The Prodigal Son (5 page)

‘Isn't that the woman who was murdered?' I interrupted.

The alderman nodded. ‘It is. She was, I believe, stabbed to death while trying to foil a robbery by my cousin's page, this John Jericho you've heard mentioned.'

‘The young man Dame Bellknapp accuses Master Wedmore of being.'

‘Quite so. But to return to my history. Anthony Bellknapp was some ten or eleven years old – I think I'm right in saying that – on the way to manhood, at any rate – when another son, Simon, was born, and who, for some unfathomable reason, immediately became the darling of both mother and father.' My informant sniffed disparagingly. ‘He accompanied his mother to the fair last year and Audrea brought him with her when she paid us a visit. The vagaries of the human heart are hard to define, Master Chapman. I thought him a mean-minded, petulant youth, with little interest in anyone or anything beyond himself and his own interests. However,' the alderman added hurriedly, ‘maybe I'm being unfair to him. He wasn't here above an hour, and it's difficult to make a judgement in so short a time.'

‘Did Mistress Foster and your children feel the same way about him?'

‘My son wasn't present, but … Yes, yes! I have to admit that my wife and daughter shared my opinion. But again, I digress. Where was I?'

‘The birth of Simon Bellknapp.'

‘Indeed. Well, his arrival, and the fact that he could do no wrong in his parents' eyes, only made matters worse between Anthony and his father. Eventually, about eight years ago, things came to a head. There was a terrible quarrel between the two, during the course of which it seems Anthony drew his dagger and attacked Cornelius. I gathered from my cousin's account that he did no actual harm to his father, but the assault was serious enough for the young man to be sent packing and told in no uncertain terms never to set foot in the house again.'

‘What happened to him?' I asked curiously.

The alderman shrugged. ‘No one knows. He's never been seen from that day to this. Nor has there been any word as to his whereabouts. At the end, when Cornelius was dying – he died the year before last – I think he might have been glad to have some news of his elder son. At least, that was the impression my cousin gave me. And he refused to disinherit Anthony completely. Audrea tells me that everything is left to her until either Simon reaches his eighteenth birthday (when the manor will pass to him entirely) or until Anthony reappears, whichever is the sooner, when everything goes to
him
.' My informant tut-tutted disapprovingly. ‘A most foolish way of carrying on, if you want my opinion. It leaves young Simon for the next three years not knowing where he stands; uncertain of his future. Much as I dislike the boy, it's unjust to my way of thinking.' John Foster took a deep breath and stretched his arms above his head. ‘So there you are, my dear sir. That's the history of the Bellknapps insofar as I know it. A very incomplete history, I'm sure, but I'm afraid I can do no better.'

‘Can you tell me anything about the robbery and murder, sir?'

The alderman shook his head. ‘No more than you probably know already. My cousin's young page tried to steal the family silver, was discovered by Jenny Applegarth and he killed her. He disappeared the same night, vanishing without trace. Until, perhaps, now. But if you want more details on that score, you'll have to approach my cousin herself. Or someone of her household.'

‘Is she still in Bristol?'

‘I doubt it. She's not a woman who approves of inns, and the journey to Croxcombe can easily be achieved in a little over three hours on horseback at this time of year, when the roads are dry and the days longer. I imagine her departure from the city was delayed following her accusation against this unfortunate young fellow – Wedmore? Is that the name? – but, even so, she could still most likely have been home before nightfall. I'd own myself surprised if she were still here, but you could make enquiries. Sergeant Manifold will probably be able to tell you. He must know what arrangements have been made.'

I thanked my host for his time and patience and, although I didn't mention it, his civility. Here, at least, was one resident of Small Street who seemed not to resent having me and mine as his neighbours; and, indeed, he accompanied me to the street door just as if I had been a person of consequence, offering me his hand in farewell.

‘I hope you can get at the truth of this affair, my friend. If this young man
is
who my cousin claims him to be, then he deserves to pay the penalty for his crime. I met Jenny Applegarth many years ago, and can tell you that she was a good woman. If, on the other hand, this fellow is
not
the missing page, he must go free. What was it the late Sir John Fortescue said? Better that twenty guilty men should be found innocent than that one innocent man should be found guilty? Something like that. My memory's not all that it should be.'

