The Fabric of Murder (Mysteries of Georgian Norfolk Book 2) (20 page)

F
oxe
, Brock and his other guests were gathered next morning in Alderman Halloran’s fine new library. He was so proud of it. He was still more proud of some of the books collected there. Since many had passed through Foxe’s hands before finding a resting-place on the shelves, Foxe was quite proud of it too. Brock had, as requested, come in his best clothes. They may have been sombre in comparison with what Foxe was wearing, but no one – least of all three leaders of the textile trade – could miss the quality of the cloth and the cut.

Mr. Foxe was resplendent. His dark maroon frock-coat was adorned with embroidered flowers and leaves, picked out with gold threads. The coat was then edged with an intricate pattern of acanthus and fastened with gilded and enamelled buttons. His breeches were in a matching cloth and were decorated in similar style. He wore a waistcoat of glistening white silk brocade, though it was hard to see the fabric for the dense embroideries in silver wire that covered the surface. Its buttons were also silver, though each had upon it a neat pattern of small diamonds and sapphires. His stockings were finest white silk and his shoes made of flowered brocade, with diamond and silver buckles. He was even wearing his newest and finest wig. These great men of the city – though each was sporting his own finery – were quite eclipsed by his magnificence.

The three worthies greeted this apparition solemnly, then Alderman Halloran turned to Brock and extended the welcome to him.

‘Mr. Brock – nay, Captain Brock! I am delighted to see you in my house, sir. You must know the mayor and the Master here, for they know you, I am sure. Your wherries are amongst the best and most reliable on our river. We were all sad when you were forced to leave your post on the deck. Yet I know that your business has prospered since then, so perhaps Providence worked its mysterious ways to the good. Sit down, gentlemen! We are agog to hear your news, but you must, I beg you, take some coffee or chocolate first. Mr. Mayor? Master? Good. I will ring for the maid.’

As politeness demanded, all sipped their drinks and engaged in light conversation. Meanwhile, the air hummed with tense anticipation for what was to come. Eventually, the alderman put down his dish, glanced at his guests and turned to Foxe.

‘We are all ready, Foxe. If it is agreeable to you, please begin.’

Foxe put down his empty coffee dish, took a deep breath and looked at his expectant audience. He was as sure as he might be that he had solved the mystery. Still, he could not help feeling some nervousness. To the world at large, there had never been anything to take note of beyond the sad murder of an eminent master weaver by some footpad. The people in this room alone would know the full extent of the conspiracy, and only he could tell them how it had unfolded and point to the events and characters who had brought it about.

‘We must begin at the beginning,’ Foxe said, ‘and that was some years ago.’ This was the first surprise. The mayor and the Master looked at one another in alarm. All these events had taken place within the last month. Why was Foxe delving so far into the past?

‘The roots of this mystery reach back some thirteen years,’ Foxe said. ‘That was when Daniel Bonneviot decided that his only son, George, had received more than enough schooling. He should now be prepared to succeed his father as a master weaver. Bonneviot decided to send him to London, as his father had done with him. There he would serve his apprenticeship with a relative. Daniel had served under an uncle. George was to serve one of his father’s cousins. George was twelve.’

‘That’s about the usual age to start an apprenticeship,’ the Master commented. ‘Nothing strange so far.’

‘Late yesterday evening I received some information I had asked for from Mrs. Eliza Swan, Daniel Bonneviot’s daughter and George’s step-sister. It adds something essential to this tale.’ Foxe refused to be put off his stride. ‘George was adamant, even then, that he had no interest in the weaving trade or an apprenticeship. He wished to continue his schooling. It seems he was always quite a bookish lad. His father, being a perfect tyrant to all his family, would listen to no opposition. He decided everything. Others around him were expected to submit to his will on the instant.’

The other men looked at each other. This was, perhaps, a little extreme, but most fathers expected to be obeyed in major matters.

