16 - The Three Kings of Cologne (28 page)

A pair of heavy hands fell on my shoulders, nearly bringing me to my knees.

‘I want a word with you, Chapman,’ said a surly voice, and I was swung around with no more difficulty than my daughter had when she manhandled the bundle of grubby rags she called a doll.

To my utter astonishment, I found myself staring into the face of Ranald Purefoy, and what he could want with me I was unable even to guess.

‘A word? What about?’ I mumbled.

‘What about? What about!’ he shouted, the noise reverberating through my head almost as if I were recovering from a bout of drunkenness. ‘Comin’ the innocent won’t help you, Chapman.’

Anger began to steady my nerves and make me forget my weariness.

‘This is stupid!’ I said, trying to turn away, but his big, shovel-like hands still held me fast.

‘You been after my wife!’ he exclaimed. ‘Goin’ t’ my house when I weren’t there and making up to her.’

The charge was so absurd that I was bereft of speech and could only goggle at my assailant for several seconds before bursting into laughter.

‘Why in the name of all that’s holy should I want to make up to Mistress Purefoy?’ I managed to gasp at last. Then I made my fatal mistake by adding, ‘She’s as ugly as sin!’

His hands tightened their grasp. ‘So now you’re insulting her as well as trying to deflower her!’ he stormed, and brought up his right foot to kick me in the groin.

Fortunately for Adela’s and my future happiness, my instinct suddenly raised its hitherto dormant head and I twisted sideways just before his boot landed with a bruising thud against my hip. The impact, however, felled me to the ground, and he threw himself on top of me, rolling me over to lie face downwards and grinding my nose and mouth into the dirt. Next, he seized me by the hair – my hat having fallen off during the encounter – and started to bang my head up and down against some stones that had, over the years, accumulated in the hollow. I could feel blood trickling down my cheek. I recall wondering feebly where my cudgel was – I had dropped it as I fell – but had no means of groping for it, both my upper arms being pinioned to my sides by Ranald Purefoy’s massive thighs and knees. Such was my weakened state after my morning’s exertions that I began to lose consciousness.

‘This’ll teach you to leave my goody alone,’ I heard him say, his voice seeming to recede into the distance. I even remember chuckling to myself in a stupid, hysterical, meaningless way as darkness threatened to close in around me. But before it quite did, I received a blast of foul breath on one half of my face and up my right nostril as my attacker lowered his head to whisper in the ear that was uppermost. ‘And you leave off askin’ questions about that there Isabella Linkinhorne. D’you hear me? Jane don’t like it. And there’s others don’t like it, neither. So you do as you’re asked like a good fellow-me-lad and don’t you go upsetting Jane no more!’

My hair was once more tugged at ruthlessly, my head was raised and crashed down on one of the larger stones, and the weight was finally removed from my back as Ranald heaved himself to his feet. But he hadn’t altogether finished with me, landing me two hefty kicks in the ribs before pounding away to join the main Bristol track and make his way home.

I lay still, staving off an urgent desire to throw up and wondering how many ribs were broken. I was also afraid that I was about to pass out, but, as with the nausea, I managed to overcome it, fighting my way back to full consciousness by the sheer power of will. Slowly and cautiously I rolled on to my back and, even more slowly and cautiously, sat up. There was no sharp jab of pain, only a feeling of being black and blue all over, my general tiredness adding to my overall malaise. For a while, I was tempted to lie down again and wait for someone to find me, but two factors militated against this desire. The first was that very few people seemed to frequent this narrow sidetrack between the humps and hollows of uneven ground, and the second was that righteous anger was beginning to flood through me like a healing tide. Understanding, too, as I started to realize just what had been going on.

But there was a further realization, as well. In his eagerness to discourage me from discovering his identity, ‘Balthazar’ had made a number of very foolish mistakes, and upon reflection, I decided that this was typical of the man and only what I would have expected had I known who he was from the outset. R.M. Never as clever as he thought he was.

I dragged myself to my feet, using all my reserves of strength, and, leaning heavily on my cudgel – which I discovered a few feet away from where I had fallen – resumed my painful trudge towards the Redcliffe Gate.

