The Weaver's Inheritance (7 page)

My mother-in-law said with relief, ‘Ah! Here he is at last. Roger, Master and Mistress Burnett have come especially to see you.’

Chapter Five

William Burnett wasted no time in greetings, but said at once, ‘We require your services, Chapman.’

‘Indeed?’ I answered coldly. I set down my pack and cudgel and divested myself of my cloak without further comment, then went to warm my hands at the fire.

Master Burnett, who had doubtless expected instant acquiescence, was annoyed and showed it. A hot rejoinder was plainly on the tip of his tongue, but his wife held up an imperious finger to silence him.

‘If you please, Master Chapman, and if you can spare the time,’ she amended politely.

Gone was the screaming harridan of the previous afternoon and in her place was a tired, sad woman in want of help. Alison Burnett had never been what you could call truly pretty; her nose was a trifle too large, her mouth slightly too wide, her jaw a little too determined. But she had always had lovely eyes, soft hazel flecked with green, and a clear, honey-coloured complexion. The eyes, however, with their fringe of long, dark lashes, seemed to have dulled with the passage of time, and her skin was muddied and sallow. In short, the past six years had not dealt kindly with her. Nevertheless, she still had that air of command as of someone accustomed to obedience, and which she almost certainly inherited from her late mother, a member of the de Courcy family. But Alison also had a fair share of her father’s guile and his rock-hard determination to get his own way by any means at his disposal. She would pander to my vanity by treating me like an equal if it served her purpose, unlike her husband whose high opinion of himself was too great ever to allow him to employ such a measure.

I had never liked William Burnett. His father, another of Bristol’s Aldermen, had, according to my mother-in-law, been a sensible, down-to-earth man who had made light of his kinship with Lord Henry Burnett, a nobleman who lived in the village of the same name, a few miles outside the city. But the Alderman’s weakness had been his only son, whom he had indulged and encouraged in every kind of folly from William’s boyhood onwards. The result was an empty-headed man of great self-consequence who thought only of his own convenience and pleasure. In appearance, he had changed very little from the young fop I had first encountered in Alderman Weaver’s house nearly six years earlier. The pikes of his shoes were perhaps a little shorter than they had been then, and it was no longer necessary to fasten the points to his knees with ornate golden chains. But they were still of a length to set any dandy aquiver with admiration, and the auburn hair which curled fashionably to his shoulders was anointed with a peculiarly pungent pomade. His clothes, too, would not have been out of place at King Edward’s court, his parti-coloured, tightly-waisted tunic being almost obscenely short and his cod-piece decorated with dangling golden tassels. His ornamental red velvet cloak was lined with black sarcenet, his sleeves slashed to reveal insets of oyster satin. Beside him, in her dark blue, fur-trimmed gown and white lawn hood, his wife paled into insignificance.

Nevertheless, I addressed myself to Alison Burnett, ignoring her husband. ‘What do you want of me, Mistress?’

I already knew what she wanted, but I did not expect it to be expressed with such uncompromising vigour. ‘You must go to my father and denounce this imposter who calls himself my brother.’

‘Quite so,’ her husband put in, adding peremptorily, ‘and the sooner the better!’

I heard my mother-in-law’s sharp intake of breath and imagined rather than saw the decisive shake of her head. Alderman Weaver was her landlord and employer: she could not afford to incur his hostility, even at second-hand. I gave her a reassuring glance.

‘Mistress Burnett, I cannot do that. For one thing, I never met Clement Weaver and so am in no position to say whether this young man is your brother or no. I never even saw the dead body of Master Clement, any more than I saw those of his fellow victims. You know the circumstances as well as I do.’

‘How dare you speak to my wife like that—’ William Burnett was beginning, his voice shrill with indignation, but once again Alison’s raised finger prevented him from saying more.

‘That’s enough, William. We must respect Master Chapman’s scruples. What he says is very true.’ She smiled up at her husband to soften the reproof, but William continued to glower like a sulky schoolboy, one hand tugging bad-temperedly at the red and black silk cord which girdled his waist.

Alison turned back to me. ‘Nevertheless, Master Chapman, both my husband and I would be grateful if you could call on us tomorrow, so that we could refresh our memories of events now six years distant, and also acquaint you with a few of the facts concerning this man who insists that he is Clement. Dare we presume to make that claim upon your time?’

