A Famine of Horses Read Online Free PDF Page A

less time than Carleton, and stay out of trouble, but then he reflected. After all, this was the Warden’s brother-in-law, a courtier come riding up from London, and not just any courtier but one of Lord Hunsdon’s boys. He might even be grateful for a friendly face. Perhaps if he got on well with this Court sprig, who seemingly was the new Deputy Warden, Dodd might snaffle a couple of the offices in the Deputy’s gift to sell on. And Lowther was a miserable bastard in any case.
    “No trouble, sir.”
    “Dodd, is it? From Upper Tynedale.”
    “My grandfather’s land, sir. Mine comes to me from my wife, I’ve a tower and some acres not far from Gilsland.”
    “Bell or Armstrong land?”
    Dodd coughed. “Ay sir,” he said stonily. “English Armstrongs. And a few Dodds.” He hated nosiness, particularly from courtiers. Though Carey looked little like a courtier in his dark green woollen doublet and paned hose; just the lace on his collar and the jewels gave the game away.
    There was a clatter of light boots on the stair and Scrope’s lady came through the door in a hurry, her doublet bodice open at the neck and her satin apron awry. Scrope looked up and smiled fondly; she was a pleasing small creature with black ringlets making ciphers on her white skin. At the sight of Carey her face lit up like a beacon.
    “Robin!” she shouted and ran into his arms like a girl. Carleton’s lip curled at the sight, which had cost Richard Lowther at least fifty pounds and much credit. Carey grinned, kissed her, lifted her up and kissed her again. She giggled and batted him away.
    “Was it a hard journey?” she asked. “How is the Queen, did you meet John?”
    “Yes, well enough, no.” said Carey methodically.
    “Philadelphia…” began Scrope.
    “I may greet my brother, I think,” said Lady Scrope haughtily. Carey whispered in her ear and she frowned, then picked up a work bag from near the fire, sat down on her stool and began rapidly stitching at a piece of white linen, her steel needle with its tail of black flashing hypnotically before Dodd’s eyes. “And I wanted to speak to him privately as well.”
    “When we…”
    “How much did you want?” asked Carey. Lady Scrope tutted at him.
    “Not money,” she said primly. “I do not always lose at primero, you know.”
    “Oh no?” said Carey sceptically. “I swear on my honour I have seen you draw to a flush with no points on three separate occasions.”
    Dodd, who had heard some of the legends about Lady Scrope’s gambling, hid a smile.
    “My lord has been teaching me better play,” said Lady Scrope with dignity, a blatant lie as far as Dodd was concerned, since Lord Scrope was even worse than she was.
    Carey raised his eyebrows severely.
    “My lord,” said Dodd across the argument, “I must have a private word…”
    “Later, Sergeant, later,” said Scrope irritably. “I have some business with Sir Robert, my dear…”
    Philadelphia made three minute stitches and finished off the end, unfurled a new length from her bobbin, snipped, threaded and began stitching again. A blackworked peapod was taking shape like magic on the linen. “Pray continue,” she said. “My business can wait a little.”
    Dodd decided he had been dismissed and turned to go, wondering what the disturbance downstairs might be. Carleton came with him. They were stopped by Carey’s voice.
    “Sergeant,” he called, “shall I meet you at dawn in the yard tomorrow?”
    Dodd thought about it and sighed. “Ay sir.”
    He reached for the door and nearly had it slammed in his face. There on the threshold stood Sir Richard Lowther, resplendent in tawny velvet and red gown, his greying hair further frosted with rain and murder in his face.
    “What is this I hear,” he said, dangerously quiet into the instant silence, “about the Deputyship?”
    Scrope was on his feet, coming forward.
    “Ah, Sir Richard,” he said, “may I present to you Sir Robert Carey, my brother-in-law