‘This job is becoming too dangerous,’ Adela grumbled, rubbing me all over with her primrose and honey ointment and viewing the extensive bruising in the area of my ribs with deepest disapproval. ‘You go to Bath for a couple of nights and come home looking as though you’ve been trampled by wild horses. I want you to give it up, Roger. Give Mayor Foster back his money – or what’s left of it – and tell him that I don’t wish you to continue with this investigation.’

‘That makes two of you,’ I said, submitting to having the growing lump on my forehead bathed with comfrey juice, and allowing the application of sicklewort ointment to the cuts and scratches on my face.

‘Two of us? What are you talking about?’ She helped me pull my nightshirt over my head and put an arm about my waist as I lifted myself higher in the bed. Then she started to undress herself.

My bedraggled appearance, just before suppertime, had created a sensation among my nearest and dearest, but my wife, ever practical, had fed me first and asked questions afterwards. She had also, to their great disgust, packed the children off to bed as soon as possible, then waited while I fell asleep over the kitchen table before eventually rousing me and leading me upstairs with orders to strip while she assessed the damage. A sharp intake of breath had told me that it was as bad as I feared.

Now, however, I felt comforted and cared for and was ready to answer Adela’s questions, so I started with the one she had just asked.

‘There’s someone else, my love, besides yourself, who wishes me to abandon this investigation, and that’s the man I have so far nicknamed “Balthazar”. But at last I believe I know who he really is.’

And so I did. First of all, there were the initials R.M. and a conviction amounting almost to a certainty that, by an odd coincidence, all three of Isabella Linkinhorne’s swains had had Christian and surnames beginning with the same letters. But whereas prayer and a certain amount of clever deduction on my part had led me to both Robert Moresby and Ralph Mynott, sheer, unalloyed stupidity by ‘Balthazar’ himself had revealed his true identity.

Who else would have detailed Jack Gload to pay a visit to his daughter in Bath as soon as he had been made aware of my destination? Who else would have instructed him to keep me under his eye and find out what I knew concerning the three men in the murdered girl’s life? And who else would have primed Jack to delay me on the road home so that he could get ahead of me, if he thought I knew too much, and deliver a warning? And who else would have tried to scare me off by employing the rough and ready tactics of Ranald Purefoy? Who else, indeed, would have been aware of any connection between the castle scullion and myself?

Who, in general, would have been so heavy-handed and lacking in subtlety?

Who else but Richard Manifold?

‘R
ichard!’ my wife exclaimed, when I finally spoke the name aloud. ‘What do you mean, Roger? Are you saying that Richard is mixed up in this business?’

I rolled over on to my left side so that I was facing her, at the same time trying to ease my aching body. I felt as though there wasn’t a sinew that hadn’t been stretched to snapping point.

‘I’m saying,’ I answered carefully, ‘that I believe Dick Manifold to have been the third man in Isabella Linkinhorne’s life. How old would he have been, do you think, twenty years ago?’

Adela snuffed out the candle and climbed into bed. However, she made no attempt to snuggle down, but sat propped against her pillows, looking at me.

‘Are you serious?’

‘Yes. So? What age would he have been at the time of Isabella’s murder?’

‘Nineteen, perhaps twenty.’ She regarded me through the gloom and wisps of candle smoke still hanging, like wraiths, in the air. ‘I first became acquainted with him when I was about sixteen. He was ten years older. But Roger—’

‘Listen,’ I said urgently, ‘his initials are R.M. I’m convinced, because of something Jane Honeychurch – Jane Purefoy – told me that all three “Kings” had the same initials. Yes, yes!’ I continued impatiently as Adela made a move to interrupt, ‘I realize it’s a coincidence, but coincidences do happen. Furthermore, one of the three was reported as having reddish-coloured hair and so has Richard. It’s going a little grey now,’ I couldn’t help adding on a note of satisfaction, ‘but there’s still a lot of the original colour left. And who would have known of my intention to go to Bath, if not Richard? He probably had the information from you. And if not from you,’ I added hurriedly, as her bosom swelled in indignant denial, ‘then from Mayor Foster. When I reported to him concerning the Hambrook Manor bed, he asked me what my next step would be, and I told him. I daresay he sees Richard daily in the course of his civic duties and could well have passed on the information had Richard questioned him regarding the progress of my enquiries.’

‘Well, yes,’ Adela agreed, ‘but …’

I overrode the doubts she was obviously about to express.

