Read 4 A Plague of Angels: A Sir Robert Carey Mystery for Free Online

the background Will was adding his own voice, in a key that was awkward for him so he growled in the deeps.
    It was very good. Even Dodd had to admit that Carey’s voice was far better than ordinary and Mistress Bassano’s was a marvel of poured cream, while the ruthlessly pre-empted Will still seemed to know what he was about. Personally, Dodd had no taste for foreign songs, preferring familiar tunes like the Ballad of Chevy Chase, but you could tell it was a clever thing they were doing even if you couldn’t understand a word of it and the shape of the music was strange.
    They would sinuously to a halt, Mistress Bassano gazing full into Carey’s eyes while he smiled down at her, both mouths open, carolling like birds in spring. Will had been completely outbid, and he knew it, for once his part finished he moved away from the virginals to stand by the door with a face as miserable as a leaking roof.
    A trumpet sounded from the water just as Carey bent to kiss Mistress Bassano’s mouth again. Jesus, did the man have no shame? But then Dodd was honest enough to admit to himself that if he had the chances Carey seemed to attract, he wouldn’t waste one of them either. What would it be like to kiss that curving mouth, Dodd wondered, could you get your hand between the bodice and the tit or would you have to mess about with her lacings first? Carey seemed to know the answers to these important questions. Over by the door, Will looked deliberately away from the scandalous sight, his mouth and nose pinched with distress.
    The shouting and trumpets from the other side of the house grew louder. Dodd moved swiftly to the windows facing the noise and found himself looking out on a vast garden, as big as the Maxwells’ or bigger, where more men in yellow livery were hurrying up the paths from a gate in a wall. Doors crashed open, someone shouted something about my Lord Chamberlain Hunsdon and Mr Vice Chamberlain Thomas Heneage. At the last possible minute, Carey straightened up, moved smoothly away from Mistress Bassano and sat down at his ease on a bench again.
    The doors to the parlour burst open.
    Standing framed there was a broad elderly man in black velvet and gold brocade, his hair rusty grey, his face red, his eyes a shrewd dark grey. He was wearing a terrifying expression of disgust and rage. The sheer physical presence of the man almost blotted out the second richly-dressed courtier standing next to him, not as tall, not quite as broad in the shoulder, but a great deal more fleshy. That one had a round face and a prim mouth, though his face was presently decorated with a smile.
    Carey leapt to his feet.
    ‘Robert!’ boomed Lord Hunsdon. ‘What the Devil are you doing here? God damn your eyes!’
    Carey swept a bow to his father so poetical in its elaboration of courtesy that it came out the other side into insolence. Hunsdon glowered, swept forward to bring his white Chamberlain’s staff slamming down on a nearby table. ‘By Christ, Robert,’ he roared. ‘I’ve told Heneage here, if you’ve got yourself into trouble with Her Majesty again, I’ll disinherit you.’
    Dodd, who had lost his own father to an Elliot polearm at the age of twelve, watched in fascination. Something shifted subtly inside Carey. He bowed again, including the other rich courtier this time.
    ‘My good lord and respected Father, and Mr Vice Chamberlain, may I present my most able second-in-command at Carlisle, Mr Henry Dodd, Land Sergeant of Gilsland.’
    Not knowing what else to do with himself, Dodd managed a clutch at his cap and an ungainly bow. The small parlour was suddenly crowded with people. A liveryman bustling about behind him, lighting unnecessary candles, made him twitch. Another man brought up a carved armchair for his lord, yet another poured more wine. Plates of wafers and nuts appeared seemingly invisibly.
    Hunsdon threw his bulk into the armchair which creaked under him. Mr Vice Chamberlain Heneage sat more circumspectly a