Adela was still brooding on what I had told her.
‘I think you should tell someone about this place, Roger,’ she said at last. ‘Oh, I know that I agreed with you a while ago that perhaps you should say nothing, but I’ve been thinking while I was putting Adam to bed, and it seems to me that that’s the coward’s way out. You could tell Richard.’
‘No!’ I exclaimed violently. ‘Certainly not Dick Manifold! Can’t you just imagine how he’d laugh and make fun of me? He’d swear I’d dreamed it all.’
Adela shifted uncomfortably in her chair. ‘You really don’t like him, do you? Don’t deny it! I know you tolerate his company for my sake, because he’s such an old friend, but I can see that it’s always an effort for you to be civil to him. And yet, in spite of his — I’ll admit — patronizing ways, he doesn’t bear any animosity towards you. When you’re not here, he speaks of you almost with affection.’
‘Does this mean he’s been here again in my absence?’ I demanded, jealousy, however unjustified, scorching my throat and burning like a flame in my chest.
‘He came once to supper. Margaret brought him,’ my wife replied with quiet dignity. ‘I could hardly turn him away. It would have been an insult to her as well as to him. I knew you wouldn’t like it, Roger, but I had no choice.’
Of course she didn’t; the laws of hospitality would have been breached. But I wasn’t prepared, for the moment, to be understanding. My own conscience was riding me too hard.
‘And you talked about me!’ I sneered.
‘Amongst other things.’ Guilt was making Adela keep a tight rein on her temper, I could see. ‘I’m afraid,’ she went on, ‘that Margaret revealed the reason for you being away from home. She told him all about the work you’re undertaking for Mayor Foster, and also the fact that His Worship is paying you for your pains. I … I fancied that Richard was not well pleased, and muttered something I didn’t quite catch about encroaching ways. But his annoyance was directed at John Foster, not at you. He feels, I think, that his territory has been invaded. Unexplained deaths are his preserve, and he should be left to continue with his enquiries without other people butting in.’ Adela sighed. ‘I wish I hadn’t mentioned it. I can see that I’ve angered you, and as a consequence, you’ll be awake half the night with bile and wind.’
This picture of myself — uncomplimentary though it might be, but true nonetheless — forced a sudden crack of laughter from me that put my ill humour to flight. I was still angry that Richard Manifold had been made a party to my business, but for once I could appreciate his point of view, and had to admit that none of it was Adela’s fault. Besides, what right had I to be angry with her about anything, with my own sin hanging like a millstone round my neck?
The candle finally guttered and went out, leaving the usual smell of smoke and melting tallow lingering on the air. So we went to bed. I knew that Adela was waiting for me to make love to her after a week apart, but I pleaded tiredness and pretended to fall asleep almost at once. But in reality, it was a long time before I slept, the face of Juliette Gerrish and the memory of her perfume interposing themselves between me and my slumbers. I knew that tomorrow I must go and be absolved of my sin before I could touch Adela again, as I longed to do. She deserved a better husband than me, I scolded myself; and drowning in a tide of self-reproach, I even went so far as to wonder if she would not have done better to marry Sergeant Manifold. Self-immolation could go no further, however, and under this penitential weight my eyes finally closed. And the next thing I knew, it was morning.
My mood didn’t change with the coming of day, and when I woke to find Adela curled into my side, in the same way she so often did, I put my arm around her and gently kissed her. She opened her eyes so quickly that I realized she was probably already awake, and I was suddenly afraid that her expectations would echo those of the previous evening. But she shook herself free of the lingering remnants of sleep and raised herself on one elbow, looking down into my face.
‘I’ve been thinking, sweetheart,’ she said, ‘that, as I told you yesterday, you must tell somebody about Hambrook Manor. If you won’t confide in Richard, go to Mayor Foster and find out what he has to say to your story.’
I shook my head. ‘He has too many civic duties to attend to at present. Deep down, he might be convinced, because he trusts me, but he won’t really want to know. He won’t wish to offend Lady Claypole any more than any other dignitary in the city would. Believe me, it will be wisest to keep a still tongue in my head for the present.’
Adela made no reply, merely asking when I would be setting out for Bath and if I would be taking Hercules with me.
‘Tomorrow,’ I said, giving her another kiss which, I hoped, held a world of promise in its meaning. ‘Today I must patch my boots, fill the water barrel and fetch more kindling for you from the Frome Backs. In short, I mean to be a model husband, if only for a while.’
That made her laugh. ‘I shall believe it when it happens,’ she said, scrambling out of bed. But then her laughter faded and she stood staring at me, looking worried.
‘How will you set about discovering this man in Bath?’ she asked. ‘Even supposing he’s still alive, still lives there, you have nothing whatever to go on this time.’
I nodded. ‘I realize that, my love. “Caspar” is going to be a far greater problem than “Melchior”. Even the initials R.M. are of no use to me now. Robert Moresby proved to be the owner of those. And then of course there’s “Balthazar”. Who was — or is — he?’
My wife threw a pillow at my head.
‘I can’t keep up with all these names,’ she protested, holding up a hand. ‘Pray don’t bother trying to explain.’
She stripped off her night rail before dropping her undershift over her head and I felt a sudden urge to possess her there and then. But I controlled myself. I must expiate my sin first. Consequently, as soon as I had finished breakfast, before the streets had really sprung to life, I made my way to Saint Giles and purged my troubled conscience with confession. I can’t remember what penance I received, except that it was nothing severe; not as severe as I felt that I deserved. (There was a general slackness in the behaviour of churchmen at that time, as I recalclass="underline" many of the priesthood themselves were probably fornicating daily.) At any rate, I emerged into the April sunshine feeling vaguely dissatisfied, as though I still owed Adela something, and recollected her desire that I speak to John Foster concerning the tilting bed at Hambrook Manor. So I returned to Small Street and, a few minutes later, was knocking on the door of his house.
The same maid admitted me, but seemed put out by the earliness of the hour. His Worship the Mayor, she informed me, was still abed, and enquired if the reason for my visit made it worthwhile to disturb him. I admitted that it didn’t, but just as she was about to show me politely out again, John Foster, with a much rubbed blue velvet robe cast hurriedly over his nightshift, and worn leather slippers on his feet, descended the stairs.
‘I thought I recognized your voice, Master Chapman. What have you to tell me? Oh, don’t stand here in the hall, man! There’s a draught from that street door that I shall have to fix one day, when I have the time. Come into the parlour.’ And he led the way, deaf to my muttered protestations that really it was nothing that couldn’t wait. ‘Sit down. Sit down,’ he urged, but remained standing himself. ‘Now, have you discovered that poor girl’s murderer yet?’
‘I–I’m afraid not,’ I stammered. ‘Not that I’ve been wasting my time,’ I added swiftly. ‘Indeed, only yesterday I returned from a journey to Gloucester.’ I saw the disappointment in his eyes and hastened to tell him of Robert Moresby and why I felt convinced of that gentleman’s innocence.