A man in his seventies with a crooked back, he was currently trying to take a spit of cooked meat off the fire, but his hands shook, and the spike wavered precariously in the air.
“He’s grown forgetful these days. I reckon he ate them and forgot all about it.”
“Probably,” said Gwynnie, feeling a little guilty. “Samuel, can I ask you something?”
“What is it, lass?” Samuel returned to pounding the dough.
“What have you heard about Master Woodville?”
“Not much.” Samuel sighed and loosened his hands from the dough, rubbing them together to get rid of some of the excess flour. The scent of the cinnamon spices that had been added to the dough leapt into the air. “You know he went missing on eighth night?”
“Yes, I had heard,” Gwynnie whispered, chewing her lip. “It all seems so strange. One man missing, another killed. It’s awful.”
“That it is.”
“Sarah thinks the poor man must have tripped and fallen into the river when he was drunk.”
“Could be.”
“What do you think?”
Samuel watched her with slightly narrowed eyes as he rubbed the flour off his hands.
“Why all the questions, lass?”
“I suppose I’m worried, that’s all.” She shrugged. “I thought coming to work here in the palace with Ma would be safe. Now I’m not so sure.”
Samuel beckoned her to walk around the bench, so they could talk quietly.
“If you ask me, there’s nothing to worry about when it comes to Master Woodville. I saw him that night myself.”
“You did?”
“He was with the king’s son. When we went to the great hall to serve the food, I went too; none of the maids are strong enough to carry the boar’s head.” He chuckled, shaking his head. “Fitzroy and Woodville were sat close together, drinking so much wine that as much of it went on their clothes as in their mouths. I think Sarah’s probably right. Poor boy drank himself into a stupor and fell into the Thames. No need to worry, lass.” He tapped her shoulder comfortingly and turned away, returning to the dough.
“Why would he be walking alongside the Thames, though?” Gwynnie whispered. “I thought the lower gentry’s rooms were in the south wing.”
“They are.” Samuel didn’t look up from his task. “Old Rudyard saw Woodville walking on the docks with Fitzroy that night during the celebrations. Said they were hooting like owls at the moon.” He laughed softly and shook his head. “Here, take that.” Samuel reached across to a tray of pastries and passed a small one to her.
“I thought you said a whole tray had gone missing?”
“Then no one will miss another, will they?” He laughed and winked. “Take it quickly and don’t you worry. You and your ma are safe here.”
Gwynnie forced a smile and turned away, thinking how little he truly knew.
She wrapped her woollen cloak around her shoulders as she stepped out into the cold. It wasn’t raining this morning, but the air was chilly and as she walked across the cobbles between the palace buildings, she slipped more than once, the puddles having turned to ice.
She headed through the main gate at the front of the palace, beneath Donsen Tower, and out to the docks that looked over the Thames. The water had risen so high that half the docks were underwater, making it impossible for the wherrymen to get close to the building.
Stepping out gingerly onto what remained of the docks, Gwynnie peered over the edge and into the water. If, as she suspected, Fitzroy had killed Woodville at New Year, then it was perfectly possible that he had disposed of the body in the water. If that was the case, then Woodville’s body could have been washed miles away, perhaps even out to sea. It would be impossible to find.
“This is a fool’s errand,” Gwynnie muttered to herself as she wrapped her cloak tighter around her shoulders, trying to ward off the cold.
“What makes you say that?”
Gwynnie whipped her head around, recognising the French accent of Renard. He stood before her where the riverbank met the dock, his arms folded across his black doublet.
“I’m sorry?” she said. She suddenly didn’t feel cold anymore, but clammy.
“What is a fool’s errand?” he asked, his piercing gaze unwavering.
“Trying to get across the river.” She offered a small smile. “I was thinking the poor wherrymen must be having a harsh winter.”
Renard slowly nodded.
“Well, if you will excuse me, I should return to my work.” She walked back along the dock toward him. She expected him to step aside, but he didn’t move. Instead he blocked her path, forcing her to come to a halt. “Sir…” She gestured for him to step back.
“I’m curious.” He tilted his head to the side, watching her closely.
“About what, sir?”
“I seem to keep finding you in unexpected places, Mistress Gwynnie. The kitchens, very late at night, looking at the body of the dead man too. Now here…” Renard’s eyes flitted down to the water.
“Have you not met maids before, sir?” Gwynnie said wryly. “We’re supposed to go about our business unseen. We do not always accomplish it.” She laughed and moved to step past him, but he inched to the side and blocked her path. “Sir, I need to return to my work.”
“I cannot help feeling that I have seen you somewhere else, too.”
“Have you? I have been working here for some weeks, sir. It is likely you have seen me around.”
