The knock on the street door diverted her attention, and she rose from her stool to answer it. She returned a few moments later, the young boy at her heels. Before she could enlighten me, the lad had delivered his message.
I straightened my back and glared at him.
‘Alderman Foster to you, my lad. And what did he really say?’
‘I jus’ told you, didn’ I? ’E wants t’ see you.’
I gave up. ‘What about, did he mention?’
‘Nah! Why should ’e? None o’ my business. But ’e gave I a half a groat.’ He opened his dirty palm to show me the coin, then bit it with his sharp, surprisingly good little teeth. ‘It’s genuine.’
‘I should suppose it is,’ I said. ‘I can’t imagine the Alderman would ever deal in counterfeit coins. And you’d better take care of it. That’s half a day’s wage for a field labourer.’ I looked at Adela. ‘I ought to go at once.’
She nodded resignedly. ‘No doubt it’ll be about this body they’ve dug up at the top of Steep Street. Everyone’s talking about it.’
‘Perhaps,’ I answered cautiously. ‘Although what the Alderman thinks I can do about it, I don’t know.’
She sighed. ‘Well, you’d better go and see. And you,’ she added, addressing the boy, ‘you’d better get off home before you lose that money.’
‘It’s safe with me, mother,’ he retorted cheekily, then stuck his tongue out at the children, who were regarding him open-mouthed, and disappeared, banging the street door noisily in his wake.
I followed him, kissing Adela a hurried goodbye before she had time to remind me that I had a family to clothe and feed and should really be out on the road, selling my wares, not allowing myself to get involved with mysterious deaths that didn’t concern me.
The wind had dropped slightly as I walked up Small Street amidst all the bustle of a new day. The muckrakers were out, trying to clear the drains, piling the refuse on to carts before driving it out of the city, either to dump it in the river somewhere a good way upstream, or to bury it in pits a few miles distant from the town. But it was a never-ending battle. Already, as fast as they were emptied, the drains were being filled up again. And the stench from the Shambles, where butchers were carving up the freshly killed carcasses of sheep, cows and pigs was overpowering enough this morning to make me retch. Normally, I didn’t notice it. I must be sickening for something.
Alderman Foster’s house was basically like my own; a hall, parlour, buttery, kitchen and, upstairs, three bedchambers. Beneath street level were cellars where he stored his salt. The difference lay in the richness of the furnishings; tapestries on the walls, silver candelabra, a profusion of velvet-covered cushions on window seats and chairs, decorated wall cupboards displaying contents of pewter, silver and gold plates and drinking vessels, rugs scattered among rushes which were freshly laid and sprinkled with dried flowers. There were no children’s toys left lying around for the unwary to trip over and no noise as the little darlings themselves pounded around, screaming, overhead. And there was no scruff of a dog scratching for fleas, only two well-behaved hounds stretched out beside a fire of logs and sea coal burning steadily in the grate.
A rosy-faced, neatly dressed young maid opened the door to me.
‘Master’s in the parlour,’ she said, bobbing a curtsey. ‘He said I’m to take you straight in.’
I was unused to such deferential treatment, and felt uncomfortable. Even in royal palaces, servants treated me for what I was; a nobody, like themselves.
John Foster rose to greet me, as I was ushered into the parlour, from a carved armchair near the window whose panes, I noticed, were oiled parchment, unlike those in the hall. (Those, to impress visitors, were made of the rarer and very expensive glass.)
‘Master Chapman, thank you for coming so promptly. Please, sit down.’ And he indicated another lavishly carved armchair, pulled close to his own. Yellow brocaded cushions covered the seat and cradled my back as I sank into it.
‘How can I be of use, sir?’
For a moment, having sat down again, he seemed at a loss as to how to begin. Then he leaned forward, elbows on knees, and said, ‘I’m sure you’ve heard about this body that has recently been found?’ My nod encouraged him to go on. ‘Of course you have. A silly question. There’s been little talk of anything else for the past two days. You are aware, naturally, that it was buried on the land I’ve acquired from the Magdalen nuns? Forgive me. Another unnecessary question. After our conversation in the Lattis in February, you would probably have realized that fact sooner than most, although I think that the majority of my fellow citizens know by now of my intentions. But have you been told that the identity of the poor victim has been established?’
This was news to me. ‘No, I didn’t know,’ I said shaking my head vigorously. ‘Who … Who is she? Did you know her?’ In my eagerness, I even forgot to address him as ‘sir’.
‘I knew of her. And of her parents,’ the Alderman admitted. ‘But only by hearsay. From friends of friends or acquaintances, so to speak. It’s all a long time ago. It must be getting on for twenty years since Isabella Linkinhorne disappeared.’
‘Twenty years!’ I echoed, astonished, not having seen the state of the body, nor having had it described to me. But now I could guess, which made my next question inevitable. ‘How, in that case, has it been possible to establish who she is? Or, rather, was?’
‘By a gold and amber necklace, and by a girdle of gold and silver links with an amethyst clasp that the corpse was still wearing. One of the nuns, who had known the lady well, was able to identify them almost immediately. And her father — Isabella’s father, that is — who is now a very old man of eighty-five, was able to confirm Sister Walburga’s story when they were shown to him.’
‘The parents are still alive, then?’
‘Not the mother. Mistress Linkinhorne, so I’m told, was found drowned in the Avon a year after her daughter’s disappearance. A terrible accident. I don’t know the details, but possibly distress of mind at not knowing what had happened to her child might have been a cause. Who can say? But Jonathan Linkinhorne is still alive and lives now in the Gaunts’ Hospital.’
‘How old was this Isabella Linkinhorne when she vanished?’ I wanted to know. ‘And when you say disappeared …?’
The Alderman pursed his lips. ‘My understanding, from the enquiries I have made, is that she was about twenty, the only child of elderly parents, born when they had given up all hope of having children. Those in the know say that as a consequence, Isabella grew up over-indulged, spoiled and wilful, just as you might expect of one allowed to run wild from an early age.’
‘And she just disappeared?’
‘Apparently. One day she went out riding, as was her daily custom, and never came home.’
I frowned. ‘Was she not looked for? Weren’t enquiries made as to what might have become of her?’
At this point, the little maid re-entered the parlour, carrying a tray on which reposed a flask of wine, two beakers and a silver dish of sweet oatmeal biscuits. She placed it on a small table near the Alderman’s chair.
‘Sorry to take so long, Master,’ she said, giving him a fleeting, conspiratorial grin. ‘Trouble in the kitchen.’
‘Again?’ he murmured with a rueful smile. ‘All right, my dear, and thank you. You’d better get back and see if there’s anything you can do.’
She departed with a giggle, leaving me relieved to know that things could go wrong in the most well-run establishment as well as in the chaos of my family kitchen.
Alderman Foster poured and handed me a beaker of wine, then sipped his own. ‘Now, what was it you were asking me, Master Chapman?’
‘I was asking, sir, what efforts were made to find the girl at the time of her disappearance.’
‘That I don’t know. The impression I get from the various people I spoke to yesterday — people who were acquainted with Jonathan and Amorette Linkinhorne — is not perhaps as much as one would expect. For the simple reason, I gather, that the idea of Isabella having come to any harm never entered her parents’ heads. They assumed she had run away with one of her many admirers. She was known to have at least three. Anyway, you will be able to find out more when you make your enquiries.’