I thanked him, looking suitably sheepish, and mounted the stairs once again. The doors of all the bedchambers now stood open, revealing the interiors of the rooms. My natural curiosity was immediately aroused and I looked inside the other two, noting appreciatively the difference in furnishing. The largest of the three chambers, the one which should have been occupied by Master Farmer from Northampton, contained a huge four-poster bed, hung with a tester and curtains of rubbed, but nonetheless good, red velvet. Beside it was a small oak cupboard, on top of which still reposed a jug of ale and a loaf of bread: the ‘all-night’, placed there the previous evening for the guest who had failed to arrive. In addition, there was a wax candle in a pewter holder, and a tinder-box. A fine oak chest was ranged against one wall and had been opened in readiness to accommodate the traveller’s clothes and perfumed with lavender and spices. A mirror of polished metal hung above it, and, in the farthest corner from the bed, stood a night-commode. The rushes scattered on the floor were redolent with the scent of dried flowers. A pile of logs lay ready to be lit on the hearth. A room, indeed, for the privileged guest.
The chamber next to it was Master Parson’s. A smaller bed with tester and curtains of unbleached linen was still unmade, the sheets crumpled and tumbled, and a deep hollow down the centre of the goose-feather mattress. The candle beside the bed was only of tallow, and the clothes-chest, like the commode, was made of elm wood. The rushes on the floor had lost their perfume and were plainly two or three days old. Which brought me to my own room, with nothing but a truckle bed and the battered oak chest, one of its hinges broken and the other missing. Smiling ruefully, I looked about me for my pack and stick.
They had been placed in a corner of the room which was always in shadow, and explained why I had previously overlooked them. I was relieved to know that I was not still suffering from the effects of last night’s wine. I humped the one on to my back and grasped the other, only to find myself unexpectedly wishing that the stout ash plant was a slender willow wand, that magical staff which protects travellers from harm. I shook my head vigorously to clear it of such nonsensical thoughts. What danger could I possibly be in?
Downstairs, Gilbert Parsons was getting ready to set out for the law courts, while Abel was busy removing dirty dishes from the table. Thomas was nowhere to be seen, but the trapdoor to the cellar had been heaved back against the floor, revealing a flight of worn stone steps. I nodded at Abel and handed him the money for last night’s supper. ‘I’ll be back again this evening,’ I said.
He grunted. ‘You may have to sleep in the kitchen if we’ve managed to rent out your room.’ He obviously deplored Thomas’s open-handedness.
‘Of course!‘ I smiled disarmingly. ‘Master Prynne has already made that plain.’
Then, whistling, I turned and walked out into the street.
At the top of the lane I paused, staring into the courtyard of the Crossed Hands inn. I wondered if I could chance my luck and get inside, without encountering Martin Trollope. But just at that moment he appeared on the balcony, shouting down to one of the ostlers who was leading a horse out of the stables. I badly wanted to speak to Matilda Ford again, but decided that the time was not propitious.
I had decided over breakfast, that this morning I would sell my wares in the Farringdon Ward, going from house to house, knocking on doors. That way, I hoped to locate the Alderman’s brother, John Weaver, and learn anything he could tell me. Consequently, I made my way along Cheapside and out through the New Gate to the noisy, stinking cattlemarket of Smithfield, where, on great occasions, tournaments and jousting were held. Beyond, lay St Bartholomew’s Priory, famous for its annual fair, the numerous Inns of Chancery and the long string of shops and houses strung out along the River Fleet.
It was more than half way through the morning before, quite by chance, I knocked on John Weaver’s door. As I put the question I had posed at every house so far — ‘Can you tell me where John Weaver of Bristol lives? — ’ the sallowfaced girl who had appeared in the doorway asked pertly: ‘And why would that be any concern of yours?’
‘I have a message,’ I answered, ‘from his brother, the Alderman.’ And when she still hesitated, I added: ‘Of Broad Street, in Bristol.’
‘Wait here,’ she snapped. ‘I’ll fetch Dame Alice.’ Dame Alice was a stout, pleasant-faced woman, who wheezed distressingly whenever she was flustered, as she appeared to be now. Her faded blue eyes were wide with suspicion, wisps of hair escaping from beneath her white linen cap.
‘Are you the chapman?‘ she asked unnecessarily, eyeing my pack. ‘My daughter-in-law says you have a message for my husband.’
‘Is he at home?’ I inquired politely.
She shook her head. ‘He’s over at Portsoken with George and Edmund.’ These, presumably, were the two sons whom Alison had mentioned. ‘The weavers need constant supervision, you know. You can’t just leave them to their own devices. A lazy, idling, good-for-nothing set of people.’ She spoke without rancour, simply endorsing her menfolk’s opinions, as was seemly in a woman. ‘He won’t be home until just before curfew, but you can go over there and find him, if you like.’
I had no desire to leave the lucrative market of Farringdon Without before I had knocked on as many doors as possible. Already, my pack was greatly depleted: I should need another visit to Galley Wharf tomorrow morning.
‘Perhaps I could leave the message with you?‘ I hazarded. ‘It’s to do with your nephew’s disappearance.’
‘Clement? Oh dear, oh dear! That poor boy! Maybe… Maybe you’d better come in.’
She led me through to the garden at the back of the house, which ran down to the river. The rain had cleared by now, giving way to hazy sunshine and a sky which stretched milk-white above the tree-tops, threaded with faint ribbons of gold. Mistress Weaver and her daughter- in-law, whom she addressed as Bridget, had been picking herbs from the little herb-garden in the shade of one wall. Cumin, fennel and others were heaped in a shallow basket, ready to be dried and stored for the winter. Mistress Weaver folded her hands together nervously over her apron.
‘What… what did my brother-in-law have to say about poor Clement?’
I told her as quickly as I could about my meeting with Marjorie Dyer and my talk with the Alderman, leaving out my subsequent adventures. When I had finished, it was Bridget Weaver who spoke first. Her manner had lost its initial hostility.
‘Poor Uncle Alfred,’ she said quietly. ‘He can’t accept what’s happened. But there’s nothing more we can tell you than you seem to know already. Alison, her maid and the four men — our two, Rob Short and Ned Stoner — arrived here late in the afternoon, not long before curfew. But as soon as Ned had seen Alison safely inside the house, he rode back again to the Baptist’s Head. He was only just in time as it was, before the gates were closed for the night. It wasn’t until next morning that we knew Clement was missing.’
Her mother-in-law nodded. ‘My husband and sons set out for the city immediately and spent the next few days searching every place they could think of where Clement might have gone of his own free will. Not that they, or any of us, had much hope of finding him. We sent one of our men post-haste to Bristol and the Alderman was here within a week, but by then, we knew the worst.’ Mistress Weaver sighed. ‘I realize that it’s difficult for Alfred to accept the truth, particularly without a body to convince him. But, believe me, he’s wasting your time, as well as raising his own hopes falsely. My husband and sons would tell you exactly the same if they were here.’
It was the same story as I had heard before, with always the same conclusion. There was no doubt in anyone’s mind that Clement Weaver had been murdered by footpads. In any mind but mine, that is. I still felt there was a mystery to be unravelled. But there seemed nothing more to be gleaned from either Mistress Weaver or her daughter-in- law, so I said I must be on my way.