A Play of Treachery by Margaret Frazer

Author:Margaret Frazer [Frazer, Margaret]
Language: eng
Format: azw3, mobi, epub
Tags: Mystery & Detective, General, Fiction
ISBN: 9781101151648
Google: r5IaYlrEbwoC
Amazon: 0425223337
Publisher: Berkley
Published: 2009-12-01T20:48:52.821000+00:00

A few days of good weather brought a messenger from England with general news including, finally, word the duke of York was to be the new governor. “Young for it,” was about half of what Joliffe heard. That was balanced by those who remembered when he had been in Normandy for the king’s French coronation six years ago, and how well Bedford had thought of him then.

Either way, on the whole there was simply plain relief to have the matter settled and, “All we need now is for him to get here, with a sizable army at his back,” George said.

Among the letters in the messenger’s bag were several concerning Lady Jacquetta’s English holdings. Those came to Master Ripon, and after consulting the account rolls in his keeping, Joliffe went to see if he could have word with Lady Jacquetta about some matters in them. He found her in the chapel, watching practice for the play, and he knew he should withdraw, bring his question to her later and elsewhere. But he stayed, watching, too, envisioning how Basset would have made a shining, living whole out of the wealth of words, people, and rich garb that Master Fouet had here. The choirmaster was doing well enough, from what Joliffe saw, but did he really think the Virtues were such dull things they should move with the dignity of wooden poles on stiff legs? Speaking for himself, if he were a Sin, Virtues like that were the last things in God’s creation to which he would give way. And if the demoiselle Isabelle giggled one more time when it was her turn to speak . . .

Better this was Master Fouet’s task than his, Joliffe thought, and went away. He would after all consult with Lady Jacquetta later.

By the morrow’s mid-afternoon he had all the letters’ business sorted to satisfaction and the rough drafts of the answers made, and when he was summoned to Master Wydeville, he left his desk with alacrity, hoping Master Wydeville had something of interest for him to do.

Unfortunately, it seemed not. Master Wydeville merely asked for report of how he—how Master Ripon—was doing with his work and if he was become at ease in the household and in Rouen. Joliffe, on John Ripon’s behalf, answered that he was doing well, was well content.

“And keeping sober?” Master Wydeville asked.

Joliffe hung his head. “Mostly,” he muttered. “All but—once.” If only the time he had feigned it at the Crescent Moon was counted and not the twice he had deliberately become somewhat “unsteady” in the hall.

As if to be beyond hearing of his clerk Pierres pen-scratching across paper on the chamber’s far side, Master Wydeville gestured for Joliffe to come aside to the window. There, as far from any door as from Pierres, Master Wydeville said very quietly, “You’re doing well, both at seeming John Ripon and at your lessons at Master Doncaster’s, both with weapons and the maps. Tell me the way from here to Honfleur.”

Joliffe did.

“From here to Paris,” Master Wydeville said.

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