‘I heard the mummers are playing there during Christmas.’
‘There are mummers, certainly. But they’re a very small troupe.’
She nodded eagerly. ‘I know. They stopped to give a performance in Clifton before going on to the city. But the girl who plays the Fair Maiden, Toby’s wife’ — she coloured slightly as she spoke his name — ‘is with child. She won’t be able to perform much longer. I could help them out.’
That all-betraying blush made the situation perfectly plain. She fancied young Master Warrener and intended to seduce him. She would probably succeed. Maybe she had succeeded already. I felt a sudden surge of anger on Dorcas’s behalf.
‘You know Tobias Warrener, do you? You made friends with him?’
My tone was dry and she lifted her chin defiantly. ‘We talked after the performance, that’s all.’
‘But you’d like to know him better, is that it?’ She refused to reply, her mouth setting in a mulish line. I went on: ‘My answer is no, mistress, I won’t take you to Bristol with me. I won’t help you to deceive your parents, nor will I help you to come between a man and his wife. The mummers are friends of mine. I’m truly grateful for all you’ve done for me, but no!’
I picked up my cudgel and Hercules began frisking around me in joyful anticipation of moving at last.
‘I’ll follow you,’ she threatened.
I shook my head. ‘You won’t be able to keep up. I have a very long stride.’
‘I hate you,’ she said. ‘I wish I’d let that man kill you. It would have served you right.’
I couldn’t help laughing, which made her angrier than ever and she lashed out at me with her little fists. I decided it was time to be gone. I gripped her by the shoulders.
‘Sweetheart,’ I said, ‘you’re a very pretty girl who could make a good match if you’d just learn to behave yourself. Forget about men like Sir George and young Toby Warrener. Look around you for a decent husband and settle down to domestic life and having children. It’s what women are for.’
Her eyes narrowed as she scrutinized me carefully. ‘You sound just like my father.’ She pulled herself free of my grasp. ‘Just like all men,’ she continued scornfully. ‘You’re even older than I thought. If you have a daughter, I’m sorry for her!’ Then she was gone, her cloak flying out behind her as she vanished through the door.
I stared sadly at Hercules. ‘She’s right, you know, lad. I used to try to seduce girls, not read them lectures about propriety.’ He barked and jumped up at me excitedly, anxious to be on his way. He didn’t care for this place with its lingering smell of death. With my free hand, I fastened my cloak at the throat and pulled up the hood, then swung my cudgel once again. ‘There’s one thing,’ I added as we moved towards the oblong of grey daylight at the other end of the hall. ‘She needn’t feel sorry for Elizabeth. That girl never heeds a word I say. As far as she’s concerned, I’m just an eddy of trouble disturbing the otherwise calm waters of her life.’
Although I was on my guard, our return journey to Bristol was uneventful. Such people as we passed were all going about their lawful business and were uninterested in a man and his dog. One or two gave us greetings of the season, wishing me the love of the Holy Virgin and her Babe; others were too busy collecting fresh branches of greenery with which to decorate their houses anew for the great festival of Twelfth Night Eve, now only four days away. This was the night when we would all go wassailing around the orchards, pouring jugs of sweet cider around the base of the tree trunks; libations to the old Saxon gods of the Tree and the Stone. For generations, the Church had tried to suppress such heathenish practices, but to no avail. So they had wisely incorporated it into the Feast of the Epiphany and the coming of the Wise Men to the stable, where they had been shown the Christ Child in his manger, the Hope and the Light of the world. (But the old gods still held their place in people’s hearts and refused to be ousted.)
Adela was in the kitchen, putting the finishing touches to her Twelfth Night cake.
‘You both look exhausted,’ she said, putting down a plate of scraps for Hercules, who fell on them like a ravening wolf. ‘You’ve walked that poor dog off his feet, and in this cold weather, too.’ She regarded me thoughtfully. ‘You don’t look too well, yourself. Supper won’t be long, but first, I’m afraid you have a visitor. James Marvell. He’s in the parlour, warming his toes.’
He was in fact pacing around, impatient for my return, dressed in funereal black from head to toe.
‘Master Chapman,’ he said eagerly as I entered, ‘I think I may know where we might find Miles Deakin.’ He paused, suddenly concerned as I swayed a little on my feet. ‘Is something wrong? Shall I call your wife?’
‘No, no!’ I sank gratefully into one of the armchairs. ‘I shall be all right in a moment or two and I don’t wish to worry her. Is that a jug of ale I see on the hearth? If you’d be kind enough to pour me some …’
‘Of course.’ He handed me a brimming beaker, then settled down in the chair opposite mine, the fire crackling and sparking between us. ‘Has something happened?’
I suddenly changed my mind and decided to tell him everything, holding nothing back. He listened attentively, merely grimacing slightly over the intelligence that his grandfather had bedded a girl young enough to be his granddaughter. But, ‘I’m afraid he couldn’t leave women alone, and the younger the better,’ was his only remark, made with a wry grimace.
Finally, I came to the end of my recital and waited for his further comments. He leant forward, elbows on knees. ‘You don’t think these Carpenters, this Alyson’s parents, could be my grandfather’s murderers, do you?’
It was a thought that, until that moment, had not occurred to me, and I stared at him, somewhat shocked that I could have overlooked such an easy and obvious answer. But after a moment or two, the reason for this omission was clear and I gave a decisive shake of my head.
‘From what I saw of them, neither is sufficiently strong. Nor would they be even as a pair. You saw your grandfather’s body. It was a vicious, brutal murder carried out by at least two people with a desperate grudge. I doubt very much indeed if Alyson’s parents would have dared lay a finger on Sir George, whatever their feelings about him. Besides, they know their daughter. According to the Saint Vincent’s hermit, the whole district knows her for what she is. They must realize only too well that disposing of one man would in no way prevent her moving on to the next. No, I think we can absolve Master and Mistress Carpenter of the crime with absolute certainty.’
James nodded. ‘I think so, too. You say this unknown attacker tried to kill you. You’re sure of that? He wasn’t just trying to lay you out?’
I swallowed the dregs of my ale and wiped my mouth on the back of my hand. ‘It’s not the first attempt on my life,’ I said, and told him the story of the poisoning.
He frowned. ‘And your little son definitely saw someone put something in your drink during the Saint Thomas Becket’s Day wassail? You believe him?’
‘Why shouldn’t I? I had already suspected poisoning myself, my sickness was so violent.’
‘But why? Why should anyone wish to kill you?’
I shrugged. ‘You may be aware that I have a certain reputation for solving mysteries.’ This was no time for false modesty. ‘Perhaps whoever it was is afraid that I’m getting too close.’
‘And who is that?’
‘The man in the bird mask, obviously. The same man who was seen outside your and Dame Drusilla’s houses the afternoon before your grandfather disappeared. The man who must have given him the bogus note from Alyson Carpenter that sent him hurrying up to Clifton in the middle of the night.’
James chewed a thumbnail. ‘Which could, of course, have been Miles Deakin,’ he murmured.
‘Quite so. You say you know where he can be found?’
‘Might be found. I’ve been talking to one of my great-aunt’s maids who, if I read the situation aright, was enjoying the young man’s favours at the same time that he was paying court to Drusilla herself.’