‘Sweet Virgin! Really? He wasn’t pulling your leg?’
‘He showed me his notebooks, all scribbled in a kind of dog-Latin that would be murder to understand. He plans to map out the topography of Bristol, so he informed me, during the intervals between sorting out his sister’s affairs. Besides, he feels he ought to wait until there’s news of this missing ship belonging to her brother-in-law.’
This reminded me with a jolt of John Jay’s lost carvel, and the reason why my half-brother had come to Bristol in the first place. Had it not been for young Colin Wedmore joining the ship at Waterford, John would still be safely at home in Ireland and not imprisoned in the city’s bridewell. For a moment, I was tempted to be honest with my bedfellow about why I was at Croxcombe; to confess that my injured ankle was nothing like as bad as I was pretending and to ask his aid. He had been more than kind to me. True, it was for his own perverted ends — but I felt that I owed him the truth.
‘Master Bellknapp,’ I began, but an enormous, rumbling snore cut me short. Turning my head once again, I saw that Anthony was sound asleep, still lying on his back, mouth agape. Another mighty snore followed the first in quick succession. I sighed. I was in for an unquiet night.
It was worse than I had anticipated. I soon discovered that Humphrey Attleborough also snored in a sort of treble counterpoint to his master’s deeper tones. Moreover, Anthony was a restless sleeper, tossing and turning until the bedclothes were in a tangle that it was impossible to unravel. Not that I minded being exposed to the air: it had grown infernally hot inside the cocoon of bed-curtains and feather mattress, and the third time I woke in what seemed less than a few minutes — but was probably an hour or more — I could feel the sweat running down my back and the inside of my thighs. I slid quietly out of bed, parted the curtains and emerged thankfully into the cool of the room beyond. The shutters and casement had been opened slightly by the servant before he had retired to his truckle-bed, and moonlight filtered through, laying long stripes of light and shadow across the floor and across my naked body. I breathed in the scents of the nearby woods and heard the chime of a distant bell, borne faintly on a gentle breeze, ringing the hour of matins and lauds, so I knew it must be those witching hours of the night between twelve and dawn. I pushed the shutters and casement a little wider, taking care to make no noise which might disturb my sleeping companions. For a moment or two, I stared at the lacework pattern of trees and the moon, pinned like a brooch high on their shoulder, before a sudden movement attracted my attention and made me lower my gaze to the moat. Someone was standing beside it, on the near bank, apparently looking up at our bedchamber window; although I could not be sure about this, wrapped as the figure was in that ever useful garment, the all-enveloping cloak and hood. (With a sudden surge of irritation, I wished I had a gold noble for every time in the past few years that I had encountered this mysterious, cloaked man — or woman. It was getting monotonous.) As soon as the figure became aware of my scrutiny, it moved away, but whether its gait was male or female, it was at too great a distance for me to tell. I stared after its retreating back for as long as I could, but gained nothing except the shivers as the sweat dried on my clammy skin. Reluctantly, I half-closed the window again and went back to bed, pondering on who it might have been.
I lay awake for some time, remembering the steward’s warning to my sleeping (and still snoring) companion to watch his step, and Anthony’s childlike enjoyment in courting trouble by affronting almost everyone he could. But then, ignored as a child, banished as a young man from home and his parents’ affection, it was impossible that he should have turned out to be a saint. Indeed, he exhibited a far better character than I would probably have done in similar circumstances …
At this point I must have drifted off to sleep, because the next time I woke, I was conscious of having been dreaming for what seemed quite a long time. I tried to recall some of the dreams in case there was a nugget of gold among the dross, but soon realized they were that jumble of meaningless nonsense that comes after a tiring day and badly digested food, and is the product of a restless mind.
The cacophony of sound had abated a little on both sides of the bed-curtains, but was still enough to prevent me from falling asleep again with my usual ease. So, once more, I slipped out of bed and crossed to the window. It was not yet quite light, but the distant horizon was showing the merest rim of fire, the first, faint harbinger of approaching day. Humphrey Attleborough, with the abandon of youth, was sprawled half on, half off the truckle-bed, the covers pushed back, and displaying a set of manly equipment that might well frighten all but the most stout-hearted of maidens. It was obvious that he, too, was having dreams, but not of my sort. He would be remembering his with pleasure.
A slight sound sent me whirling round to face the door, where I could see that the latch was being very slowly and carefully lifted from the other side. For a second or so, I stood, transfixed. Then, limping slightly, I began to steal stealthily towards the corner where I should be concealed from the intruder’s view as he entered.
Unfortunately, Humphrey chose that moment of all others to fall out of bed completely, banging his head on the floor and yelling loudly enough to waken the dead. I tripped over his prostrate form and cannoned into the wall, stubbing one foot against the clothes chest as I did so and striking my head a blow that set my ears ringing and stars dancing before my eyes. Anthony Bellknapp, roused at last, erupted from behind the bed-curtains, demanding in outraged accents to know what in the Devil’s name was going on.
By the time we had sorted ourselves out, Humphrey and I had examined our various cuts and bruises and I had explained, not just about the lifting of the latch, but also about the figure I had seen earlier from the bedchamber window, there wasn’t a hope of discovering anyone still outside the door; although, of course, this didn’t prevent our looking. Like the idiots we undoubtedly appeared, we all three jostled out into the passageway, staring up and down its length but, naturally, finding no one. The wall torches had long since burned themselves out, and the darkness and silence were almost total.
Not for long, however. Various sounds — raised voices, the opening of doors, the striking of flint on steel — indicated that we had disturbed other members of the household. Dame Audrea’s voice, raised in annoyance to ask what was happening, sent Humphrey and me scurrying back into the bedchamber to hide our nakedness under the sheets. And after a moment’s hesitation, Anthony joined us, closing the door behind him.
A polite knock heralded the arrival of George Applegarth, dressed sedately in a rubbed brown velvet gown over his nightshift and a candle in its holder held high in one hand.
‘Master Anthony, your lady mother wishes to know the meaning of this disturbance.’
Anthony pushed the bed-curtains aside and looked his steward up and down. ‘Tell my lady mother,’ he drawled insolently, ‘to mind her own business. No, on second thoughts’ — he giggled — ‘tell her we were holding an orgy.’
The steward sighed and raised his eyebrows at me, inviting a sensible explanation. I thought Anthony would protest at this flouting of his orders, but he merely lay back against the pillows, still grinning, while I told George Applegarth of the night’s events. They seemed to upset him.
‘I warned you, Master,’ he said, addressing Anthony in the scolding tone of an old and privileged retainer, ‘to be careful. You’ve been home less than a day and you’ve already managed to antagonize all the most important members of the household. Be more conciliatory, do! Or some harm will befall you.’ He turned the light of the candle on me. ‘Did you get a good look at this cloaked figure? Did you recognize anything about it?’