Margaret cut in firmly, 'No, nothing.' Was she just a little too vehement? 'I am sure in my own mind, however, that he was not taken to Ireland for the reasons I have told you. And Alderman Weaver, who has many contacts in Waterford and Dublin, has made inquiries for me insofar as he may, but no one recollects having seen hide nor hair of my father.'
'Alderman Weaver?' I asked, my attention momentarily diverted. 'Who lives in Broad Street?' But of course she had mentioned an Alfred Weaver earlier in connection with her husband. I should have realized then of whom she was speaking. He was the owner of many of the weaving sheds this side of the Avon. When she nodded, puzzled, I went on, 'I have some acquaintance with him. Indeed two years ago I was able to do him a service in connection with the disappearance of his son. I'll tell you of it sometime, but it's too long a story to be gone into here and now. Suffice it to say that, with his blessing, I could probably inquire further into this business if that is really what you want.'
Both women were half inclined to probe more deeply into my connections with Alderman Weaver, but thankfully their own concerns were uppermost in their minds and they soon abandoned their half-hearted questioning.
'If there is indeed anything that you can discover, it would be a relief to know it,' Margaret said, 'for at least it might prove that Lillis and I had no knowledge of whatever, or whoever, it was lured Father from home that night and inflicted on him such terrible injuries.' But there was a note of doubt in her voice, as though she were aware that the truth is not always pleasant.
Lillis had no such misgivings. 'We need to know anything Roger can find out, Mother, in spite of the fact it might besmirch Grandfather's good name. He must be told everything.'
Margaret rose to her feet and placed two more turfs on the fire, banking it right down for the night ahead, so that no stray spark could set the cottage aflame. What was left of the earlier blaze might smoulder until morning, or go out altogether in the cold night hours, in which case it would have to be relit on the morrow.
'Roger knows all that you or I can tell him,' she answered smoothly, yet I also detected a hint of warning behind her words. 'If we remember aught that we've forgotten, it will be time enough then to repair the omission but, for now, we're all three tired and need our beds. Lillis, get up from that mattress and straighten the blankets and move it back against the wall.' When her daughter had done her bidding, Margaret pulled the curtain of faded red and green woven fabric which divided the room in two, smiled her good-nights and vanished with Lillis behind its shelter. "Sleep well,' she called out as she got into bed.
I stripped to my shirt and rolled between the blankets, nestling my head on the soft, feather-filled pillow. I was still weak after my illness and aching in every limb with weariness, but sleep eluded me. I tossed, restless and uneasy, from side to side, going over in my mind the strange facts of William Woodward's disappearance. That he had been removed from home by force seemed obvious, or why else would there have been bloodstains? And Margaret had spoken of scars which showed injuries to his head which would account for them. Furthermore, the discovery of his hat in the River Frome would make sense if he had indeed been dragged aboard a ship bound for Ireland. And in that case, the evidence of witnesses who said they had heard screams and moans coming from William's cottage, or seen shadowy figures by St John's Wicket, need not be discounted.
There appeared, however, to be too much doubt by too many people on this score for me to insist on its being the likeliest explanation, and until I had spoken to Alderman Weaver, I must reserve judgement. I would visit him tomorrow morning, and trust that he would let me presume on our former acquaintance to give me audience.
Meantime, what other answer could there be to the riddle of William’s apparent death and mysterious resurrection? And why did I have a strange, nagging feeling at the back of my mind that Margaret Walker was keeping something from me? With these and other unresolved questions circling inside my head, I at last fell into a troubled sleep and woke in the morning, still weary.
I knew I should give myself a few more days' rest before undertaking any great exertion, but I trusted to my natural strength and rude health to see me through my investigations. For the truth was that, in spite of having agreed to be the Walkers' lodger for what was left of the winter months, I was anxious to pay my debt and be free of them. It was not that I disliked either woman; indeed, I already felt the stirrings of affection for Margaret Walker because she reminded me in some ways of my mother.
It was Lillis who made me uneasy. The determined and predatory glint which appeared in her eyes whenever they glanced my way, told me that I was a marked man and that she would snare me if she could. She was twenty years of age, for all that she looked younger, and ripe for a husband.
I rose before the two women were even stirring, pulled on my hose, unlatched the door and walked down the narrow alley alongside the cottage to the yard at the back.
When I had used the privy, I fetched up water from the well which served the surrounding cottages, poured some over my head, filled a tin can and carried it indoors. A judicious use of the bellows brought the slumbering fire to life, and when I had removed the turfs I was able to heat my shaving water and get rid of my beard. I had lit two of the rushlights, trusting that their fragile glow would disturb neither Margaret nor Lillis for a while, but I hoped in vain. As I ran a satisfied hand over my once again smooth chin, Lillis slid out from behind the curtain.
She was wearing nothing but her thin linen shift and, as I turned my head to look at her, she lifted her arms, stretching and yawning, smiling secretively and watching me between half-closed lids.
'You're handsomer without a beard,' she said, 'if that's possible.'
I made no reply. What was there to say? I was not a vain youth, but neither was I falsely modest. I knew women found me good-looking, and had often marvelled that Nature should have endowed me in such a way; for my father, what I remembered of him, was a small dark man with weather-beaten features. My mother always maintained that I was a throwback to her grandfather. 'A true Saxon,' she used to call him. She herself was fair, but her hair was more honey-gold than mine, and her eyes less intensely blue. 'I'll get more water,' I offered, 'to boil the oatmeal for breakfast,' and, lifting the can from the fire, I was about to retreat into the yard, when Lillis moved swiftly to block my passage to the door.
'Are you afraid of me?' she asked, her mouth tilting into a provocative grin.
'Why should I be?' I asked, praying that Margaret would come to my rescue, and sensing that, if she did not, it would be only a matter of moments before those thin, childish arms were wound around my neck and the thin but sensuous body was pressed against mine.
For once my prayer was speedily answered. Although my back was to the curtain which divided the room, I knew that Margaret had emerged from behind it by the change of expression on her daughter's face. The look of naked desire faded abruptly to be replaced by a sullen pout, arm the narrow shoulders were visibly braced for Margaret's reprimand.
'Lillis! Get dressed immediately! Suppose someone were to walk in, what would they think? There's enough gossip about us already, without you adding fuel to the flames.'
Breakfast — oatmeal and dried fish — was not a comfortable meal, with Lillis sulky and out of humour, and Margaret preoccupied, plainly wondering if she had invited trouble beneath her roof when she had urged me to stay. I, too, was worrying about the same thing. My best course, I decided yet again, was to find out what I could about William Woodward's disappearance and then take my leave. I eyed my chapman's pack with longing, suppressing the desire to grab it and run.