‘George fell ill, perhaps as a result of his father’s bullying. Ill enough for the move to London to be delayed by a full year. Still Daniel was adamant that he would be obeyed, so young George was despatched the next year to live with his new master. According to his step-sister, this man offered his new apprentice greater kindness and indulgence than he, George, had received at home. Perhaps that was why George stayed and duly completed his apprenticeship. I do not know. What I do know is that sometime during his stay in London, George discovered the theatre. Soon he became certain that his future lay in that direction.’

‘The theatre!’ The mayor had only contempt for such a futile business as the theatre.

‘Indeed. Now a fully-fledged journeyman weaver, George returned home for the first time in seven years. What passed between him and his father I cannot say. Mrs. Swan was married by then and no longer privy to what went on in her father’s household. I imagine George must, once again, have refused to take up the work his father expected of him. I do know that he went the rounds of the Norwich acting companies, trying to find a place with one of them. All turned him away. They had no room for a young man they saw as the dilettante son of a wealthy merchant. Perhaps they also feared reprisals from his father. Whatever the reason, they suggested Daniel try his luck in London. So that is what he did. This brief and unsatisfactory return home was about two years ago. As a result, George went back to London, determined to begin an acting career.’

‘And his father allowed this?’ Alderman Halloran asked.

‘Again, I do not know. It may be that his father assumed the plan to be no more than youthful rebellion. Perhaps he was sure George would meet the same rebuff in London as he had in Norwich, and be forced back into obedience by that route. In once sense he was correct. No London manager would take the lad. This time, their reason was a good one: London audiences can be cruel and it is no place to learn your stagecraft. Yet they were prepared to allow George to take part in rehearsals and by this means confirmed his real talent. So they advised him to seek out some provincial company to train with. Once again, George left London. This time he went north, probably to Richmond or Harrogate in Yorkshire. There he found what he sought and began to act.’

‘So he was in the north when his father was killed?’ Brock said.

‘That is what we all assumed. I must own to making too many mistakes in understanding this matter. First I accepted the tale, doubtless coming from Bonneviot senior, that George was a limp young man, unwilling to apply himself. Now I find he possessed all the determination and strength of purpose that both his father and grandfather had shown.’

‘The old man, Jerome Bonneviot, was totally pig-headed,’ the Master commented. ‘You could no more move him from his purpose than shift our cathedral a mile up-river. I encountered him as a young man and he terrified me.’

‘My second mistake was to assume that George’s return to Norwich and attempt to find work in the theatre here was of recent date. If so, the time needed to return to London, be turned away again – kindly, this time – and go to the north must mean he was far, far away when his father died. I recall commenting to you, Brock, that he may not yet have heard of the death.’

‘You did say that, as I recall. And I agreed with you.’

‘Now I know two years or more had passed since he left Norwich. Was he still in the north?’

‘Was he?’ the mayor asked.

‘No, sir. I must make some guesses here, but I am sure I will not be too far from the truth. I believe that recently – say four weeks ago – George returned home to see his father. I suspect he was doing well in his new career. Maybe he even had an opportunity to go to London and take a major part there. Whatever the occasion, he was proud of what he had achieved. Now he came to point out to his father that he had made good, though Daniel Bonneviot had always doubted him. It was what happened next that caused all the other elements in this mystery.’

Foxe’s audience were silent now, completely caught up in the drama unfolding before them.

‘Far from being pleased, we know that Daniel Bonneviot was enraged. He thrust a note for a hundred pounds into his son’s hand, told him that was all the inheritance he would ever get and forbade him the house. George was to be cut-off totally. So much is certain. The next is conjecture, but I am sure again that it is not far from the truth. Someone told George about his father’s quarrel with the London merchants. He also learned of the unsold cloth piling up in the warehouse. Maybe he guessed his father was existing only on the basis of loans. He would certainly hear that Bonneviot was laying off out-workers and delaying payments where ever he might. That was the common talk of the town. George knew his father only too well. He knew Daniel would never be willing to admit a mistake or back down. He must have realised that, without some change, the business and the family fortune was in gravest danger.’

‘That must have been a shock indeed,’ the alderman said.

