when the woman said, "I'll take you to Master Thorpe now, if you please," his bare nod in answer looked more from his failing strength than from failure of courtesy; but despite that, he made a small bow to Frevisse as he passed her.
Whatever word he had brought must have been urgent, Frevisse thought, and, yes, maybe Alice had best not be left alone with it; so with her hands tucked into her opposite sleeves and her steps more firm than her thoughts, she followed Alice, gone now into the arbored walk and out of sight. Coming in her turn out of the sun into the arbor's deep, vine-made shade, Frevisse momentarily failed to see her, Alice in her black widow's gown and veil being too nearly part of the small flickering leaf-shadows; and when she did see her, Alice was just turning back from the arbor's far end, having already paced its length. Not sure of being welcomed, Frevisse went slowly to meet her, but when they met at the arbor's middle, Alice only said, in a flat voice, "That was young Nicholas Vaughn. My father took him into the household when he was an orphaned boy and he's been in our service ever since. Father's, and then mine. Mine. Not Suffolk's," she said curtly, each word like another stone in the wall she had made between her and her dead husband.
"He brought ill news?"
"Ill enough. One of our stewards had been killed. In Wales. In a street brawl according to the inquest, Nicholas says. Not even his own brawl. He was simply passing and happened in the way of someone's dagger." She made an impatient sound, side-stepped Frevisse, and paced on.
Frevisse turned and kept step beside her. "When was this?"
"A little over two weeks ago. Nicholas found it out because I'd sent him with word I wanted Hampden back to his duties. He's among those who've started to distance themselves since Suffolk's death. I wanted his refusal to return so I could dismiss him entirely." Alice clapped her hands together angrily. "Why didn't someone send me word? Why did I have to find out by chance? Sir Thomas Stanley is the king's chamberlain in North Wales. He knew Hampden. Why didn't he send me word when it happened?"
That was a reasonable question, and Frevisse had another. To reach the almost-staggering edge of weariness Nicholas Vaughn had looked to be in, he must have hardly slept since leaving Wales nor bothered much with eating, and she asked, "Why did your man think he had to bring word of it in such haste?"
They had reached an end of the arbor walk. Alice stopped, still in its shade, staring out at her sunlit garden for a long moment before answering, "It was three daggers Hampden happened into the way of. Nicholas thought that was overmuch for one man in a brawl not even his own."
Frevisse joined Alice in staring at the garden. Its summer quiet and ordered beds and clean-swept walks did not match her thoughts and in a while she said, "So Vaughn doesn't think it was a chance-killing?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"Frevisse ..." Alice started with a stir of anger, broke off, swung around, and started back through the arbor. Frevisse followed her, letting her keep a little ahead, knowing she could not force an answer; and again, near the arbor's middle, Alice stopped, abruptly faced her, and said, "It's not that Hampden was a good man. Maybe he was. I don't know. Are there any good men anymore? I've begun to think not," she said with naked bitterness and added with anger, "Or if there are, none of them seems to have been drawn into my husband's service. The thing with Hampden is that he lately went twice to France for Suffolk. Or not so lately. Over a year ago. Just before and again soon after the attack on Fougeres." The Breton border town whose seizure and sacking by an English-hired mercenary captain had broken the truce with France last year and led on to these months of English defeats and losses across Normandy.
Frevisse knew more about how that truce had come to be broken than she
Whatever word he had brought must have been urgent, Frevisse thought, and, yes, maybe Alice had best not be left alone with it; so with her hands tucked into her opposite sleeves and her steps more firm than her thoughts, she followed Alice, gone now into the arbored walk and out of sight. Coming in her turn out of the sun into the arbor's deep, vine-made shade, Frevisse momentarily failed to see her, Alice in her black widow's gown and veil being too nearly part of the small flickering leaf-shadows; and when she did see her, Alice was just turning back from the arbor's far end, having already paced its length. Not sure of being welcomed, Frevisse went slowly to meet her, but when they met at the arbor's middle, Alice only said, in a flat voice, "That was young Nicholas Vaughn. My father took him into the household when he was an orphaned boy and he's been in our service ever since. Father's, and then mine. Mine. Not Suffolk's," she said curtly, each word like another stone in the wall she had made between her and her dead husband.
"He brought ill news?"
"Ill enough. One of our stewards had been killed. In Wales. In a street brawl according to the inquest, Nicholas says. Not even his own brawl. He was simply passing and happened in the way of someone's dagger." She made an impatient sound, side-stepped Frevisse, and paced on.
Frevisse turned and kept step beside her. "When was this?"
"A little over two weeks ago. Nicholas found it out because I'd sent him with word I wanted Hampden back to his duties. He's among those who've started to distance themselves since Suffolk's death. I wanted his refusal to return so I could dismiss him entirely." Alice clapped her hands together angrily. "Why didn't someone send me word? Why did I have to find out by chance? Sir Thomas Stanley is the king's chamberlain in North Wales. He knew Hampden. Why didn't he send me word when it happened?"
That was a reasonable question, and Frevisse had another. To reach the almost-staggering edge of weariness Nicholas Vaughn had looked to be in, he must have hardly slept since leaving Wales nor bothered much with eating, and she asked, "Why did your man think he had to bring word of it in such haste?"
They had reached an end of the arbor walk. Alice stopped, still in its shade, staring out at her sunlit garden for a long moment before answering, "It was three daggers Hampden happened into the way of. Nicholas thought that was overmuch for one man in a brawl not even his own."
Frevisse joined Alice in staring at the garden. Its summer quiet and ordered beds and clean-swept walks did not match her thoughts and in a while she said, "So Vaughn doesn't think it was a chance-killing?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"Frevisse ..." Alice started with a stir of anger, broke off, swung around, and started back through the arbor. Frevisse followed her, letting her keep a little ahead, knowing she could not force an answer; and again, near the arbor's middle, Alice stopped, abruptly faced her, and said, "It's not that Hampden was a good man. Maybe he was. I don't know. Are there any good men anymore? I've begun to think not," she said with naked bitterness and added with anger, "Or if there are, none of them seems to have been drawn into my husband's service. The thing with Hampden is that he lately went twice to France for Suffolk. Or not so lately. Over a year ago. Just before and again soon after the attack on Fougeres." The Breton border town whose seizure and sacking by an English-hired mercenary captain had broken the truce with France last year and led on to these months of English defeats and losses across Normandy.
Frevisse knew more about how that truce had come to be broken than she
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