I appreciated the restraint of this imperious young woman, and there was no denying that my curiosity was getting the better of my caution. What harm, after all, could one visit do – especially if Alderman Weaver remained in ignorance of it? So after a moment’s thought for appearances’ sake, I nodded.

Mistress Burnett heaved a sigh of relief and rose to her feet. ‘Thank you. Do you know whereabouts we live in Small Street? Good! We shall expect you tomorrow morning then, after dinner. We dine at ten o’clock, so shall look for you sometime between eleven and midday. Goodbye, Mistress Walker. We won’t trouble you any further.’ She inclined her head towards Adela, not knowing her name. William Burnett simply grunted and followed her out of the cottage.

‘Well,’ said Adela, with the decision of manner I was coming to expect from her, ‘I can’t say that Alison Weaver has improved with the years. And as for that husband of hers, I never liked him. Now sit down, Roger. You too, Margaret. Supper’s ready.’

I saw astonishment followed by anger kindle in my mother-in-law’s eyes, but both emotions were quickly suppressed. Nonetheless, the old saw that two women cannot share the same kitchen occurred to me; and in this case they had been cooped up together throughout the day in the same room. My mother-in-law’s determination that her cousin should shoulder her fair share of the household chores was having consequences which she had not foreseen, and Adela’s quiet assumption of authority obviously displeased her. It salved my conscience, however, for if a mere twenty-four hours could produce this amount of friction between them, how would they get on in the weeks and months that lay ahead?

As I drew my stool close to the table and took Elizabeth on my lap – for there were not enough seats in the cottage to accommodate two children as well as three adults – I said to Adela, ‘I have a message for you from someone who, I think, must once have been an admirer, perhaps even a suitor, of yours. His name is Richard Manifold.’

Adela’s arm, reaching across me to place a dish of oatcakes in the centre of the table, was arrested briefly in mid-air, and glancing up at her face I noticed a faint flush of colour along the cheekbones. But within seconds she had regained her composure.

‘Indeed?’ she replied steadily. ‘Dick Manifold. Yes, I remember him. A red-haired fellow. You’re mistaken, however, if you think he was ever my suitor. I can’t imagine what gave you that idea.’

‘His delight at hearing you were home again.’ I buttered an oatcake and fed a piece to my daughter, whose mouth had opened like that of a fledgling bird. ‘Don’t you want to know how I came to meet him?’

Adela began ladling fish soup into bowls. ‘Not particularly, but I’m sure you’re going to tell me all the same,’ she said.

‘Quite right, I am, because you’ll find the circumstances of our meeting more intriguing than you think.’

I then proceeded to relate the details of my encounter with Richard Manifold and had the satisfaction of watching the women’s expressions grow increasingly interested, despite a seeming determination on both their parts to demonstrate complete indifference.

Their first questions, when I had finished speaking, naturally concerned the murder, but I was unable to add anything more to what I had already told them, and after a while Adela’s thoughts reverted to her former admirer.

‘So! Dick Manifold’s a Sheriff Officer, is he? I’m surprised, I must admit. He was rather wild in his youth.’ She gave a small, reminiscent smile.

‘An unprepossessing boy and an even uglier man,’ my mother-in-law opined tartly, her eyes snapping with suspicion as she regarded her cousin across the table. ‘I’m amazed you can even remember him, Adela, as pretty as you were. A girl who might have had anyone.’

Adela laughed. ‘There were plenty of girls after Dick Manifold, Margaret, including your own daughter, even though she was far too young for him.’

My mother-in-law frowned. ‘If you’re implying, Cousin, that Lillis was flighty, I think it in very poor taste, particularly in front of her husband and child.’

Adela seemed to be holding her temper in check as she answered, ‘I meant no such thing, as I think you well know. But if I’ve upset either you or Roger, I’m sorry.’

‘There’s no need to apologize to me,’ I assured her, and suspecting that this might prove as good a moment as any, I hurried on, ‘There may be a chance you could rent Imelda Bracegirdle’s cottage. It’s in the gift of Saint James’s Priory and I’ve taken the liberty of mentioning your name to one of the Brothers, who has promised to bear it in mind. Unless, of course, you would dislike living in a house where a murder has been committed.’

