‘And no snoring!’ was my final injunction as I prepared myself to endure what I was certain was going to be a sleepless few hours until daybreak.
But for the second time that night, the waters of Lethe closed over my head without me even knowing it, and doubtless (at least, if my dear wife was to be believed), I was the one disturbing the peace with his snores.
I have no idea how long I slept on this occasion, but it was still dark when an agonizing cramp in my left leg woke me yet again. I disentangled the afflicted limb from Humphrey’s, flexed the muscles several times, reached under the blanket to rub my calf and was successful in ridding myself of the pain remarkably quickly. It was then I thought I heard the latch of the bedchamber door click. I sat up abruptly.
‘Who’s there?’ I quavered, peering blindly through the almost total blackness.
Humphrey was awake on the instant. ‘What’s up? What’s happened?’ he demanded fretfully.
I whispered, ‘I think someone may be in the room.’
I could hear his teeth chattering as I crept out of bed and groped my way across the bedchamber to the candle and my tinder box, which I had left beside it. After a few fumblings the flame blazed into life, searing the darkness, and the wick caught. I held the candlestick aloft, the light sending shadows scattering to the four corners of the room. Apart from Humphrey and myself there was no one else present.
But I saw, with a shock that jolted me from head to foot, that another person had indeed been there.
‘What is it?’ queried Humphrey’s voice at my elbow. I could feel him shaking even though our bodies weren’t touching.
Silently, I pointed to the bed and the curled-up shape of the pillows. Protruding from one of them, just about where my chest and heart would have been, was the handle of a long-bladed kitchen knife.
There was little sleep for either of us after that. I bolted the bedchamber door on the inside and closed the shutters, but even those precautions failed to reassure us until the first intimations of daylight began to seep into the room. By that time, stifled for air, our heads aching from bolstering our courage with the rest of the all-night ale, we were only too glad to put aside our fears and reopen the casement on a brightening world, where the stars were paling fast before being quite snuffed out. Birds, who had been cheeping gently on a sleepy, questioning note, suddenly shrilled into a full-throated chorus; and on the grass near the moat, I could see a cluster of astonished young rabbits, caught in the act of sitting up and washing their faces with front paws, wet with dew. I breathed in deeply. Normality had returned.
Well, for the time being, at least: I still had to face up to the fact that someone had tried to kill me during the night. And there was no clue as to the would-be murderer’s identity to be gained from the knife.
‘Taken from the kitchen,’ I said to Humphrey as we examined it together.
‘Do you think whoever it was realized that he hadn’t killed you?’ Humphrey asked in a nervous, unhappy voice.
‘Bound to,’ I said. ‘There’s no comparison between the feel of a blade slicing through flesh and one stabbing through feathers.’
‘So’ — my companion swallowed noisily — ‘do you think he’ll try again?’
Having thought about it, I shook my head. ‘Not like that, at any rate. He’ll know I’ll be on my guard. It’ll have to be something a good deal more subtle. A carefully arranged accident, perhaps.’
‘Aren’t you frightened?’
‘Scared out of my wits,’ I answered as cheerfully as I could. ‘But I shall make sure, at breakfast this morning, that everyone knows what’s happened. That way, if anything untoward does befall me, they’ll all know it’s murder.’
‘Do you suspect anyone?’ Humphrey asked, but I refused to say.
‘I might do. Then again, I might not,’ was my deliberately ambiguous answer.
The truth was that I didn’t know what I really thought myself. The worm of suspicion that had been wriggling around in my mind for a little while now, but largely ignored by me, was beginning to assume snake-like proportions. This was partly due to a dream that had troubled one of those brief interludes of sleep which had punctuated my almost continuous state of wakefulness since the discovery of the knife stuck in the pillow. In this dream, I had returned to the day of my arrival at Croxcombe, the previous Friday. Anthony Bellknapp and I were in George Applegarth’s room and the former was questioning the steward about his wife’s murder. It was all quite sane and sensible, without any of the inanities that normally distinguish a dream from reality, but I had woken with a sense of something missing; a conviction that something had not been asked that should have been asked in the light of what had happened later … But then, I had not been constantly in Anthony Bellknapp’s company, and the vital missing question could have been put during my absence.
Piqued by my refusal to say more, Humphrey dressed and, taking his razor, went off to hold his head under the pump before repairing to the kitchen to get hot water to shave in. I followed his example but at a slower pace, my thoughts making me pause every few moments while I tried to make coherent sense of what I knew and what I suspected. As a result, I was late for the start of breakfast and earned myself a pained look from Dame Audrea.
We were a reduced number at table, the Bignells having already departed, leaving the manor — or so I was informed by the chaplain — at first light, anxious to be home as early as possible. They had missed a whole day’s trading and were keen to open their stall before the good women of Wells decided to take their custom elsewhere. The pilgrims who had sought shelter the preceding night had also gone on their way at a very early hour, and had charged George Applegarth with rendering thanks to their hostess.
I took a seat at one of the lower boards and waited for everyone present to finish their poached eel and oatmeal cakes before marching up to the dais and slapping down the kitchen knife under Dame Audrea’s astonished gaze.
‘Someone,’ I announced baldly, ‘tried to kill me with that last night. If you don’t believe me, ask Master Attleborough there. He’ll confirm what I say.’
There was silence, broken only by the shuffle of feet as people left their places to crowd around the dais and stare with ghoulish fascination at the wicked, pointed blade, set in its black bone handle. Finally, Dame Audrea said, ‘Someone tried to kill you, Master Chapman? This isn’t some sort of jest?’
‘Someone tried to kill me,’ I repeated, ignoring the second question as being nothing more than a ploy on her part to stall for time. ‘I’ve told you, Master Attleborough will back me up.’ Humphrey nodded vigorously. ‘We have a murderer in our midst, Madam, who doesn’t want you to discover the identity of your elder son’s killer.’ I raised my voice slightly so that everyone present could hear. ‘I tell you all this so that should any of you find me dead, however innocent-looking the circumstances, you will be on your guard against assuming that my death is natural. I would advise you most strongly, Dame Audrea, to make known the manner of Master Anthony’s death to the proper authorities and let them instigate a hunt for his killer.’
‘No.’ The dame’s answer was blunt and allowed of no argument. ‘Croxcombe will keep its affairs to itself as it always has done. And if anyone here thinks of disobeying my orders, let me warn you that I have many friends and kinsmen in high places. I shall be believed, not you, and you might find life in the future very uncomfortable. So get on and exert these wonderful powers of yours, Master Chapman, that you have seen fit to boast about, and find the murderer. I shall know how to deal with him when you do.’ She gave a curt nod as she rose from her seat and prepared to leave the dais. ‘Anthony’s funeral will take place at noon,’ she added, ‘in the chapel. I shall expect all of you to be present. Sir Henry, you have the key to the family vault. Please see that it is open and ready to receive my son’s body by the appointed hour. That’s all for now.’ But as she turned to go, she flung at me over her shoulder, ‘Remember our bargain!’