid it down on his bed with a sigh of relief. I could just make out from where I was sitting that it was engraved with a coat-of-arms.
'Let him come up,' he said. 'He's a King's Messenger, like me.'
I stood up. 'We'll come down, if you can find us a comer of the ale-room where we shan't be overheard or disturbed.' I met Philip's furious gaze calmly. 'There will be safety in numbers. I don't suppose it's impossible to steal one of those tokens, or to obtain it by other nefarious means. If the landlord here and a couple of his men will stay within call, I shall feel safer.'
John Penryn gave me his backing, but in the event our caution was unnecessary. No sooner did Philip clap eyes on the other man than he hailed him by name.
'Simon Whitehead, what brings
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