The Ringed Castle - Dorothy Dunnett [73]
‘And who’s to pay for that?’ Philippa said, cheeringly, to herself.
‘Hide!’ Leonard Bailey was repeating. ‘You accuse me of hiding? Then what shall I accuse you of, Madam? Breaking and entering with intent to pilfer—take the candlestick, Dorcas! Move the cups to the shelf, there! How do we know where the woman is from … the Fleet, most likely, and wearing stolen clothes, and having lying letters writ for her by some renegade scholar!’ He stopped, breathing heavily, and twisted his lips in a smile Philippa found less than becoming. ‘The door was locked. How did you enter, if you aren’t a thief? And if you are a lady of quality, where are your servants?’
‘Outside,’ said Philippa repressively. ‘You would be able to see them if you were not bent, it seems, on conducting your business in kitchens.’
‘Accomplices!’ Bailey said. His face was still twisted.
‘Friends,’ said Philippa mildly. ‘My groom is Sir Henry Sidney’s, and wears his livery, if you will take the trouble to look. Why, Mr Bailey, I should dislike extremely calling unannounced at your house, if this is the treatment you mete to a family friend, who has written from Court to advise you of her visit. If it is my sex you take exception to, I cannot remedy that, although you seem to have no objections to sharing your house with a woman. If you resent bestowing hospitality, I have asked for none. If it is the Queen you misprise, it would be as well not to make your feelings too plain.’
Harshly, the woman’s voice spoke in her ear. ‘Mr Bailey is a loyal subject of Her Majesty. None more loyal. It is lies and spite if you hear anything else.’
‘Be quiet, woman!’ said Bailey. He advanced unpleasantly close and stood, looking down at the bongrace. Philippa gazed at him with an outward serenity, and an inward gratitude that fruit and cheese were all that her stomach was saddled with. Then he said, ‘Come!’ and leaving the kitchen walked up the stairs.
Philippa stood where she was. ‘My groom and——’
He did not turn round. ‘Look after them, Dorcas!’ he snapped, and, flinging open a door, strode into his study. Philippa followed.
The room was little more than a closet, surrounded by shelves, with a table-desk under the window, which this time was tight shut. The reason for caution was obvious, for in every available space in the room, on desk, floor, stool and all the lower shelves, were stacked ledgers and papers, held down, half of them, with rocks from the garden. On the other shelves, up to the ceiling, which was finely plastered like the one she had seen, was a dusty collection of book rolls and books which appeared to run into some hundreds and led Philippa, like a dog held by the nose, to walk staring up to the tightly packed spines. Mr Bailey, who had seated himself at his desk, rose and addressed her unpleasantly.
‘Your stool is placed here. I shall have to lock up my library, I see. Or some palace cockscomb who has learned to read, and maybe to add, will be walking through locked doors to thieve it.’
‘A bibliotaphos,’ said Philippa dreamily. She took the stool by his peremptory finger.
The big, blunt-featured face, half shaven and threaded with veins, stared without apology at the sun-polished young one, with its delicate artifice almost invisible; its rich clothes bestowed with theatrical grace. ‘You have your manners to seek,’ he said. ‘I wonder, mistress, that the Queen allows impertinent children to clutter her chambers. It is a sorry outlook for her nursery.’ Taking his time, her great-uncle by marriage looked Philippa narrowly up and down, and then added, with heavy contempt, ‘But you are not here on Queen’s business, are you? No, or we should have heard many more of those piping threats, and a rattling of prison chains as well, I make no doubt. You are here on the affairs of that parcel