Just at that moment, Berenice Gifford and Katherine Glover came out of the trees, side by side, their heads close together and laughing. When they saw the rest of us, they laughed harder than ever until, somehow or other, we were all joining in. And yet, horribly, our gaping mouths made no sound, but from one corner of Beric’s there oozed a thin, dark trickle of blood …
Someone was shaking my arm violently and calling, ‘Wake up, chapman! Wake up!’ Blearily, I opened my eyes, uncertain of my surroundings, to find Mistress Fettiplace bending over me, her face puckered with concern.
‘What is it?’ I managed to ask at last.
‘It’s your friend, that Jack Golightly,’ she said. ‘He’s been arrested for Bartholomew Champernowne’s murder!’
Chapter Nineteen
For a moment I was too bewildered to know where I was or what I was doing. I must have stared at Mistress Fettiplace like a veritable fool, for she shook my arm again, but harder this time.
‘Your friend, Jack Golightly,’ she repeated, ‘has been arrested and charged with the murder of Bartholomew Champernowne. One of my neighbours has this minute brought me word.’ And she pointed to a woman standing just behind her, in the open doorway of the cottage.
My mind was beginning to clear, although I was still somewhat bemused. I had been sleeping deeply and the dream had seemed very real. I had had no time to interpret it, and was conscious that its message was already fading, lost in this more pressing anxiety.
I heaved myself out of the chair. ‘Are you certain of this?’ I demanded.
Anne Fettiplace clicked her tongue in exasperation. ‘This is Mistress Cordwainer. Ask her yourself.’ And once again she waved her hand towards the other woman, who had now ventured a few paces into the room.
‘It’s true enough,’ the neighbour confirmed. ‘I saw Sergeant Warren come back not a quarter of an hour since, and he had a prisoner in tow. Tethered to the horse, the poor soul was, and forced to walk alongside it. His wrists were bound and he had a gash above one eye. Someone who knew him said that it was Jack Golightly.’
‘He’s been brought back here, then?’ I asked unnecessarily. ‘He’s not been taken to Plymouth?’
‘Seemingly not. He’s locked in the roundhouse.’
‘I must speak to him at once.’ I pulled on my leather jerkin. ‘Where can I find Sergeant Warren?’
‘He’s gone off to seek out Sir Walter and Lady Champernowne to inform them of the arrest. He’s left Nick Brown on guard.’
‘Well, Master Warren won’t find Sir Walter at home,’ I said. ‘I passed him an hour or more ago, presumably on his way to Valletort Manor. Indeed, I feel sure that he could have been going nowhere else. What sort of a man is this Nick Brown? Could he be persuaded to let me have a word with the prisoner, do you think?’
‘Don’t you worry your head about that,’ Mistress Cordwainer told me. ‘Nick’s my husband’s cousin’s son. He’ll oblige me, if I ask him.’ She gave me a gap-toothed grin. ‘And I’d do more than that for a big handsome lad such as you.’
I thanked her and stooped to kiss her cheek. She coloured up fierily and giggled, as self-conscious as a young girl. ‘That’ll be enough of that,’ she protested. ‘Come along with me.’
Ten minutes later, after a mere token resistance to his kinswoman’s demands — for it was plain that in this closely knit community family bonds were paramount — Nick Brown, a smiling, tousle-headed youth, unlocked the roundhouse door and let me inside.
‘But don’t be too long,’ he urged.
I gave him my promise and then stood still as the door closed, letting my eyes grow accustomed to the darkness.
‘Who is it?’ asked Jack Golightly’s voice as, at the same moment, I stumbled over his knees. He swore fluently. ‘I hope you’re not a prisoner, too. This hole isn’t big enough for more than one.’
I made myself known to him, and he eagerly seized my hand, the chains that shackled his wrist to the wall making a dismal rattle as he did so.
‘Is it really you, chapman? What are you doing here? How did you get in? Sergeant Warren hasn’t arrested you as well, has he?’
‘No, no!’ I assured him, before embarking on my explanation. When I had finished, I added, ‘Was there no way in which you could convince that fool of a sergeant that you had nothing to do with Bartholomew Champernowne’s death?’
I had by now grown used to the gloom and I saw Jack shake his head.
‘I was alone all that night, as I am most nights. Who was there to vouch for me?’ He went on bitterly, ‘As you say, Warren is a fool. A blind, bigoted fool! I had the feeling that it wouldn’t have mattered what I’d said in my own defence, he’d still have taken me in charge.’
‘It should have been me,’ I admitted, ‘sitting here in your place. I was the intended victim, not you.’
‘What do you mean?’ he asked. ‘You’re talking in riddles.’
So, as briefly as possible, I told him all that I knew and all that I guessed. When I had finished, he drew in a sharp, hissing breath.
‘Of course!’ he exclaimed. ‘You must be right. The murderer has to be Beric Gifford. But why? Why would he want to kill his future brother-in-law?’
‘That’s what I don’t know,’ I said. ‘That’s what I have to find out.’
‘Then you’ve no time to lose, for I’m to be taken to Plymouth tomorrow.’ He added with a sudden spurt of anger, ‘And since, on your own admission, it was you who brought me and my hatred of the Champernownes to Berenice Gifford’s attention, I think you owe me something.’
I placed a hand on his shoulder and pressed it. ‘I pledge you my solemn word that whatever I can do shall be done. Rest easy. God won’t permit an innocent man to be punished for the crime of another.’
I only wished that I could have felt as confident as I sounded but I took heart from the fact that God had surely sent me on this mission to find Beric Gifford, just as he had used me to bring villains to justice in the past.
‘But You’ll have to show me the way, and quickly,’ I told Him as I left the roundhouse, thankfully breathing in fresh air once more.
In my heart of hearts, however, I knew that God must already have shown me the way, and that I was just being slow at interpreting His signs and signals. I was about to make my way to the nearest inn to drink a cup of ale and ruminate quietly, when I recollected having given my word to Mistress Fettiplace that I would allow her to parade me before her neighbours as someone who had been present at Valletort Manor that morning. I was reluctant to fulfil my promise, but she had been very kind to me and I owed her some sort of return for all her hospitality. The brief delay was a small price to pay for the satisfaction she would derive from showing me off, and something that would cost me very little effort.
Consequently, I retraced my steps to her cottage where her surprise at seeing me again was mingled with delight once I had explained my purpose.
‘That’s good of you, Roger,’ she said, pausing in her task of chopping apples for the water-cider she was making. ‘Wait while I wash my hands, and then I’ll take you to meet three of my closest friends. I’ll make certain they don’t detain you long, for I can see you’re champing at the bit and want to be about more important business. Leave your pack here, with me. I’ll take good care of it until you come back to collect it again.’
She was as good as her word, calling on only those three of her neighbours with whom she appeared to be on terms of the greatest intimacy. I was persuaded to repeat my story to each one in turn, and did my best to answer all their questions in so far as I was able. But I said nothing concerning my thoughts on Beric Gifford; and Anne Fettiplace, sensible woman that she was, gave no hint of them, either.