This house, which was several storeys high, no doubt had a buttery and a hall as well as a parlour. And certainly more than one bedchamber. But there again, I knew nothing of bedchambers any more than I did of parlours. At home, I had slept on a truckle bed in one corner of the kitchen, and at the Abbey, in a dormitory with the other novices. This was the first gentleman’s dwelling I had ever been in.
‘Sit yourself down.’ Marjorie Dyer nodded towards a stool near the hearth, covered with a red and green cloth. ‘Leave your pack by the door and I’ll look at it later. I’m short of needles and thread, if you have any.’
I assured her that I had and thankfully slipped the heavy bundle from my back. I had been on my feet almost since sunrise and was beginning to feel tired. I slumped on to the stool she had indicated, keeping well away from the fire. Its heat was intense and the smoke was making my eyes water. As my companion bustled around, she appraised me with her shrewd brown eyes.
‘You’re a big lad. Nearly as tall as King Edward, I’d guess. And they say he stands over six feet.’
‘Have you ever seen him, then?’ I asked her, but with less curiosity than I might have displayed if the warmth hadn’t begun to make me so drowsy. Marjorie handed me a mazer of ale, and the taste of the cold, bitter liquid went some way towards reviving me.
‘A glimpse. Ten years ago when he visited Bristol. Very tall and very handsome, fair-haired, like you, and eyes the same shade of blue. The women all went wild about him.’ She grinned. ‘I reckon there were a few cuckolded husbands during that visit. They say he’s a great womanizer.’
Her tone of voice seemed to imply a question and I glanced up, shaking my head. ‘I’m still a virgin,’ I said. ‘There wasn’t much chance to be anything else at the Abbey.‘ I had given her a brief history of my life while we were walking from Marsh Street.
She gave a chuckle which slid into a full-throated laugh. ‘That’s not what I’ve heard.’
I shrugged. ‘Oh, I know there are stories about religious houses, and I’ve no doubt there’s a certain amount of laxity in some of them. But we had a particularly strict Master of Novices.’
It was her turn to shrug plump shoulders. ‘You’re young. There’s no hurry.’ Her face shadowed again momentarily, as she cleared a space for me at the table. ‘Although, I shouldn’t say that, I suppose. Youth alone is no guarantee of longevity.’ She motioned me to bring my stool over and went to spoon some of the stew on to a plate.
I got up and, carrying my now half-empty mazer in one hand and the stool in the other, I crossed the room and settled myself at the table. ‘I expect the plague will be rife again this summer.’
Marjorie put the plate of steaming meat and vegetables in front of me. There was also some black bread, a piece of goat’s milk cheese wrapped in a dock leaf, and a dish of those little green and white leeks which can be eaten raw.
‘I wasn‘t necessarily thinking of illness,‘ she said. ‘There‘s … there’s also accident… and … and murder.’ In the sudden silence which succeeded her words, all I could hear was the crackling of the fire.
I swallowed the spoonful of stew which I had shovelled into my mouth and repeated, ‘Murder?’ It had not been just a casual remark, I could tell that by the way she spoke and looked. The word had a special significance for her.
She replenished my mazer from the vat of ale which stood near the door and drew up another stool to the table. ‘Forget I said anything. I shouldn’t be discussing the family’s troubles with a stranger.’
I wiped my mouth on my sleeve. I was pretty uncouth in those days. ‘That’s not fair,’ I protested. ‘You shouldn’t arouse my curiosity and then refuse to tell me what it’s about. Who do you know who’s been murdered?’
Marjorie took one of the little leeks from the dish and began to nibble it. ‘It was just a remark. I didn’t say I knew anyone.‘ She glanced sideways at my sceptical expression and capitulated. ‘All right. Although I ought not to say anything, really. And besides, no one’s sure that it is murder. At present, it’s just a case of… disappearance.’
‘Whose disappearance?’ I found myself intrigued, the more so now that my first pangs of hunger had been assuaged. In the distance, through the open kitchen door, came sounds of the bustling city, alive and vigorous in the warm spring weather.
‘The Alderman’s son,’ she said at last, reluctantly, as though wishing she hadn’t spoken. Nevertheless, she went on. ‘He disappeared last winter in London.’
I tore a piece off the loaf of bread. ‘You mean they never found a body? But in that case, what makes you think it’s murder?’
‘The circumstances of his disappearance.’ She leaned forward, folding her plump arms together on the table. ‘There was no reason for Clement to run away — if that’s what you were thinking.’
It was a possibility which had crossed my mind, I had to admit, and I wasn’t going to abandon it in a hurry. ‘How old was Master Clement?’
‘About as old as you. Maybe a little older.’
I considered this information. ‘My mother always insisted that I was born in the same year as the Duke of Gloucester. So … I reckon I’ve seen nineteen summers.’ My companion nodded. ‘That seems about right. Clement would have been about nine when King Edward visited Bristol.’
‘And ten years on, he‘s the age when he might well have quarrelled with his father and decided to be his own master.’
Marjorie shook her head. ‘No!’ she said emphatically. ‘Clement got on well with his father, like his sister. The Alderman’s an indulgent father. Over-indulgent, if you want my honest opinion. Ever since his wife died, a year ago last Michaelmas, Alison and her brother have meant everything to him. And now Alison’s getting married he’s going to be very lonely, but he won’t do anything to stand in her way. There’s no talk of postponing the marriage so he can keep her at home a bit longer. And I know plenty of men who would be selfish enough to do that, whatever you might be planning to say in defence of your sex.’
‘I’m not planning to say anything of the sort,‘ I protested mildly. ‘I’ve no illusions about people’s shortcomings, whether they’re male or female. Humanity has a lot of failings.’
‘An old head on young shoulders,’ she mocked. ‘That I should live to see the day!’
I ignored this. ‘So Clement Weaver didn’t disappear voluntarily. Didn’t the Alderman make inquiries for him?’
‘Of course he did, you stupid boy! He went to London himself, stayed there for months, with his brother and two of his nephews. They scoured the city from end to end. They even managed to enlist the help of Lord Stanley, but all to no avail. Clement was never found. He just disappeared from the face of the earth.’
I had finished my stew by this time and looked significantly at my empty plate. Marjorie Dyer, somewhat to my surprise, took the hint and rose to fetch me a second helping. ‘You’ll never want for asking,’ she commented drily.
Pointless to say that I hadn’t uttered a word. Meekly, I accepted the refilled plate which she set before me, drained my mazer and attacked the food with relish. When I could speak once more, I said: ‘You’ve intrigued me. Having gone this far, why don’t you tell me the whole story? That is, if you can spare the time. I can see you’re a busy woman.’
‘Mmmm… And I can see you’ve a silver tongue when it suits you. A way of charming the birds off the trees, as my father would have said. And I shouldn’t really spare the time to sit and chat with you. I’ve a junket to make for supper. However, there’s not much to tell, and ten minutes or so won’t make that much difference. Not if you’re really interested, that is.’
I nodded, unable to reply because my mouth was full. But before she could begin, there was an interruption. The door leading from the hall opened and a girl about my own age, or a little younger, came into the kitchen. This, I assumed, correctly as it happened, was the daughter of the house, Alison Weaver.