‘Of course there had been other women,’ she replied a little tartly. ‘I’ve told you, Richard was twenty-six when I first knew him, and he was a good-looking man. Oh, not as good-looking as you, if that’s what you want me to say,’ she added with a laugh. ‘But handsome enough to catch the eye of any number of women.’
I didn’t much care for that laugh, but I ignored it. ‘There wasn’t one he mentioned especially?’
‘He didn’t boast about his previous conquests.’
Again, there was something in her tone that made me uncomfortable. And again, I dismissed it.
‘You didn’t marry him, though. Why not?’
She shrugged. ‘I preferred Owen Juett. And in later years, after my return to Bristol from Hereford, I fell in love with you.’
‘You sound as though you regret it,’ I muttered anxiously, straining to glimpse her expression in the half light. ‘Do you?’
‘Do I have cause to?’
My heart began to thump. What did she know? Who could have told her? How could she possibly have found out? It felt as if the name Juliette Gerrish was burned in letters of fire into the darkness of the room. But no; there was no way Adela could have discovered my secret. It was woman’s intuition. And yet I would have sworn that by not so much as a look or a gesture or a word had I betrayed myself. Here, however, was my chance to unburden my soul and confess my sin.
I decided not to take it.
‘Of course you have no cause to regret loving me,’ I answered, throwing as much self-righteousness into my voice as I could summon up without sounding defensive. ‘And if you’ll only lie down, instead of sitting up like a judge on his bench, I’ll prove it to you.’
That made her laugh again. ‘You’re in no fit state for making love, Roger.’ She was right, but she did finally lie down beside me and let me take her in my arms. ‘So, what next?’ she asked. ‘You don’t seriously believe Richard Manifold could be a murderer, do you?’
‘Anyone can be a murderer if he or she is pushed to it,’ I answered soberly. ‘If I’m honest, I can’t be completely certain that Robert Moresby and Ralph Mynott are innocent of the crime.’ I sighed, a foolish action as it hurt my bruised and battered ribs. ‘I have a feeling that this particular killing will remain unresolved. Mayor Foster will have to build his almshouses and his chapel dedicated to the Three Kings of Cologne without the satisfaction of bringing a murderer to justice.’
‘It’s not like you to give up,’ my wife protested, shocked.
‘Oh, I shan’t give up just yet,’ I assured her. ‘I’ve got so far and must go a little further yet. Tomorrow morning I shall go and see Jack Nym before I confront Dick Manifold with any sort of accusation. And before,’ I added grimly, ‘I wrest my purse back from Jack Gload’s thieving clutches.’
I was as good as my word, and cockcrow saw me up and about in spite of Adela’s urgings to remain in bed and nurse my hurts. But I could tell that, breakfast over, she wasn’t sorry to see the back of me. Two more days and April would be out. As well as all her other chores, it was time to be thinking of baking her Whitsuntide cheese cakes.
So I made myself scarce, walking slowly and carefully, so as to tax my bruised limbs as little as possible, through the awakening town and across the bridge to Redcliffe. But however early I was, Jack Nym was always up and about before me, and that morning was already loading his cart with bales of red Bristol cloth from Master Adelard’s weaving shed, assisted by Jack Hodge. The latter’s round, freckled face, so like his father’s, was shiny with the sweat of his exertions, Jack being happier directing operations rather than actually lifting and heaving.
He became aware of someone watching him and swung round, a pugnacious expression on his narrow features, but which cleared when he saw who it was. He inspected my face curiously.
‘Somebody been teaching you a lesson, Chapman?’
‘Such as?’ My tone was acerbic. My present delicate condition was no subject, I felt, for levity.
The carter grinned. ‘Oh, such as keeping your nose out of other folk’s business.’
‘I’m in no mood for funning, Jack,’ I retorted, and both he and Jack Hodge snorted with laughter.
‘What do you want, then?’ Jack Nym condescended to shoulder one end of a bale and help throw it on top of the others already in the cart.
‘I want a word with you. In private,’ I added, as the younger man’s head lifted eagerly, scenting a secret or some scandal with which to regale his mother’s ears when he got home.
‘Well, it’d better be a quick word,’ Jack agreed grudgingly. ‘This lot — ’ he indicated the contents of the cart with the jerk of a grimy thumb — ‘is bound for London, which means two or three days, if not more, on the road. And day after tomorrow, I’m sure to be held up by the May Day mummings. You’d best come indoors. No need to worry about my goody. She’s still asleep.’
I had never been inside the Nyms’ cottage before, and decided immediately that once was enough. I would try to avoid the experience in future. The air was redolent of a number of different smells, the least offensive of which were burned food and scorched fat. What the others were I didn’t dare speculate as I felt my stomach heave. Goody Nym was indeed asleep, snoring and huddled against the far wall on a pile of straw that made small rustling noises. Fleas hopped merrily about the extremely stale rushes covering the floor, while a mangy cat sat in the middle of a table, one of whose legs was propped up with a block of wood, cleaning itself in places it would be better not to mention.
‘Come on then, lad,’ Jack said impatiently. ‘What is it you’re wanting?’
‘You recall telling me, when we were at the New Inn, in Gloucester, that someone you’d recently noticed in a crowd had reminded you of an incident, twenty years ago — of seeing Isabella Linkinhorne in the porch of All Saints’ Church with a man?’
My companion groaned. ‘Sweet Virgin, you’re not back at that again, are you? I told you on Monday that I can’t remember nothing. Must’ve been dreaming at the time I said it. Hell’s teeth, Roger, it were a long time ago. Now I must be off. This ’ere cartload o’ red cloth’s bound for the Aldermen of London. It’s urgent and it’s got to be delivered on time.’
I got between him and the door.
‘Don’t lie to me, Jack,’ I said. ‘You’ve remembered, haven’t you? The face you saw on Bristol Bridge, or wherever it was, was Sergeant Manifold’s, now wasn’t it?’
He looked shocked, then started to bluster.
‘No! O’ course it weren’t. No. No. Why should you think that?’
‘Because I’m almost certain that Dick Manifold is “Balthazar”.’
‘Oh, for sweet Jesu’s sake, don’t begin on that nonsense again!’ he exclaimed irritably. ‘It makes my head spin. And shift away from that door. I got to get goin’.’
I stood my ground.
‘When you tell me what I want to know,’ I said. ‘Was it Sergeant Manifold’s face that you saw that day and realized it was the one you’d glimpsed all those years ago with Mistress Linkinhorne?’ I took one or two steps backwards until my shoulders were pressed close up against the wood. ‘I’m not moving from this door, Jack, until you admit the truth.’
He sighed, accepting that I was in earnest.
‘Very well,’ he conceded. ‘Yes, it were Dick Manifold I saw. But,’ he added imperatively, ‘that don’t prove nothing. It don’t mean it were him with Issybelly that day, and you can’t make me say it was. You try and force me to say so in front of ’im, and I’ll call you a liar to your face.’
‘I’m not going to force you to say anything, Jack. In fact, I’m not even going to mention your name to the Sergeant.’
‘Then what’s all this been about?’ he demanded belligerently.
‘I just wanted to be sure that what I suspected was indeed the truth,’ I answered, not being quite honest myself.
For while I had no intention of revealing Jack’s name to Richard Manifold, I was not above hinting that I had a witness to that long ago meeting in the porch of All Saints’ Church between him and the murdered woman.