‘Of course she would dislike it!’ my mother-in-law exclaimed angrily, seeing all her carefully laid plans being undermined by my action. ‘How dared you presume so, Roger, without consulting Adela first?’

Her cousin, who was spooning fish broth into Nicholas’s mouth, paused and stared in surprise. ‘Don’t scold him, Margaret. He has my grateful thanks. I’ve told you I don’t intend being a burden on you for any longer than I can help, and this could well be the answer.’ She turned and smiled at me with genuine warmth. ‘It was clever of you, Roger, to think of me; and death is death, in whatever guise it comes. Every dwelling has previously been inhabited by someone who’s died.’

‘And how do you propose to pay the rent?’ my mother-in-law demanded waspishly. ‘You seem to have very little money of your own.’

Adela replied serenely, ‘You’ve said you’ll speak to Alderman Weaver on my behalf, and I know you too well to believe that you’d go back on a promise. I’m sure he’ll find me some work to do if you recommend me.’

I smiled inwardly. Adela Juett was an opponent worthy of anyone’s steel. It would not be easy to get under her guard.

My mother-in-law hunched her shoulders and continued to eat in offended silence; but as the meal progressed, her mood began to lighten, and I guessed that she had already realized the discomforts entailed in sharing her home. And by the time we had finished the broth and started on the oatcakes and goat’s-milk cheese, she had obviously persuaded herself that all was not yet lost.

‘Well, if the Brothers
do
rent you the cottage, Adela,’ she said at last, ‘I daresay there will be plenty of improvements that need doing, so don’t hesitate to call on Roger for assistance. I won’t pretend he’s the handiest of men about the house, but he can put up a shelf that doesn’t fall down and he can carry logs and water.’ She looked across at me, the creases deepening in her forehead. ‘What are you going to say to Master and Mistress Burnett tomorrow? I don’t want you siding with them against the Alderman.’

I understood her worry, but I could not promise her
not
to get involved if I should think it right to do so.

‘There’s no question of taking sides, Mother. This young man either is or is not Clement Weaver. All I should wish to do is discover the truth.’

‘I knew it,’ she moaned, pushing away her oatcake, half-eaten. ‘You do intend poking your nose in.’

‘Would you want Alison Burnett to be deprived of half her inheritance by a clever imposter?’

‘I know what I wouldn’t want,’ she retorted harshly, ‘and that’s to lose my livelihood and home. Alderman Weaver has every right to consider his affairs none of your business.’

‘He wouldn’t penalize you like that,’ I answered gently. ‘He’s not a vindictive man. He wouldn’t blame you for my sins, however much he might resent me.’

She looked almost convinced by this argument, having worked for the Alderman for many years and knowing that he held himself partly responsible for the premature deaths of her husband and young son, but there was still a lingering doubt in her mind, and I was fully aware that she would prefer me not to meddle.

I owed Margaret Walker a very great deal, and I went to bed that night half-inclined to respect her wishes; but when I awoke the following morning, I knew that, once out of the cottage, my insatiable curiosity would direct my feet straight to the Burnetts’ house in Small Street.

*   *   *

Small Street runs parallel to Broad Street, and its dwellings, like all the others in the city, are built of wood and plaster with roofs of stone or slate. The Burnetts’ house was no exception, and I guessed that inside it followed the same pattern as Alderman Weaver’s; hall, parlour, buttery and kitchen on the ground floor, with family bedchambers on the first and an attic for the servants on the second.

I presented myself, as I had been requested to do, between the hours of eleven and noon, and the door was opened to me by the housekeeper whose keys, dangling from her belt, informed me of her calling. She fixed me with a beady eye and seemed none too pleased at having to allow me across the threshold.

‘Good-day,’ I said, stepping briskly inside. ‘Your master and mistress are expecting me. Roger Chapman is my name.’

She made no response other than a quick jerk of the head to indicate that I should follow her. To my relief we crossed the hall, where the draughts seeped under the doors and whispered among the painted rafters, and I was shown into the parlour, an altogether warmer and cosier room. Tapestries hung on the walls and a fire of logs and sea-coal burned on the hearth, keeping at bay the chill of the January morning.