The Man in the Snow (Ebook) Read Online Free Page B

of the window frosted with filaments of ice.
      The bed was a plain wooden cot ranged along one wall and neatly clothed in woollen blankets and a feather bolster. There were two old stools and a chamber pot. The dominant feature of the room was a picture on the wall to the left of the door. Shakespeare held up his lantern. Drawn in ink, with washes of colour, it depicted a city of waterways, perhaps his home town Venice. Beneath the picture stood a carved coffer with padlock.
      ‘Do you have a key to this coffer, my lady?’
      ‘No, why should I?’
      ‘Does one of the servants? Perhaps Dorcas Catton has it.’
      ‘I have no idea. I shall leave you to your searches and ask Stickley if he knows about any key.’
      ‘Perhaps you would also ask him to send my man Cooper up here to me.’
      If Elizabeth de Vere disliked being ordered about in her own home, she did her best to conceal it. She smiled sweetly. ‘And you must feel free to sleep in this room tonight. Unless, of course, you have a fear of ghosts.’
      ‘This room would suit me perfectly. You are most generous.’
      ‘Good. Your man can sleep in the stables. And, Mr Shakespeare, I must tell you that this household will be celebrating Christmas as always, murder or no murder.’
      After she left, Shakespeare began to scour the room, lantern in hand. The blankets on the bed revealed nothing. Shakespeare shook them, but all that emerged was dust. He turned over the mattress, felt it all over for secrets concealed within, then looked beneath the bed; the space was empty.
      On a table by the window he found a comb, a razor, a pair of iron scissors, a large Latin Bible, quills and an inkhorn. He thumbed the pages of the Bible, which were unworn and had clearly seen little use.
      There was a knock at the door and Boltfoot came in.
      Shakespeare nodded towards the coffer. ‘We need to get this open.’
      ‘No one among the servants has a key.’ Boltfoot held up a crowbar. ‘But Stickley found this.’
      ‘Good man.’
      A minute later, the coffer had been wrenched open and Shakespeare was peering inside while Boltfoot held the lantern. He pulled out a well-cut doublet, some hose, shirts and stockings, a small box with a pile of silver and gold coins. Shakespeare counted them. They amounted to three pounds, six shillings. Not a fortune, but a fair reserve of money.
      ‘What do you think, Boltfoot?’
      ‘Not much in the way of possessions for a man who has lived with the earl all these years.’
      ‘Perhaps someone has searched this room before us. Someone who took the key from him and opened this coffer. Someone who killed him with a shot to the back.’
      As he spoke, Shakespeare spotted something on the floorboards, a glint in the light of the lantern. He bent down and picked it up. It was a small sliver of metal, no more than a quarter-inch long. He held it between his fingers, then loosened the ties of his purse and deposited it within.
      ‘What have you found, master?’
      Shakespeare ignored the question. It could wait. ‘Tell me, Boltfoot, what did you discover in the kitchens?’
      ‘I found that there are those who loved Giovanni, and at least one who hated him.’
      ‘Dorcas Catton, I presume, is among those who loved him?’
      ‘Her child by him is the most lovely baby I ever did see. From the colour of the babe’s skin I would say there was no doubt he was the father. Yes, she loved him.’
      ‘How many servants did you meet?’
      ‘There are twelve in all. You met Dorcas the maid and Wat Stickley the steward. He is the chief man, and has been with his lordship for ever. The one who interested me was a Frenchman named Curly Marot, who has charge of the kitchens and among the others is reputed a great deviser of fine dishes. I did not take to him. There was something amiss in his approach to Dorcas. In truth I almost believe she loathed him. And he did not seem upset by the news of Jesu’s