The Weaver's Inheritance (27 page)

To my surprise, I did not know him; for in the very few seconds of rational thought afforded me since my unexpected immersion, I had decided that my attacker was either John Weaver or one of his sons. But this was a stranger, a rough-looking man with a tangled, bushy, black beard, broken teeth and of an enormous ox-like strength. ‘What do you want of me?’ I demanded, coughing and spluttering.

He had by now freed himself and lunged at me again. Luckily, I saw the blow coming and managed to seize his wrist in midair, exerting all my own strength to prevent his fist crashing into my jaw and rendering me unconscious. With both of us treading water, it now became a trial of strength, but I suspected my assailant to be even stronger than I was; and how it might have ended I still shudder to think, had not the maidservant come running down the garden, shouting at the top of her voice. The man swore, dragged himself on to the bank and loped away, as fast as his girth and his sodden clothes would permit, in the direction of the Holborn Highway.

With the assistance of the girl and some willow roots, I managed to climb out of the water, and sat for several minutes on the path in order to get my breath. Meantime, John Weaver and his wife, awakened by the noise and still in their nightclothes, had come out to see what was happening, and, when they knew, to inveigh against the prevalence of footpads in the area.

‘It used to be such a respectable neighbourhood,’ lamented Dame Alice.

They accompanied me back indoors, leant me some of John Weaver’s clothes to put on while my own were drying and invited me to remain beneath their roof for as long as was necessary. I assured them that with the good fire now blazing on the kitchen hearth, I should have no need to trouble them for more than an hour or two; and indeed everything except my boots was dry well before the ten o’clock dinner hour. I was just wondering if I could impose on Dame Alice for another meal, when there was a knock at the back door. The maid went to answer it and returned with Philip Lamprey at her heels.

‘Someone to see you, Chapman.’

I rose from my stool by the fire. ‘Philip! How on earth did you find me?’

‘Never mind that.’ He gripped my arm. ‘I’m not the only one out looking for you, but thank God it seems I’m the first who’s run you to ground. Word has it that Morwenna Peto’s men are still searching for you, and I wouldn’t give a fig for your chances if one of them finds you. Get out of London as fast as you can.’

When Philip gave such advice it was not to be taken lightly. I knew that ‘word has it’ meant that some of his old Southwark friends had been in touch with him and issued a warning.

‘I’ve already had one encounter,’ I said, and told Philip what had occurred that morning.

‘Then go now! This instant!’ he urged. ‘You’ve not a moment to lose.’

I began pulling on my boots, although they were still damp and squeaked a little in protest when I walked. ‘Won’t Morwenna send her bloodhounds after me to Bristol?’

Philip shook his head. ‘It’s doubtful. These people don’t like venturing so far outside their own territory.’

‘And you?’ I asked, stamping my feet to make the boots fit more comfortably. ‘Will you and Jeanne be safe?’

‘We’ll be all right,’ he assured me confidently. ‘Morwenna will have forgotten what I look like by now, and there are plenty of people who’ll stand my friend. Come on, lad! Come on! Grab your pack and cudgel and get on your way!’

I said a brief farewell to John and Alice Weaver, tendered my thanks for their hospitality and went; an unceremonious departure that must have left them thinking me ungrateful and extremely impolite. But there was no time to worry about such niceties. I parted from Philip at the bottom of Golden Lane and turned westwards along the Holborn road.

*   *   *

For the first few days of my journey, I walked at a steady pace, not stopping to sell the remainder of my wares, and staying as far as possible on the open highways, where I was able to keep an eye on the road at my back. I also travelled in the company of others whenever I could, and being late spring and the weather fine, there were many people, clerks, friars, pardoners, troops of mummers and jongleurs, out and about. Close to London, and heading towards it, I encountered more companies of armed men, all wearing the Duke of Clarence’s livery; and on one occasion, a wet evening when I felt extravagant enough to take a bed at an inn, I fell in with a courier of Robert Stillington, the Bishop of Bath and Wells, who was returning home after carrying a message from his master to His Grace of Clarence. And once again, I reflected on how often the names of those two malcontents seemed to be linked.

