TEN
‘Very strange,’ I agreed. ‘Perhaps now you can understand, why the Godslove family are worried. And added to those two deaths are the near fatal illness of the eldest sister, the death by mushroom poisoning of another and the narrow escape of the second eldest, Sybilla, from falling masonry at Bishop’s Gate wall. Your half-sister, Mistress Celia, and the head of the family, Oswald Godslove, are the only two who have so far suffered no apparent attempt on their lives.’
Julian Makepeace gave a wry smile. ‘And myself,’ he pointed out. ‘If you intend to include Reynold as a family member, then I suppose I must regard myself as one, too. Although I have to stress that neither he nor I ever considered ourselves as such. Polite acquaintances, maybe, but no more than that. Even our mother became a stranger to us after she went away. We never saw her again once she had left London, and Morgan Godslove we met only at the wedding. He was Reynold’s and my stepfather, but I doubt if we thought of him in that way. I doubt if we ever thought about him at all, if the truth be told. I can’t speak for my brother, of course, but I know I didn’t.’
‘I don’t think he can have done, either,’ I said, ‘or, knowing that I was from Bristol, I feel he would probably have mentioned something of the circumstances to me. But he never gave the smallest indication that he had any connection whatsoever with the city.’
‘There you are then.’ The apothecary spread his hands and shrugged. He went on, ‘I’m unable to believe that Reynold’s unfortunate death has anything to do with these other accidents that have befallen my stepfamily.’
On the face of it, his argument seemed reasonable enough, but I couldn’t allow myself to be convinced. To a deranged mind, nothing was simple or straightforward. But the thought occurred to me that whoever the killer was, he or she must have intimate knowledge of the Godsloves’ complicated family history. There had been no obvious tie between them and the Makepeaces; nothing to tell an outsider that they were even on speaking terms. Which, to be fair, ruled out even further the possibility of Adrian Jollifant being the moving spirit behind the killings, leaving the finger of suspicion pointing at Roderick Jeavons and Arbella Rokeswood as the more likely suspects.
Julian Makepeace refilled my beaker with ale and pushed it towards me.
‘Drink up,’ he urged. ‘You look very tired, like a man who should be home resting in his bed, rather than worrying his head over things that don’t concern him.’
I gave a rather strained laugh. ‘I’m afraid my wife wouldn’t agree with you. She’s made the Godsloves’ concerns her own and therefore mine.’ I added, with seeming inconsequence, ‘Are you married?’ (I had guessed that he wasn’t.)
It was his turn to laugh, flushing slightly as he shook his head. ‘Women, eh?’ he said, but his quick glance towards the door told me that my surmise was probably correct. The lucky devil was bedding young Naomi.
I swallowed my ale and set the empty cup back on the tray. My companion was right: I was extremely tired and wanted nothing more than to return to the Arbour and Adela’s loving embrace. But there was one other question I had to ask.
‘Master Makepeace,’ I said, ‘has anything untoward, however slight, happened to you recently?’
He looked astonished. ‘To me? No, of course not. Oh come, Master Chapman! You surely didn’t take me seriously just now?’
‘I’m not saying you really have anything to worry about,’ I protested. ‘I’m merely asking if anything has occurred lately that you couldn’t explain. Anything in the nature of an accident or a near miss that could have injured you.’
He shook his head. ‘Nothing,’ he answered firmly, ‘nor, frankly, do I expect it to. In spite of all you’ve told me, I still believe that Reynold’s death was an accident. He simply got in the way of a knife intended for another man.’
‘Were either of the Genoese seamen caught?’
‘No, but there’s nothing to be read into that. When they saw what had happened, they were out of the Voyager before anyone could stop them. Indeed, I doubt if anyone tried to stop them with those knives in their hands and their apparent readiness to use them. They were never found in spite of enquiries by the sheriff’s men. They must have gone straight back to their ship where they laid low, protected by their fellow shipmates and the master of the vessel. I never had any expectations that they would be taken. Nor, I think, did anyone else.’
Of course not! It was the simplest explanation. And hadn’t William of Ockham always taught that the simple explanation was usually the correct one? Ockham’s Razor, men had called it since the thirteenth century.
I rose to my feet, steadying myself on the edge of the table as a slight dizziness threatened to overcome me.
‘Are you feeling unwell?’ the apothecary enquired anxiously, also getting up and putting out a steadying hand.
‘It’s nothing,’ I said quickly. ‘A momentary weakness, that’s all.’ I squared my shoulders. ‘I’m better now. Master Makepeace, thank you for your time and patience. I’ll relieve you of my company.’ He followed me out into the shop, where he hovered, a worried frown creasing his brow. I forced a reassuring smile. ‘There truly is nothing wrong with me. But promise me you’ll take care. Watch your step, and if anything should happen that gives you the slightest cause for concern, please let me know at once. You know where the Arbour is.’
It was not a question, but he nodded and said, ‘Of course,’ then stood in the shop doorway until I had untied and mounted Old Diggory and ridden off up the street. ‘God be with you!’ he shouted after me.
I raised a hand and waved.
It seemed to have grown warmer since I entered Bucklersbury half an hour or so earlier (but May is that sort of month, when all four seasons can happen in one day). I suddenly found that I was sweating profusely, while all about me the city noises assaulted my ears and everyone I met seemed intent on doing something to annoy me. Other riders jostled my horse, beggars rattled their tins under Old Diggory’s nose, making him shy nervously or come to a complete standstill, abandoned garlands of mayflowers littered the roadway and the stench from the central drains, normally something I didn’t even notice, made my belly heave. I felt that at any moment, I might disgrace myself and throw up all down my smart green tunic and nice brown hose.
But by the time I reached Bishop’s Gate Street, I no longer cared if I were sick or not. Old Diggory was heading home without any guidance from me, which was just as well as my senses were swimming so much that I was barely conscious of my surroundings. I was vaguely aware that the thoroughfare was still blocked, but that was all. I had just enough strength left to pull on the reins and bring the horse to a halt before I swayed in the saddle and began to fall into darkness. .