“That suggests you gamble something else.”
He looked quickly at her, then turned away.
“I must speak to you,” she insisted in a low tone. He gave no sign of having heard her. He was busy looking at the crowd. “What are you doing?”
“Watching.”
“Watching for what?” She moved to sit beside him.
“Do you need ask?” he hissed. “Someone in this crowd is a killer. Who is to say they will not kill another? Such crowds as these at this time are dangerous.”
“Surely you do not think they would kill again now? Not in front of so many people?” Gwynnie whispered, trying not to look obvious as she glanced in Fitzroy’s direction.
He was pointing toward his father atop his horse, telling some grand tale and mimicking a joust as he thrust his hand into the air.
Even Fitzroy could surely not lose his temper in a crowd like this.
“A killer’s mind does not always have to make sense,” Tombstone said. He sat forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he scanned the crowd. “Some kill without reason, as if it gives them a thrill. Those are the killers I fear the most.”
“You speak as if you have known many murderers.”
“I am a lawyer. That means I come across killers as much as I come across litigation and land disputes.” Tombstone leaned toward her as the cheers of the crowd grew louder.
King Henry was nearly ready to joust, but one of his arm plates was loose. The young man beside him adjusted it as the knight on the other side of the yard grew impatient and waved a hand in the air, urging the herald to begin the match.
“It is why I wish to speak to you,” Gwynnie whispered. “You asked me to keep my ears open, to listen for anything that could be of use to you.”
“I did.”
“What if I had seen something that could be of use to you?”
“What do you mean?”
The king beckoned to someone in the crowd.
Distracted, Gwynnie looked toward Queen Anne. She stood, her hand resting on her rounded stomach. Yet she was not the lady the king had beckoned forward.
A woman approached the jousting barrier, her golden hair tucked into a gable hood. She was excessively pretty, with dark eyes and a narrow nose. Her thin lips stretched into a smile as she approached the barrier and offered up her handkerchief as a token of her favour.
To Queen Anne’s credit, her face remained impassive as she stared at her husband accepting the favour of another woman.
“Poor Queen Anne.” The words left Gwynnie’s lips before she could stop them.
“It is not your business, Mistress Gwynnie,” Tombstone cautioned. “Leave the king to his own affairs.”
“Do you imagine the staff do not talk of him? They talk. As much as the courtiers do, I do not doubt.”
“What was it you came to talk to me about?”
“Something I have seen.” Gwynnie watched as the pretty lady retreated into the crowd and the king pulled back his lance, preparing for the joust.
“What is that?”
“Tombstone! Tombstone!” a voice bellowed.
“Get up,” Tombstone said to Gwynnie. “Before he sees you.”
“What?”
“I do not care if you sit here, but some men take umbrage at such things. They think maids have their place, and it is not in the courtiers’ seats. Go. Now!” Tombstone took her elbow and steered her to her feet.
Gwynnie stumbled back, moving only a short distance away to the edge of the crowd. She pretended interest in King Henry and the joust, though her attention was on Tombstone and the man now approaching him.
It was the small man she had seen with the king on the morning that Florian’s body had been discovered. His black hair, covered by an even deeper black cap, was distinctly recognisable.
“Tombstone,” Cromwell snarled as he approached him. “Why are you here? I thought you were investigating Florian.”
“Nearly everyone who is at the palace is in this yard at this moment, sir,” Tombstone explained in a calm tone. “If the killer was to hurt another, in this crowd —”
“God’s death!” Cromwell spat sharply. “Do you truly think such a thing could happen?”
“I do not know what to think at this time. All I know is that if the jewellery thieves and the killer are one and the same person, as Pascal seems to think, then they know how to hide all too well. They are like shadows — that’s what people say, is it not?”
“You are supposed to be looking into fact, not rumour.”
At that moment the crowd cheered and Gwynnie could no longer overhear what was being said. She flicked her head around to see the herald had brought his hand down. King Henry and the knight charged toward one another.
Despite the fact he was younger, and taller, the knight didn’t lean as far forward over the head of his horse. Gwynnie suspected he was holding himself back. After all, who wished to be the man who would defeat the king in front of all of his courtiers at Greenwich Palace?