I thanked him again. He adjured me to visit the beauties of the Rhineland if it were ever in my power to do so, and we parted the best of friends; he, presumably, to continue checking his newly delivered consignment of salt, I in search of Richard Manifold.

I ran him to earth eventually in Redcliffe, where he, Jack Gload and Pete Littleman had been despatched to quell a minor apprentices' riot in one of the weaving sheds. Everything was under control by the time I arrived, and the two ringleaders were being marched away for a spell in the stocks, so he was perfectly willing to stop and chat (particularly as it turned out Adela had just that afternoon invited him to supper). He gave his prisoners into the heavy-handed charge of his henchmen and walked with me down to the wharves where we could look at the ships riding at anchor, the cranes unloading their various cargoes, and where we could admire the bright summer morning, the clouds high and thin, the sharp, salt tang of the sea borne up river on the faintest of breezes, the shadows ruffling the surface of the water in patterns of grey and gold.

‘So what did Master Wedmore want with you?' Richard enquired, adding before I could reply, ‘As if I couldn't guess! Heard about you, has he? Your wonderful reputation as a solver of mysteries come to his ears?' Even in his present mellow mood he couldn't resist the jibe. ‘Wants you to help him, does he?'

I nodded. ‘He has asked for my assistance, yes.' I had no intention of mentioning the blood tie between us. For the present that would remain a secret known only to my half-brother, myself and, in due course, Adela. I had never kept anything from her during our married life. If she had any advice, she would give it and I might even follow it. I had the greatest respect for her opinions.

‘And what do you intend, then? Is there anything you can do?'

‘There might be. I've already called on Alderman Foster to learn something about this Dame Bellknapp. He's a distant kinsman of hers.'

‘You've called on John Foster?' Richard was frankly incredulous. ‘You had the temerity …?'

‘He was extremely pleasant and told me all I wanted to know,' I interrupted. ‘Or as much as he could. I'm his neighbour, after all.'

‘You're his neighbour on sufferance, because Mistress Ford left you the old Herepath house. However, I've always thought him a tolerant sort of man. One of the richest men in Bristol, for all he lives so modestly. Does a lot of charitable works.' There was a brief silence while we both watched the sunlight dancing on the river; then Richard asked again, ‘So what do you intend to do? Why did you want to speak to me?'

‘Alderman Foster's of the opinion that Dame Bellknapp would have returned to Wells yesterday if she could. Did she?' My companion nodded. ‘In that case,' I went on, ‘what about Master Wedmore? What happens to him?'

‘It's been agreed that we hold him for thirty days. If, at the end of that time, Dame Bellknapp has not returned to the city with evidence or witnesses to corroborate her accusation against him, then he will be released.'

‘Thirty days!' I exclaimed in disgust. ‘You're going to keep that poor boy locked up for thirty days while some vindictive old crone browbeats her dependents into backing up her story? If he were—'

Richard sighed wearily. ‘I know! I know! If he were the son of a belted earl, or even of a city alderman, it would be different. Of course it would. Grow up, for heaven's sake, Roger! See the world for what it is, not as you think it ought to be. And, furthermore, Dame Bellknapp is not a crone. A little long in the tooth, perhaps – I doubt she'll see forty again – but a handsome woman for all that.'

‘I can see she's won you over,' I accused him furiously, and stormed off home without giving him a chance to answer.

I barged into the kitchen, where Adela was seated at the table with Nicholas and Elizabeth, trying to teach them their numbers and letters, took off my boots and threw them across the room. My spirits lifted a little, however, when I realized that my former mother-in-law was no longer present.

Adela relieved the children of their hornbooks, patted them on the head and told them to run along. ‘Your father's present mood is unfit for your little eyes and ears.' They needed no second bidding, and after casting me a leery glance, disappeared upstairs, where they were soon to be heard charging around like Hannibal and all his elephants. ‘Well? What's the matter?' she demanded.