‘Knowing that Jack Gload has a daughter living in Bath, Richard sent him after me on the pretext of a paternal visit, but really with instructions to discover what I knew, how my enquiries were going and, above all, with orders to try and dissuade me from continuing with my investigation. But if Jack found it impossible – to dissuade me, I mean – he was to delay me by fair means or foul, leaving me stranded somewhere on the road, while he returned with all speed to Bristol and reported his failure to Dick. Our dear friend then came to an arrangement with Ranald Purefoy to waylay me – it wouldn’t surprise me at all if money changed hands – and accuse me of trying to seduce his wife. Then Ranald could pummel me into a pulp and deliver Richard’s warning at the same time.’ I lifted my head from the pillow and regarded my wife with some severity. ‘And what is amusing you so much, my dear?’

‘I was remembering your description of Goody Purefoy,’ she gasped. ‘And to think that you could be accused of trying to seduce her! Oh, Roger! What a blow to your self-esteem.’

‘Which just goes to prove how absurd the accusation was,’ I answered austerely, ‘and that it was a trumped-up reason for attacking me. I tell you, “Balthazar” is Richard Manifold.’ I reached up and shook her arm, wishing she would lie down so that I could talk to her face to face in the darkness. ‘Adela, think back to those early days when you first knew him. Did it ever strike you that there was some secret in his past that troubled him? Had there been other women?’

‘Of course there had been other women,’ she replied a little tartly. ‘I’ve told you, Richard was twenty-six when I first knew him, and he was a good-looking man. Oh, not as good-looking as you, if that’s what you want me to say,’ she added with a laugh. ‘But handsome enough to catch the eye of any number of women.’

I didn’t much care for that laugh, but I ignored it. ‘There wasn’t one he mentioned especially?’

‘He didn’t boast about his previous conquests.’

Again, there was something in her tone that made me uncomfortable. And again, I dismissed it.

‘You didn’t marry him, though. Why not?’

She shrugged. ‘I preferred Owen Juett. And in later years, after my return to Bristol from Hereford, I fell in love with you.’

‘You sound as though you regret it,’ I muttered anxiously, straining to glimpse her expression in the half light. ‘Do you?’

‘Do I have cause to?’

My heart began to thump. What did she know? Who could have told her? How could she possibly have found out? It felt as if the name Juliette Gerrish was burned in letters of fire into the darkness of the room. But no; there was no way Adela could have discovered my secret. It was woman’s intuition. And yet I would have sworn that by not so much as a look or a gesture or a word had I betrayed myself. Here, however, was my chance to unburden my soul and confess my sin.

I decided not to take it.

‘Of course you have no cause to regret loving me,’ I answered, throwing as much self-righteousness into my voice as I could summon up without sounding defensive. ‘And if you’ll only lie down, instead of sitting up like a judge on his bench, I’ll prove it to you.’

That made her laugh again. ‘You’re in no fit state for making love, Roger.’ She was right, but she did finally lie down beside me and let me take her in my arms. ‘So, what next?’ she asked. ‘You don’t seriously believe Richard Manifold could be a murderer, do you?’

‘Anyone can be a murderer if he or she is pushed to it,’ I answered soberly. ‘If I’m honest, I can’t be completely certain that Robert Moresby and Ralph Mynott are innocent of the crime.’ I sighed, a foolish action as it hurt my bruised and battered ribs. ‘I have a feeling that this particular killing will remain unresolved. Mayor Foster will have to build his almshouses and his chapel dedicated to the Three Kings of Cologne without the satisfaction of bringing a murderer to justice.’

‘It’s not like you to give up,’ my wife protested, shocked.

‘Oh, I shan’t give up just yet,’ I assured her. ‘I’ve got so far and must go a little further yet. Tomorrow morning I shall go and see Jack Nym before I confront Dick Manifold with any sort of accusation. And before,’ I added grimly, ‘I wrest my purse back from Jack Gload’s thieving clutches.’

I was as good as my word, and cockcrow saw me up and about in spite of Adela’s urgings to remain in bed and nurse my hurts. But I could tell that, breakfast over, she wasn’t sorry to see the back of me. Two more days and April would be out. As well as all her other chores, it was time to be thinking of baking her Whitsuntide cheese cakes.