The Man in the Snow (Ebook) Read Online Free

Giovanni.’
      ‘I am sorry, my lord, but it is certain.’
      The earl’s legs began to wobble. Shakespeare moved forward to take his upper arm and helped him towards a stool by the hearth. The earl was breathing heavily, gasping for breath, but managed to wrench himself away from Shakespeare’s grasp and stood with his hand against the fire-mantel. Giovanni Jesu, it seemed, had been more than just a servant.
      Shakespeare gazed at the earl’s face intently. He had no more than a scratching of beard and a thin, wispy moustache and was attired in a doublet that had probably been tailored in Italy and was of a very fine cut and cloth, though a few years out of the mode. There were changes though. The tiredness in the eyes, the spidery veins on the skin’s surface, the softness of a man who had once been the hardest rider at the tilt. The main difference in Oxford, however, was his girth. He was a great deal fatter than Shakespeare recalled.
      ‘Do you need to lie down? Shall I summon a servant?’
      ‘Leave me alone, you damned puppy.’
      Shakespeare turned away, picked up his goblet of mulled wine from the table and took a generous sip. He was aware that Oxford’s eyes were on him, following him blearily, waiting for a reaction. The whole world knew that the earl had once called the heroic Sir Philip Sidney a puppy, an incident that had resulted in a challenge to a duel. Shakespeare cared not a cat’s flea what the cup-shotten earl called him.
      ‘Did you hear what I said? I called you puppy. Are you man or cur?’
      Shakespeare took another sip, then turned back with a smile. ‘It is getting late. I am hungry and I wish to see Signor Jesu’s accommodation.’
      Oxford launched himself away from the fire towards the door. ‘Do what you please, puppy. Do what you damned well please.’
      As he staggered out, a woman dressed in rich attire appeared in the corridor outside. Oxford looked at her with bloodshot indifference, shrugged his shoulders and was gone, cursing and banging as he went.
      The woman waited until the noise died down, then directed her attention to their guest. ‘I am the Countess of Oxford,’ she said. ‘And I believe you are Mr Shakespeare?’
      He bowed. ‘Indeed, my lady.’
      ‘It seems you bring grave news.’ She made no apology for her husband’s condition.
      ‘My lady?’
      ‘Your serving man rather abruptly told Dorcas of poor Giovanni’s death and she ran sobbing into the hall. It was exceeding tactless of him.’
      Shakespeare sighed. He had wanted Boltfoot to observe the reaction of the servants, but he had not expected this. ‘I apologise if you heard it that way. It must be a terrible shock for you all.’
      ‘Especially for Dorcas. I may as well tell you, for you are certain to find out: she is mother to Giovanni’s bastard daughter.’
      ‘Indeed? I would know more of this.’
      ‘Then you will have to talk to her. Or to my husband. It was he who determined that she be allowed to remain here.’
      Shakespeare was surprised. Few noble houses would have allowed a maidservant to stay in employment in such circumstances.
      ‘You are thinking this most unconventional, Mr Shakespeare. Well, my husband cares nothing for the strictures of clerics or the good opinion of burghers. I would have sent the girl packing, but there we are. She has been strung out like a skin on tenterhooks these past two weeks, awaiting some word of Giovanni.’
      ‘May I talk with her?’
      ‘You may. My husband, on the other hand is a different matter. He is past his best this evening and you will get no sense from him. I suggest you make plans to stay tonight and try tomorrow morning. Late morning ...’

Chapter 4
     
    Boltfoot sat in the smoky kitchen eating a bowl of thick broth. In the far corner of the big room, Dorcas Catton was sobbing quietly, comforted by an older woman, while the other servants went about their business in silence,