As the days passed, however, and the number of miles between myself and the capital increased, I began to feel safe, seeking out the more remote villages and hamlets in order to sell my goods. Consequently, the month of June was well advanced by the time I reached Bristol, to receive a warm welcome from my mother-in-law and daughter. It so happened that Adela Juett and her son were paying them a visit on the afternoon of my arrival home, and I was astonished at the pleasure I felt on seeing them both again, so much so that I was moved to slip an arm about Adela’s waist and kiss her thin, pale cheek. Nicholas, I threw up into the air, catching him as he fell, rough treatment which delighted him and which Elizabeth immediately clamoured to share.

‘No, no!’ I protested. ‘I must wash and change my shirt and then be off to see Master and Mistress Burnett.’

As usual, my mother-in-law was inclined to be offended by my going out again almost as soon as I had come in, but Adela only laughed. As I went outside to the pump, I overheard her say, ‘It’s no good being cross, Margaret. Surely you must know by now that Roger’s not the man to be kept on a chain. It’s one of the reasons why I like him.’ And suddenly, as I ducked my head beneath the pump’s clear jet of water, it seemed not enough that Adela should merely like me. I realized that I wanted more than that.

*   *   *

‘So!’ Alison Burnett’s eyes glittered feverishly in a face that was now a skeletal mask. ‘You say you know this Irwin Peto to be an impostor, but you have no evidence that would convince my father. Also, by reasoning that I find flawed and feeble in the extreme, you have decided that Uncle John, Aunt Alice and all my cousins are innocent of concocting this plot to rob me of my inheritance. The same goes for Baldwin Lightfoot.’ The clawlike hands tightened on the arms of her chair and her voice grew shrill. ‘How dare you come back here to report a job half done! Why didn’t you stay in London and search for proof against my uncle and his family?’ She beat her hands together and rose abruptly, pacing the floor. She was plainly growing hysterical, and I glanced anxiously at William Burnett for guidance.

He got up and went to his wife, trying to soothe her. ‘If the chapman says there’s no proof to be found, then there is none, and at least we have the satisfaction of knowing that we are right as regards to this impostor and your father wrong. Let us be satisfied with that. After all, we have no need of his money.’

‘No
need?
What has that to do with anything?’ Alison Burnett was growing yet more frenzied, lashing out at her husband and beating him about the face and head. ‘Why are you all against me?’ she screamed. ‘First my father and now you! What have I done to be treated like this?
Your
stupidity deprived me of
all
my inheritance instead of only half, and now you say that it doesn’t matter! Why should I be forced to give up what’s mine just because my father’s a wicked old fool and you’re an incompetent nincompoop?’

William opened the parlour door and yelled for Dame Pernelle to come to his assistance, but Alison, biting and kicking and scratching, now seemed beyond all control. It was obvious that during the months of my absence her emotional state had sadly deteriorated, and I decided that it was high time I left. I could return another day when things might be quieter, and Mistress Burnett less agitated. I therefore slipped unobtrusively out of the room and crossed the hall, letting myself out though the front door.

The afternoon was still warm, the sun riding high in the sky. I guessed that Adela would have returned to her own home by now, for she had been talking of going before I left, and I was seized with a sudden, seemingly irrational desire to see her again. I therefore walked down Small Street, turned right into Bell Land and made my way under Saint John’s Arch, across the Frome Bridge and out by the Frome Gate into Lewin’s Mead. As I glanced across at Adela’s cottage, I thought I saw a slight movement in the shadows cast by one wall, and the hairs on the nape of my neck began to rise; but after waiting several minutes in the shelter of the Gate, I could detect nothing further and told myself not to be a fool.

I advanced rapidly across the open space in front of the row of cottages and had raised a hand to knock on Adela’s door when someone gripped my shoulder. Without even glancing behind me, I bunched my right hand and swung about, smashing my fish into the unknown’s face and felling him to the ground with a single blow.

Chapter Nineteen

Timothy Plummer sat at the table in Adela Juett’s cottage looking extremely sorry for himself. In front of him was a bowl of bloodstained water, and pressed to his nose a rag on which Adela had smeared some of her home-made sicklewort ointment in order to staunch the bleeding.

‘Master Plummer, I must apologize,’ I said, for what seemed like the twentieth time.

