The Dance of Death by Kate Sedley Page B

there would have been no opportunity for anyone to enter and murder this poor man.’ He added repressively, ‘However, it’s done, and there’s no good to be gained by apportioning blame.’
    I remembered the smart young gent with the blue feather in his hat and knew that I ought to mention him. Feeling disinclined to draw further attention to myself, however, I kept quiet. With luck, the duke might decide to abandon his enquiries for Robin Gaunt.
    But luck, as usual, was against me. After further discussion between him and Timothy, it was agreed that the Woodvilles could have no real knowledge of my true mission in Paris and that my trip in the company of Eloise Gray, posing as her husband, and her meetings with Olivier le Daim, would provide sufficient cover to conceal my main purpose.
    â€˜And it’s still by no means certain,’ Timothy pointed out eagerly, ‘that the murder of Humphrey Culpepper is in any way connected with Roger’s visit to him.’
    Duke Richard conceded the fact, but without, I thought, any great conviction. ‘What was the man’s use to you?’ he asked.
    Timothy explained, ‘We know him to have fought alongside Gaunt at Pontoise and to have been a part of the Rouen garrison. We hoped for some description of our friend – enough to say whether he is short and stout or tall and thin.’
    The duke nodded. ‘Perhaps the name Gaunt itself is descriptive,’ he suggested. ‘It may have been a nickname. Perhaps he was thin and haggard-looking. It’s little enough to go on, I agree, but worth consideration.’ He glanced at me with raised eyebrows.
    I made no answer, but Timothy hurried to fill the breach. ‘It’s most certainly worth a thought, Your Grace,’ he smarmed, his eyes furiously signalling to me to contribute my groat’s worth. But I maintained a stubborn silence, signifying my disapproval of a scheme whose success hinged on such a lack of practical knowledge.
    Duke Richard accepted this with a wry smile and prevented Timothy from bullying me into submission by announcing that it was the dinner hour and he knew that I was always hungry. ‘Roger’s a good trencherman,’ he laughed. ‘And with that great frame to feed, it’s small wonder.’ He rose to his feet, giving me a hand to kiss, at the same time delaying Timothy’s departure by laying the other on the spymaster’s shoulder. There were evidently things they had to discuss that my arrival had interrupted. ‘I’m relying on you to do your best, Roger,’ he added.
    I bowed. ‘I always endeavour to do that, Your Grace.’ I realized I sounded offended.
    The duke kept his grip on my hand, pressing it strongly. ‘I know,’ he said, ‘and I appreciate it, the more so when I’m aware that I don’t have your wholehearted approval.’ He laughed again as he released me. ‘Timothy’s trying to look shocked, pretending he believes I have a mandate straight from God.’ The dark eyes twinkled. ‘He knows it’s not true, of course, just as we do.’
    The duke’s caustic sense of humour, always so unexpected in someone who outwardly seemed so serious, caught me off guard as it had a good many times in the past and completely won me over. It was, I decided, the secret of his charm, a side of himself he revealed only to those whom he liked and trusted, and explained why men accorded him either their deepest devotion or their instant dislike. I have always been one of the former. (And that admission is another reason why these chronicles must never be made public in my lifetime.)
    I was about to take my leave when Duke Richard, regaining his grip on my hand, turned to Timothy and asked, ‘Who are we sending to France with Roger and Mistress Gray as their bodyguard?’
    I blinked in surprise: this was the first intimation I had had that Eloise and I were to be