Free A Play of Treachery by Margaret Frazer Page B

realms, and his duchess a queen.
    But it was Bedford who had died, and all that right and might must of necessity fall to someone else, while his wealth would presumably go to his widow.
    Joliffe looked forward to seeing this wealthy, widowed duchess.
    He had slowed while taking in all there was to see there in the hall and fallen behind the men he had been following; was starting after them again when he saw a man, just come from the hall’s other end, pause one of them and, by the look of it, ask a question, because the man he asked, and several others who had heard, searched around, found, and pointed toward Joliffe. The man gave a quick bow of his head in thanks and came onward. Joliffe stayed where he was, letting the man come to him, and was not altogether surprised when the man asked him in French-touched English, “You are John Ripon?”
    Joliffe, trying to judge the man’s place in the household—his black clerk’s gown was without a badge but of good cut and cloth; the question was abruptly but not rudely asked; the man had made no bow; did he expect one to be given?—chose to follow Basset’s advice that you could not go wrong giving a man more respect than might be due him; and knowing that “John Ripon” was no one in the household yet and this man surely some manner of superior servant or clerk here, he gave a respectful bow, said, “I am, sir.”
    “The chamberlain of the household, Master Wydeville, has asked you be brought to him. Pray, come with me, Master Ripon,” the man said and started away, not rude, merely a man very busy.
    Suddenly sharply aware of the sealed packet tucked between his doublet and his shirt all these days from London, Joliffe went with him down the hall toward its further end. Halfway along it, though, the man paused and turned to look back toward the dais, and Joliffe copied him. The servants there had the second tapestry up now, were rigging its canopy to thrust out beside the other one already hung there, making both the tall-backed chairs into chairs of estate, as Joliffe had thought; and from here he could see that the newly-hung tapestry showed Bishop Louys de Luxembourg’s heraldic arms—those of his bishopric impaled with that of his family—while the other hanging showed the Luxembourg arms again but here impaled with those of England—the royal gold lions on scarlet and gold lilies on blue, differenced by a five-pointed label of ermine and fleur-de-lis to show they were not the king’s but the duke of Bedford’s. That would be the duchess’ arms, then, showing both her family and her marriage, Joliffe supposed.
    This was going to be a complicated household if, as it seemed, she and her uncle the bishop were going to share equal honors here.
    The man beside him gave a sharp nod, as if satisfied at what he saw, and moved on. Joliffe perforce went with him, leaving the great hall through one of three broad doorways at its far end, all three leading into a wide passageway floored with squares of green and white tiles that at one end opened to the courtyard through a broad, stone-framed doorway—the way into Joyeux Repos for its lord and lady and other great folk, Joliffe did not doubt—while a scuttling of servants through doorways at the passage’s other end made him guess the more serviceable parts of the place—kitchen, pantry, butlery, and all—lay that way. His own way, in the man’s wake, was partly along the passage toward the outer door, then up a wide stairway well-lighted by windows as it curved upward through a turret to come out one floor up into a gallery that looked to run the length of the building here.
    Along one side, several windows with cushioned benches below them overlooked the courtyard. Joliffe could only guess to where the several shut doors along its other side led. Not to anywhere he was presently going, it seemed. His guide continued his brisk way to the gallery’s far end and through a doorway there to another stairway. Far