‘You’ve checked his story with this Sir Peter and Lady Claypole?’ the Mayor asked, a trifle brusquely I thought.
But it gave me the opening I needed to recount the details of my sojourn at Hambrook Manor, including my precipitate departure after nearly being smothered alive in the tilting bed.
John Foster frowned. ‘I’ve heard of such things, of course, but they’re unlawful. There are severe penalities for possessing one.’ The frown deepened. ‘You’re certain you didn’t imagine this, Master Chapman? You didn’t dream it?’
His scepticism was no more than I had expected, but it annoyed me just the same.
‘No,’ I answered shortly. And left it at that.
This curt reply appeared to impress him far more than a protracted and indignant denial would have done. He regarded me closely for a moment or two, then sighed deeply and at last sat down opposite me, on the other side of the empty hearth.
‘This allegation of yours should be investigated, it goes without saying. A statement must be taken from you by a notary public before anything else can be done, and then any enquiries should be undertaken with the utmost caution and tact. If your allegations prove to be untrue … All right, Master Chapman, I’m not accusing you of lying, but people, as we well know, are crafty at concealing things they don’t want to be found. Moreover, even if the mechanism for the bed were to be discovered — revealed by Lady Claypole herself — how could we prove that you had been an intended victim? It would be your word against hers. No, no! This needs very careful consideration. I can do nothing in a hurry. And I am hard pressed with civic duties just at present.’ He shot me a harassed glance. ‘There is more trouble with the Hanseatic towns. The city merchants have just raised their bid for stockfish to the Icelandic fishermen, but only yesterday we were informed that members of the League have almost doubled their offer per barrel. The Council is meeting in emergency session with the Fishmongers’ Guild this very morning and I am afraid we are in for a stormy session. And I very much fear that when I finally make known my intention to build a chapel dedicated to the Three Kings of Cologne, I’m likely to meet fierce opposition. However,’ he continued, squaring his shoulders, ‘I intend to carry my point. I admire the Rhinelanders and, above all, I love Cologne and its cathedral. I do not intend to be deterred. But if I can offer people a solution to this murder which has so disturbed them, well …!’ He let the sentence hang, giving an eloquent shrug of his shoulders.
‘I should hardly think you need worry about your almshouses and chapel yet awhile, Your Worship,’ I remarked acidly. ‘If the masons work at the same pace as the workmen clearing the ground, you’ll be fortunate to see them built in your lifetime.’
John Foster gave a crack of laughter and the worry lines disappeared momentarily from his face.
‘I hope for better speed than that, Roger. I’m not so old as you pretend to think me. And in their defence, I must protest that our English workmen may be slow, but they are thorough. I learned early on in life that my fellow countrymen cannot be hurried, but if left alone and not hassled, they will do their best. In the meantime, I cannot conceal my intentions from our good citizens; and the longer they have to reconcile themselves to the notion of a tribute to Cologne, the more they will accept it. And now I must go and get dressed. I have a long and strenuous day ahead of me. But don’t think that I shall forget what you have told me about Hambrook Manor. I shall mull the problem over carefully. And what, if I shall give no offence by asking, is your next destination?’
‘Bath,’ I said. ‘I am hoping against hope that someone may still be living there who might be able to shed some further light on the final hours of Mistress Linkinhorne.’
He nodded and rose to his feet, offering me his hand. I also got to my feet and clasped it warmly. John Foster was one of the few people I knew who regarded all their fellow men as equally deserving of respect and courtesy.
‘Are you in need of more money?’ he asked, glancing towards the little chest with its carving of acanthus leaves, standing on top of the larger one.
I attempted to reassure him, but, the idea having once entered his head, he insisted on sending the young maid upstairs for the key, then unlocking it and filling another small leather bag with coins.
‘I wouldn’t have you think me ungrateful for all your pains,’ he said, pressing it into my reluctant hand and dismissing my stuttered thanks with a wave of his own. ‘Go to Bath and when you return, come to see me again.’
I returned home to find Margaret Walker installed in the kitchen on one of her all too frequent visits. But what could I say? She kept Adela company during my absences.
‘You’re off again then, I hear,’ was her first remark as I entered, knocking my head, as I often did, on the bunches of dried herbs and vegetables hanging from the ceiling. A few scraps of onion skin floated, like autumn leaves, to the floor.
‘Off again,’ shouted Adam from the shelter of his mother’s lap. ‘Always off again!’
My wife told him to be quiet but was unable to prevent the trembling of her upper lip, and burst into peals of laughter when I grinned. My former mother-in-law got up, adjusting her cap and reaching down her cloak from a peg on the wall. She delivered a short but pithy homily to us both on the correct way to bring up children and was about to take herself off when I stopped her.
‘Is Jack Nym back from Stowe yet, do you know?’
‘I haven’t seen him. Why do you ask?’
‘He might just have managed to recollect something that he was trying to remember for me, that’s all.’
She was intrigued, but when I refused to part with any further information, took herself home to Redcliffe in a huff.
‘You shouldn’t upset her,’ my wife reproached me, but smiled nevertheless. ‘I really don’t know how I’d do without her when you’re away.’ She grew serious. ‘Margaret says someone told her that you were seen coming out of Saint Giles earlier this morning. It’s not like you, Roger, to be so diligent in your devotions. Was there a special reason?’
Oh, wonderful! Thank you very much, God! There would just happen to be someone who knew someone who was a friend of Margaret Walker loitering near Saint Giles as I was leaving. Mind you, there was no reason why a man shouldn’t feel the urge to go to church now and then without being suspected of ulterior motives. But I could see at once that Adela was suspicious.
‘I went to confession,’ I answered lightly. ‘What’s for dinner?’
‘Oyster stew,’ was the terse response. ‘It’s Friday.’ A pause, and then, ‘Was there anything in particular you needed to confess?’
Now was the moment to make a clean breast of things; to clear my conscience once and for all; to grovel abjectly and be forgiven. But somehow or another I failed to grasp the opportunity: the hour did not seem propitious.
‘It’s just that I haven’t been for some while and I thought it time. That’s all.’ But I found it impossible to meet her eyes, and as we sat down to table — Elizabeth and Nicholas having been summoned from whatever game they were playing in their upstairs fastness — Adela’s air of suspicion was palpable. I carefully assumed a mask of innocence, realizing as I did so that deception becomes easier the more it’s practised. I began talking about my next day’s journey to Bath.
The hours until supper were occupied as I had foreseen. I patched my boots (one of the soles had worn right through), paid several visits to the well to fill our water barrel and used Adam’s little push-cart to get wood from the city stockpile near the bottom of Steep Street. On the last occasion, I walked up to see how the work was progressing on the clearing of the graveyard and discovered that it was now at least three quarters free of large stones and tangled briars. Neither Hob Jarrett nor the man called Colin were in evidence, only the tall fellow, leaning on his spade and regarding the site with a lugubrious air.