I drank some more ale. ‘You’d win your wager. Sir George told me that if I did, he’d deny the whole incident and make me appear a fool.’ There was a pause while the hubbub of the tap room went on around us. ‘So why am I here?’
Briant shrugged and glared at another man who would have joined us at the table. The newcomer hurriedly slunk away.
‘I like you,’ the Irishman said unexpectedly, finishing his own drink and calling for another. ‘I want you to know why I tried to kill that piece of shit. I want you to know what sort of man he really is.’ I raised my eyebrows and, after his ale had been brought, he continued, ‘The first time we ever spoke, I was with my friend, Padraic Kinsale. Do you remember?’
‘Yes. But when I commented on his absence at our second meeting, you refused to say what had become of him.’ My companion’s lips tightened into a narrow, ugly line and he fell silent. ‘So what happened?’ I prompted.
After a moment or two, Briant said abruptly, ‘He was taken and hanged.’
For some unaccountable reason, I was shocked. ‘When was this? I don’t remember anything of it.’ But then, I probably wouldn’t. I was absent from the city so long and so often, and no one would think the incident important enough to tell me of it on my return. A thought struck me. ‘Was Sir George Marvell concerned in the affair?’
The Irishman drank his ale, emptying the pot in almost one go before slamming it down hard on the table. ‘He was,’ he said. ‘But he didn’t live in the town in those days. He had a house on the heights above Bristol.’
‘In Clifton Manor,’ I agreed. ‘He still owns the place, but today it stands empty.’ There was another pause. ‘Go on.’
Briant chewed a thumbnail that was already bitten down almost to the quick. ‘Know the family, do you?’
‘I’ve only made their acquaintance very recently, but yes, I think I’ve managed to work out who each one is.’
Another couple of drinkers, anxious to secure a seat at our table, were glared away, just like the first man. I reflected that Briant seemed to be of some importance. No one argued with him or even uttered a word of protest.
‘There’s a son from the first marriage — ’
I nodded. ‘Cyprian Marvell. Stocky. Middle-aged.’
My companion bit his thumbnail some more. ‘This happened five, maybe six years ago. He was younger then. He was married and his wife had a much younger sister. Constance Trenchard, she was called. Very pretty by all accounts, but for some reason still unmarried.’ He shouted for more ale and then sat waiting, tapping his fingers on the table.
‘And?’ I said, growing impatient.
‘Sir George coveted her. Old enough to be her father. Nearly old enough to be her grandfather, the old ram. Somehow or other, he persuaded her into becoming his paramour. Mind you,’ Briant added fair-mindedly, ‘I suppose he isn’t bad-looking even now and this, as I say, was five, six years back. Some women like ’em old and I daresay it wasn’t his face she was interested in.’ He gave a sudden loud guffaw. ‘Looks like a man who might have plenty tucked away in his codpiece.’
His ale arrived and he downed it without pausing for breath, then wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. I waited resignedly for him to resume.
After a while, he leant forward again, his chin propped between his fists. ‘I don’t know how long this love affair, or whatever you want to call it, was carried on between this pair, but in the end, as you could guess, the old man’s wife began to get suspicious. His second wife, that is, and a great deal younger than he is.’
‘I know,’ I said. ‘I’ve met her.’ I didn’t add, ‘And so have you.’ I was saving that revelation until later.
Briant grunted. ‘He seems to like ’em young.’ He scratched his cheek. ‘Well, as I was saying, Sir George’s wife was growing suspicious and he needed to get rid of Constance in a hurry. He had no intention of soiling his whiter than white reputation, so he told the girl it was all over between them. That’s when the trouble started. She wouldn’t accept that it was finished and threatened to make the affair known to her sister.’
‘How do you know all this?’
‘Padraic told me. George Marvell had offered him a very large sum of money not just to abduct the girl, but to kill her. I begged him to have nothing to do with it. I warned him over and over that it was too dangerous; that if the English law officers didn’t get him, our own people would. I reminded him that you can’t trust any Englishman farther than you can see him. That you’re a treacherous race. That if anything went wrong, Sir George wouldn’t hesitate to throw him to the wolves.’
‘Your friend didn’t agree with you?’
‘Oh, he agreed with me all right. Any Irishman would. But Padraic’s trouble was thinking he was cleverer than he really was. And the amount of money he was being offered would have tempted a saint. Furthermore, he said he thought he could screw some more out of the old man. He could retire. Buy that farm near Waterford he’d always wanted. Settle down and get married.’
‘But it didn’t turn out like that?’
‘Of course it didn’t turn out like that! I told him it wouldn’t, but he refused to listen to me.’
‘So? What happened?’
‘That old devil wheedled all Padraic’s plans out of him. Where, when and how he was going to meet this Constance and kill her. I don’t know how he managed it because Padraic wasn’t a stupid man. I think more money must have been promised. I don’t know the details, but the result was that the law officers arrived just in time to find Padraic with the body, but not in time to save the girl.’
I sucked in my breath. ‘But what a blackguard the man is,’ I muttered, and Briant knew that I wasn’t referring to his friend; although, when I thought about it, the description could just as easily have applied to both men. ‘I don’t suppose it was any good Master Kinsale telling the truth?’
‘What would have been the point? No one would have believed him. Sir George would have utterly denied the accusation, and it would have been his word against that of an Irish slave trader. Who would have been listened to? Not Padraic.’
‘He might have sowed the seeds of doubt in one or two minds. Lady Marvell’s, for instance. If she’d begun to have doubts about her husband’s fidelity, some of them might have taken root.’
‘True. But Padraic probably didn’t feel he could let himself come between man and wife. At least, that was my guess for I never spoke to, nor saw him again after he was arrested. The fraternity disowned him, and orders went out that we were to keep our heads down until people had forgotten the affair, which wasn’t long. Folk have short memories. I went back to Ireland and stayed there for a month or two, and by the time I returned no one even remembered the incident. Padraic was just another felon whose body had been left to rot on some dunghill, but I didn’t forget. I know Padraic did wrong, but he was tempted into it by that old devil, and I swore to get Sir George Marvell when I could.’
‘You waited a long time,’ I commented.
‘It wasn’t possible while he lived in Clifton. I’d have stuck out like a sore thumb on a woman’s white hand if I’d been seen up there. Sir George would have been alerted within an hour and would most likely have guessed my intention. But then, a day or so ago, I learned he had moved down to the city. My chance had come.’
I nodded. ‘And you learned that from none other than Lady Marvell herself.’
He had been looking down at the table, but now his eyes flew up to meet mine. ‘Now how do you know that, Chapman?’ he asked softly.
So I told him about recognizing him in the Green Lattis and seeing Patience Marvell go into the ale-house just as I was leaving. ‘And on Christmas morning, I followed her out of All Saints’ Church during the Shepherds’ Mass and witnessed your second meeting with her. I saw money change hands and then you push it back at her, refusing to accept it. I didn’t understand why at the time, but now I do. She’d mentioned her name and you’d realized who she was. You couldn’t do business with someone whose husband you intended to kill.’