***
By the time Tom had finished changing into dry clothes in his own chambers, the horn was sounding for supper. As they sat in their usual places, Trumpet's eyes drilled into him, willing a message into his mind. No need. He nodded to show he understood: Stephen must not know about her deception.
They ate in silence. Stephen seemed to assume their glum mood was the result of Bacon's accident and left them to it, chatting gaily with the men on his other side.
Which suited Tom perfectly. He couldn't cope with conversation tonight. Trumpet kept his eyes riveted on his bowl as he picked through his pottage with his spoon. Tom found his brain unable to form thoughts of any kind. He ate four bowls of pottage and three loaves of bread, chewing his food with as little heed as a weary mule turned onto a grassy sward.
The meal ended and everyone rose to begin the evening's entertainments. Tom wanted nothing more than the peace of his own chambers. He murmured to Trumpet under cover of the general hubbub, "Will you be all right alone tonight?"
"Of course."
Tom went to bed at the unheard-of hour of seven o'clock and slept the dreamless sleep of an exhausted man.