I told her, calming down as I did so, soothed by her presence and by that rare ability of hers to listen without interrupting. But even when I'd finished, she still said nothing for a full minute, one hand pressed to her mouth, while she assimilated the most important part of my story.

At last she asked, ‘And you're certain, sweetheart, that this John Wedmore isn't lying? That he
is
your father's son? Your half-brother?'

‘I have no doubt whatsoever. I knew he reminded me of someone the moment he walked into the Green Lattis. He's my father, as I remember him, to the life. And other memories confirm the truth of what he says. He's blood of my blood, I'm sure of it.'

She took a deep, trembling breath. ‘Then you must help him. Of course you must. You have no choice in the matter. You … You don't think he could be who this Dame Bellknapp says he is?'

‘He swears he was in Ireland at the time of the murder. I see no reason to disbelieve him, and until I do …' I let the sentence hang.

‘In which case,' Adela said quietly, ‘if you believe him innocent, then you must do your best to prove him so.'

I sighed, drawing her up into my arms and holding her tightly. ‘It'll mean going to Croxcombe Manor,' I said. ‘I can't tell how long I might be away. I'll take my pack, of course. The journey will take me the better part of two days; longer if I stop at the intervening villages to do some selling. Here!' I let her go and emptied the contents of my purse on the kitchen table. ‘Is that enough to keep you and the children while I'm away?'

Adela counted out the coins and nodded. ‘A week perhaps, if I'm careful.' She added reproachfully, ‘You haven't been very busy these past few days.'

‘I know.' I was contrite. ‘I'll take Hercules with me. He'll be one less mouth to feed.'

‘Oh, you'll certainly take Hercules with you,' Adela answered cheerfully. ‘I had no intention of keeping him here with me. Three children are hard enough work for any woman.'

‘A good job it isn't four, then,' I said without thinking.

The moment I'd spoken, I could have bitten out my tongue. How, I asked myself, could I have been so crass, so cruel? It was only a little over four months since our baby daughter had died within a few days of her birth, leaving Adela totally devastated. One glance at her face told me that my mindless remark had done more than reopen a wound still raw and bleeding; it had confirmed her in the belief that, far from sharing her grief, I had been relieved to be spared the extra responsibility of another dependent. Moreover, I had a daughter, Elizabeth. Adela wanted one who was truly her own.

‘Sweetheart!' I gasped, trying to take her back into my arms. ‘Forgive me! I wasn't thinking.'

‘No,' she answered in a flat voice that chilled me to the bone. She didn't repulse my embrace, but endured it in a way that was more indicative of her lacerated feelings than any storm of abuse would have been.

‘I'm sorry,' I whispered. ‘I didn't mean it.' I kissed her passionately on her unresisting mouth.

She raised one hand and stroked my cheek. ‘I know you didn't. It doesn't matter.' But of course we both knew that it did. She gently pushed me away. ‘I must prepare the evening meal. Richard's coming to supper.'

‘So he told me.' And then, because I knew I was in the wrong, and because I hated myself for having hurt her, I added unkindly, ‘I'm sure he'd be only too pleased to advance you any money you might need while I'm gone. And, incidentally, I'd rather you didn't say anything to him about my going to Croxcombe Manor. If he doesn't see me for a week or two, he'll just think I've gone on my travels.'

‘I'm not in the habit of discussing our affairs with Sergeant Manifold,' my wife replied coldly, turning away to ladle water from the water-barrel into a pan, which she set to boil on the fire. ‘And I certainly shouldn't dream of borrowing money from him. If necessary, I'd go to Margaret.' She watched me pull on my boots again. ‘Where are you going now?'

‘To the bridewell to tell Master Wedmore … to tell my brother,' I corrected myself self-consciously, ‘not to worry if he doesn't hear from me for a while.'

Adela reached up and took a bunch of dried sage from its nail on the wall before turning to regard me curiously, insult and injury both forgotten in that open-handed, generous way of hers.

‘You like having a half-brother,' she said. ‘I can tell.'

I grinned sheepishly. ‘I'm getting used to the idea,' I admitted. ‘If it turned out now that he was lying, and his likeness to my father was nothing more than coincidence, I think I'd feel …'