The Hanged Man

'Fortunately, Nick Brimble and his mother happened along at that moment, and helped me up, and the tailor let me sit down for a while inside his booth.' She smiled bravely. 'So I'm none the worse for wear. But it shows that some people still think I know what happened to Father, and that I may even have had a hand in his disappearance.'

'That's nonsense,' I said stoutly, taking my place at table. 'How could anyone imagine that his own daughter would beat and abduct an old man, even if you had the strength, which you so obviously have not.'

She put dishes of salted herrings in front of me and Lillis, for the day being Friday we were eating fish, and added another of oatcakes in the centre of the board. Then she took her seat alongside her daughter.

'Of course no one would think such a thing,' she chided me, 'but there are those who believe that Father arranged his own disappearance for some secret purpose of his own, and that I helped him.'

'But the blood,' I protested. 'The bloodstains you found in the cottage, how do they explain those?' She shrugged. 'Maybe he cut himself, his wrist perhaps, and let the blood drip on the bedcover and the rushes.'

'How much blood was there?' I sucked some herring bones from between my teeth and spat them out on the side of my plate while waiting for her answer.

'There were two large stains on the bedcover and quite a number on the floor. There were also some splashes on the walls, and hand-prints around the wall-cupboard.'

'A lot of blood then; more than a man could afford Io lose if he intended going on a journey.' She glanced inquiringly at me and I said with some impatience: 'If he disappeared, as he did, he had to go away, and far enough away that he couldn't easily be found. He wasn't hiding m the city. In those circumstances, he wouldn't weaken himself so much that he was unable to walk, or even to hide if he could find a mount.'

As I spoke, there flashed into my mind the picture of a man on a stolen horse turning from Magdalen Lane into Stow Hill, towards the windmill. I stared into space, transfixed by the image thus conjured up, feeling as though I were on the brink of a revelation. I was about to make a significant discovery, only Lillis's sly laugh interrupted my thoughts before I could do so.

'You look as though someone had gutted and then stuffed you,' she remarked unkindly. 'And you haven't said anything about my hair.'

Her mother smiled. 'He hasn't even noticed. And you going to the market specially this morning to buy those ribbons!'

I saw then that Lillis had discarded the triangle of cloth which she normally tied around her head in the daytime, and the thick coils of hair had been allowed to hang down in two braids, each one decorated with a bow of red silk.

'It looks very pretty,' I said lamely. But the sight of the ribbons reminded me sharply of those tucked away in my pack in the corner, and the need, before my store ran out, to start earning some wages. I could not continue to live off Mistress Walker: my pride would not allow it.

Lillis could see from my expression that her brave attempt to capture my attention and wring from me some small, pathetic compliment, had failed. She said nothing further, but lowered her eyes and began to eviscerate her herring with a quiet fury.

I made a feeble attempt to placate her. 'I should have noticed,' I apologized. 'But you shouldn't have wasted your money. I have ribbons in my pack. You need only have asked me.'

She dropped her knife with a clatter and bounced up from her stool. 'I'm not hungry,' she announced. She strapped on her wooden pattens and found her cloak. 'I'm going to see Nick and Mistress Brimble. Nick, at least, won't fail to notice.'

There was a blast of cold air as the door opened and closed behind her. After her departure, there was an awkward silence. Mistress Walker said quietly, 'She's fond of you, Roger.'

I pushed my herring around my plate, my appetite deserting me. 'I know. Mistress Walker,' I continued hurriedly, desperate to avoid any further discussion of the matter, 'We were talking about your father; about the possibility that he could have arranged his disappearance himself. If I have asked you this before, forgive me; but do you know of any reason why he might have done so?' 'No. None.' She spoke decisively, accepting for the moment that I had no wish to pursue the subject of Lillis, although I had no doubt that in her own mind it was far from closed. 'Moreover, my father returned home, bearing the scars of a terrible beating. He had, sometime previously, been horribly injured, injuries which he could not possibly have inflicted on himself. I think you will have to look elsewhere for a solution.'

I thought so too, and said no more, asking instead, 'Who is the hooded man I've seen twice now, once at Burl Hodge's cottage and again this morning leaving a house close by? I am almost certain, too, that I heard his voice at your door the second or third night I was here, when I regained consciousness for a moment.'

There was a pause so slight I could well have imagined it. Then Margaret Walker answered smoothly, 'Many people are abroad in the streets, and at this time of year anyone with any sense is well wrapped up against the cold. You yourself, when you returned before dinner, had your hood pulled forward about your face. As for anyone who may have called here during your illness, it is a week or so past, so how can I remember? Lillis and I, in spite of our difficulties, are not completely friendless.'

'It was dark. After curfew, when fewer people risk the streets, especially in winter. Furthermore, this was not a friend. You spoke angrily to him, telling him to be about his business and threatening to send for the Watch.'

A little colour stole into her sallow cheeks, but her gaze did not falter. 'Oh him,' she said. 'An old acquaintance of my father, and one I always considered to have a bad influence on him. I want nothing more to do with him now that Father is dead.'

'But why would he continue to trouble you?' I persisted, and had the satisfaction of seeing a hunted look in her eyes.

But again, she answered easily enough. 'Perhaps he is lonely.'

'But from what I have seen, he appears to be welcome in many of the weavers' cottages in Redcliffe.' Margaret began gathering up the dirty dishes, stacking them at the end of the table near the fire, where water was heating, ready to wash them. Keeping her hands busy helped to steady her voice. I heard only the faintest of quavers as she said, 'That's nothing to do with me. Folks look to their own affairs round here. I can only say I don't like the man, nor do I want him in my cottage. Are you sure it's the same person you've seen on each occasion?'

'I recognized the cloak. Very mud-stained and torn around the hem, as though he does a lot of walking.'

'That could be true of almost anyone hereabouts. Weavers and spinners do not have the means to travel on anything but Shank's mare.'

I shook my head. 'No, Mistress Walker. You knew at once who I was speaking of the moment I mentioned the man in the cloak. There is something you're keeping from me, and you won't tell me what it is. If you want me to discover the truth about your father, that's unfair.'

'Nonsense!' She clattered the dishes angrily. 'It has nothing whatever to do with Father's disappearance. I told you, the man's just one of his friends; a man I dislike and want nothing more to do with. Move, lad, move! I must get on. I have to take a load of yarn to the weaving sheds this afternoon.' I saw that it was useless to pursue the matter further, for I should only get the same dusty answer. I rose from the table and picked up my pack, slinging it over my shoulders.

'What are you doing?' she demanded sharply.

'I'm going to earn some money if I can. This is my trade.' I settled the pack more comfortably. 'Moreover, a little honest work will do me good and help me think better. Don't worry. I shall take my cudgel with me.'

She said with some constraint, 'There's no need for flint. I didn't mean to reproach you just now, nor to sound ungrateful.'