Free 4 A Plague of Angels: A Sir Robert Carey Mystery by P. F. Chisholm Page B

questions. Dodd thought it all sounded odd, a respectable lord like Hunsdon giving house space to a mere player, but then none of the Careys seemed to worry about things like scandal.
    They had come down Ludgate Hill and over Fleet Bridge and Dodd was starting to recognise familiar buildings. He could even see the Thames, glinting tantalisingly between the houses.
    ‘I think I can find ma own way now,’ he said.
    Will nodded, still lost in thought. As Dodd turned to take his leave, Will seemed to come to a decision. ‘Sir,’ he said. ‘Sergeant Dodd.’
    ‘Ay.’
    ‘Would you…would you do me a favour?’
    Dodd’s eyes narrowed. ‘Depends.’
    Will smiled faintly. ‘I was only wondering if you would pass a letter to Mistress Bassano?’
    ‘Why can ye no’ do it yerself?’
    Pink embarrassment was edging the player’s jaw. ‘It’s my day off, and, well…I think it would be better this way.’
    ‘What is it? The letter. And who’s it from?’
    ‘It’s…from me, but…er…well, really it’s only a few lines I’ve written in her honour.’
    ‘It’s nothing scandalous, is it? It willnae make the lady greet and get me intae trouble?’
    Will shook his head. ‘I’m sure the poems will please her—she likes poetry. And I think these are…er…quite good. You’d only have to give them to her and…er…say they’re from an admirer too humble to offer them personally.’
    Dodd frowned. ‘It all sounds verra strange.’
    ‘Oh, believe me, sir, ladies like that kind of thing. They like mystery.’
    For a moment it was on the tip of Dodd’s tongue to ask if Will had any claim to the babe Mistress Bassano was carrying, but then he stopped himself. Really it was none of his business, fascinating though the doings in the Hunsdon household were.
    Will was holding out his precious letter which he had taken out of the front of his doublet, good creamy paper, carefully folded and sealed. Dodd shrugged, took it and put it in the front of his leather jerkin.
    At the gate of Somerset House Dodd was carefully inspected and then admitted without argument. Behind him on the Strand, the heavyset men in their buff coats leaned in doorways or stood in alleyways, waiting patiently for their quarry to reappear.
    He asked in the yard where Sir Robert was and then headed where the manservant pointed, towards the stables that looked over the garden. Mistress Bassano was sitting under a cherry tree heavy with fruit, her two maidservants sitting prettily disposed around her, all three of them stitching busily at some large embroidery. Best get it over with, thought Dodd, and marched over to her, made the best bow of his life and stood before her with his cap off, trying to get his thoughts in order. The way she was sitting on cushions with her pale green silk skirts spread out around her, you only had to tilt your head to get a full view of those magnificently rich breasts, riding high over the fertile swell of her belly. Dodd had never bedded a pregnant woman, since Janet was yet to fall for a babe, alas. How did you do it? Could you do it? What would it be…
    ‘Why, Sergeant Dodd,’ said Mistress Bassano. ‘Can I help you?’
    Dodd cleared his throat. ‘Ay. Ah…I was given a letter for ye by…eh…by an admirer.’
    Full pink lips curled up in a slow smile, the ends tucking themselves into a pair of dimples, and the heavily-lashed lids came down a little. Dodd knew he was staring at the woman’s chest but couldn’t stop himself; he felt like a tranced chicken.
    ‘How romantic. And who is he?’
    ‘Ah…he asked me not to say on account of it…er…being better left a mystery.’
    ‘Oh.’ The maid on Mistress Bassano’s left giggled and Mistress Bassano pouted her maddening lips at the girl. ‘Now, be sensible. These are important matters.’
    ‘Ay,’ croaked Dodd, wanting a quart of beer and wishing the sun wasn’t so hot. ‘Ah…here it is.’
    He clutched the letter from the inside pocket of his leather