‘I am sure it was. Of course, we know now that Daniel Bonneviot had made a secret deal with Master Burford, but I am sure George could not have known that. Perhaps it had not even been completed at that time. All he would see was a business headed for bankruptcy, due to his father’s stubbornness and temper.’

‘But he had been disinherited!’ The mayor seemed to be struggling to keep up with these revelations. ‘It would no longer matter to him.’

‘No, indeed. But it would plunge his mother into poverty and cause great hardship to many loyal workers. I know from my conversation with Mrs. Swan that she felt little love for her father. All her life, she had been forced to bow to his will and take on roles she did not want to follow. I also know from elsewhere …’ Foxe carefully avoided mentioning that his source had been Mistress Gracie Catt. ‘ … that Bonneviot seemed to take pleasure in violence directed at women. It seems likely to me that both his wives, and his daughter too, had suffered many blows and indignities at his hands. Now George discovered, so he believed, that his father was prepared to ruin his whole family to pursue a foolish quarrel with London merchants. It was the last straw. He had to be stopped.’

While the rest sat silent, absorbing what Foxe had told them, the mayor was still some way behind.

‘Stopped? How could George stop him? He was disinherited. He had no standing from which to launch a court action, nor any sway with his father that might let him try persuasion.’

‘Bonneviot had to die. Then George had to find a way to claim the unsold cloth, since he could not inherit it. Once it was his, he would sell it and make money enough to support his mother and give him the inheritance so unjustly denied him. The plan was laid. All that was needed was a way to lure his father to a specific place at a specific time, where the hired assassin would be waiting.’

‘No! No! I am lost, sir,’ the mayor protested. ‘George did not kill his father, Hinman did. George did not claim the cloth, that was Hinman too. George was disinherited. He could not claim anything.’

‘George Bonneviot and Hinman were one and the same person,’ Brock said. ‘Am I not right, Foxe?’

‘You are, Brock. In what transpired, we have the greatest possible proof of George Bonneviot’s talents as an actor. Aye, and a playwright too, for he it was who wrote and staged the melodrama that was to unfold before us all.’

There was silence. The mayor appeared completely stunned, while the alderman and Guild Master frowned in violent concentration. Was there truly a wholly new explanation for what they thought they had once understood?

‘Jerome Bonneviot had collected books,’ Foxe continued at last. ‘After his death, his son, Daniel, sold them. Not all at once. He sold them in small lots whenever he needed extra cash. By now, nearly all were gone, yet he still had a few worth selling. I asked Mrs. Bonneviot if she had known of her husband’s gradual sale of his father’s collection. She has written to tell me that she did. He made no secret of it.’

‘What …? Books? How do books feature here?’ It was the mayor again. His face was becoming red with the effort of keeping up.

‘George must also have known what his father did when money was tight. Now, I believe, he sent word to Daniel Bonneviot – posing as Mr. James Hinman, I expect – expressing an interest in purchasing certain books he must have known for sure were in his grandfather’s collection. I imagine he suggested a price large enough to cause Daniel to rush to sell them without further thought. The only stipulation was that the sale should be secret. Mr. Hinman specified the exact time and place. There he would receive the books and hand over the money.’

‘Were these books so valuable …?’, Alderman Halloran said. Then his face showed he had grasped the point. ‘Oh, I am slow indeed! Of course! I know exactly what you mean. Yes!’

‘I’m glad you know what he’s talking about, Halloran,’ the Master said, sounding peevish. ‘I can only echo the mayor’s question. Why bring up the secret sale of some books?’

‘That was how he made sure Bonneviot would go to the right spot at the time when McSwiggan, the assassin, would be waiting. It was but the work of a moment for him to kill Daniel Bonneviot. His son may even have watched him do it. He must have been nearby to pick up the books his father had brought and spirit them away.’

‘All this cannot be true!’ the mayor protested. ‘Hinman and George Bonneviot cannot be the same person.’

‘It is true, sir. I had our coroner send for Mrs. Swan and show her the body Brock here identified as Mr. Hinman. She confirmed that it was her step-brother, George Bonneviot.’ Once again, for a few moments, all in the room were silent, finally taking in the full cunning and ruthlessness that had been used.