‘Well, and how did you both get on together during that long journey?’ Margaret demanded, smiling encouragingly at us.
Adela, who had been about to say something, looked slightly bewildered, but she was sufficiently acute to work out the significance of the question for herself if I could not divert her thoughts.
I said quickly, ‘I haven’t told you yet, Mother, of the strange incident which Adela and I witnessed this afternoon,’ and I proceeded to give her an account of the scene in Broad Street.
My recital had an immediate effect upon Margaret. She gave a great gasp and clapped one hand to her mouth.
‘How could I have forgotten to tell you! But seeing Adela again after all these years drove everything else right out of my head. What do you think happened, Roger, while you were away? Only a day after you left, as a matter of fact. No, no! Don’t bother guessing! You’d never do so in a month of Sundays.’ She drew a deep breath and added impressively, ‘Clement Weaver has come back.’
Chapter Three
I was certain that I had misheard her. I murmured, ‘I’m sorry, Mother, I didn’t quite catch what you said.’
Margaret repeated, making each word distinct and separate, ‘Clement-Weaver-has-come-back. Or — ’ and her head bobbed towards me conspiratorially — ‘someone who claims to be the Alderman’s son.’
There was no misunderstanding her meaning this time, and besides, in spite of my total disbelief, it made sense of that scene which Adela and I had witnessed in Broad Street. Yet I could not accept so ridiculous a notion without protest.
‘How can he possibly have come back?’ I expostulated. ‘Clement Weaver’s been dead these past six years. Who should know that better than I, who was chiefly responsible for bringing his murderer to justice?’
‘But you never saw Clement’s body,’ Margaret objected. ‘You only presumed him to be among the victims of that evil man. You’ve told me the story too often for me to be mistaken.’
Of all my whirling emotions at that particular moment, the one suddenly uppermost was resentment at my mother-in-law’s implied suggestion that I boasted about my achievements.
‘I’ve never repeated the story unless you asked to hear it!’ I disclaimed hotly, and saw by her look of surprise that she had intended no criticism.
‘I know you haven’t.’ She was hurt by my anger, and turned to her cousin. ‘Roger’s a very clever man,’ she went on earnestly, aware that somehow or other I felt myself demeaned, and anxious to put matters right. Not for the world, I realized, would she consciously denigrate me in front of Adela. ‘But he’s very secretive. He won’t tell you everything. At least, he won’t tell me everything. All the same, I know by little things he accidentally lets drop that he’s been of help to people of far greater importance than Alderman Weaver. If he ever marries again,’ she added coyly, ‘I suppose it’s possible he might confide in his wife.’
Once again, I saw the dawning of suspicion in Adela’s eyes and hurriedly changed the subject.
‘For pity’s sake, Mother! Tell me more about this person who says he’s Clement Weaver. Does he look anything like him?’
Margaret pursed her lips, a little annoyed at having been thwarted in her purpose. But she was, after all, in no hurry.
‘I can’t really remember Clement all that well, and six years is a long time. People alter. But I should say that yes, there is a resemblance. You’ll have to see what you think yourself.’
I shook my head. ‘I never met him. He’d vanished months before I reached Bristol and was enlisted by the Alderman to help in the search. Where does “Clement” say he’s been all this while?’
My mother-in-law rubbed her nose. ‘According to Nick Brimble’s aunt, Goody Watkins — who, I swear, has eyes and ears at every keyhole in the city — he’s been living in the Southwark stews, amongst all the thieves and vagabonds, the beggars and whores of London. His story is that six years back, when he was on that ill-fated trip to London with Alison, he suffered a severe blow on the head and afterwards couldn’t remember who he was; not, that is, until before the Christmas just past, when suddenly, miraculously, his memory was restored and he came hurrying home to Bristol. He arrived here, on foot and in a shockingly diseased and filthy state, the day after you left for Hereford. You can imagine! The whole town has been buzzing with rumour and speculation ever since.’
‘A severe blow on the head,’ I repeated slowly. ‘Yes, that could make sense … it could be an explanation … No, no! I found his tunic. Bertha Mendip told me-’ I broke off these musings to ask, ‘What of Alderman Weaver? What does he say to this unlooked-for resurrection?’ Although I suppose I already knew, having overheard Alison Burnett’s recent outburst.
Margaret shrugged. ‘Oh, the Alderman accepted him straight away. He has no doubt whatsoever that this is Clement. But as you know, he’s always found it very hard to accept the death of his son, especially as there was no body, no grave — nothing to prove to him that Clement really had been murdered. He wants to believe, more than anything else in the world, in this young man.’
‘But Mistress Burnett and her husband think him an impostor,’
It was not a question. Again, I already knew the answer.
My mother-in-law gave a bark of laughter. ‘Of course they do. What would you expect?’
‘Yet Alison seemed to me to be fond of her brother.’
‘She was. I’ve seen them together many times, both when they were children and when they were grown up, and there was always a great affection between them. You’ll remember yourself how deeply distressed she was by her brother’s disappearance. But that doesn’t mean she’s going to fall on the neck of anyone who bears a passing resemblance to Clement and accept his word that he is who he claims to be, not without proof. Besides,’ Margaret added shrewdly, ‘Mistress Burnett and her husband have had six years to grow accustomed to her being her father’s sole heir. It’s impossible that they would happily share her inheritance now, even with someone of whom they were certain. But with a man who could so easily be a fraud … Well, that would be asking too much of them, surely.’
‘Not necessarily. Not if Mistress Burnett were to be convinced that he really is her brother.’
‘But she probably doesn’t wish to be convinced,’ Adela said quietly, having followed our conversation thus far with interest. ‘And most likely neither do you, Roger.’
I looked at her, half in annoyance, half in admiration.
My mother-in-law shifted uneasily. Although an acute woman herself, and inclined, on occasions, to be acid-tongued, she was nevertheless unshakeable in her belief that a single man should be flattered and complimented until he proposed marriage and the knot was tied — after which, of course, there was no further need for prevarication.
‘I’m sure Roger is always eager for the truth,’ she reproved her cousin. ‘Aren’t you, my dear?’
I smiled a little shamefacedly. ‘I’m afraid that in this case Adela may be right. I’ve always been so certain that Clement Weaver is dead that I’m not anxious to be proved mistaken.’ I added another log to the fire, watching the resin as it caught and spluttered. I sat for a moment or two, staring into the flames, before straightening my shoulders and once again addressing my mother-in-law. ‘But there must be something more than his looks to persuade the Alderman that his man is his son. He must know something of Clement’s childhood; of the years before that ill-fated visit to London. Has Goody Watkins anything to say on this head?’
‘Only that he seems to have enough knowledge to satisfy Alderman Weaver.’
‘But not Mistress Burnett and her husband?’
‘Ah!’ Margaret rose and fetched three wooden cups from a shelf near the door, carefully filling them with ale, milk and spices which she had been mulling over the fire for the past half-hour. ‘According to Maria Watkins, there lies the nub of the matter.’