‘So you should,’ he grunted, deigning to speak at last. ‘All I did was touch your shoulder.’ He raised his head and regarded me shrewdly. ‘You’re as jumpy as a cat, Roger. In trouble again? To do, I suppose, with the business you told me about that day in Frome. No!’ He flung up a hand. ‘I don’t want to know. I’ve problems enough of my own.’ He lowered the compress and took a long draught of the ale that Adela had thoughtfully set before him.

His mood was improving, so I drew up another stool to sit opposite him at the table. ‘What are you doing in Bristol?’ I asked. ‘More importantly, what are you doing skulking around this cottage?’

‘I was not skulking,’ he replied indignantly. ‘I was about to knock when I saw you approaching. If you must know, I’m looking for an Imelda Bracegirdle.’ He glanced sideways at Adela.

‘This is the Widow Juett,’ I said quickly. ‘The lady you want is dead. Unhappily, she was murdered last January, and Mistress Juett has been renting the cottage from the Priory ever since.’

Timothy swore softly. ‘
Dead?
And since the beginning of the year?’ He chewed his underlip, adding, ‘This will be bad news for the Duke.’

‘For Duke Richard, do you mean?’ I asked, and he nodded. ‘But of what possible concern can it be to His Grace?’

Once again, Timothy glanced at Adela, and she, quick on the uptake as always, took hold of Nicholas’s hand. ‘I’ve promised to visit a neighbour,’ she said, ‘but please don’t disturb yourself, Master Plummer. Stay here as long as you wish; until you feel recovered enough to move.’ She smiled at me and went out, dragging her reluctant son behind her and gently closing the door.

‘Well?’ I demanded impatiently, looking at Timothy.

He swallowed more ale before asking gloomily, ‘You’ve heard the news about Brother George, of course?’

‘What about him? I’ve heard nothing, but then I’ve been on the road for weeks.’

‘I’ve told you before, you just don’t keep your ears open. That’s the trouble with you, Chapman!’ Timothy exclaimed in exasperation. ‘I should have thought that everyone knew by now that the Duke of Clarence was arrested at the beginning of the month and is a prisoner in the Tower. Do you really mean to say you haven’t heard?’

I shook my head, my jaw hanging slack. ‘Not a word,’ I breathed, when finally I could find my voice. ‘I knew that he was arming his retainers. I met whole troops of them when I was in London, in May. And I happened to be at Westminster the day he proclaimed Burdet’s innocence. But the King has forgiven his brother on so many occasions in the past, that I never thought he’d do more than try to reason with him and calm him down. What’s happened to make His Highness behave differently this time?’

My companion grunted. ‘Perhaps Clarence has gone that one step too far. Perhaps the King’s patience has finally run out.’ He lowered his voice. ‘Or perhaps, and I tell you this in the strictest secrecy, Roger, because of the great service you once rendered my master, it’s because King Louis has written to King Edward informing him that Clarence’s bid for the Duchess of Burgundy’s hand was just the first step in an attempt to seize the English crown. Louis says he has this information from his Burgundian spies, who, he maintains, are absolutely to be relied upon. King Edward told my master, who told me in my capacity as his Spy-Master General. So you see, it comes straight from the horse’s mouth.’

I didn’t argue the point, for I had no doubt at all that the Duke of Clarence was perfectly capable of such treachery, judging by his previous conduct. ‘But,’ I cavilled, ‘on what grounds could he possibly depose his elder brother? He’d have to advance some reason, and what could it be? And as well as King Edward, there are the Prince of Wales, the Duke of York and the five Princesses who all have a claim to the throne after their father.’

Timothy propped his elbows on the table and dabbed at his nose, where a thin trickle of blood was beginning to ooze again from his left nostril. ‘As to that, I can’t speculate. Duke Richard is sure that King Louis is lying, in order to make bad blood between his brothers. He might even be right, but he’s been prejudiced against the French ever since the Treaty of Picquigny. But it’s also true that King Louis detests my master. However, whatever the truth of the accusation, Kind Edward thought it serious enough to summon Brother George to Westminster and then order his arrest on a charge of “subverting the laws of the realm and of taking the administration of justice into his own hands.” Members of the Royal Guard were called and Clarence is now safely tucked away in the Tower.’

‘Will there be a trial?’

‘If the King doesn’t decide to pardon him first, then yes, there’s bound to be one sometime or another. And if the Duke’s found guilty, what can the sentence possibly be, other than death?’