16 - The Three Kings of Cologne (3 page)

The knock on the street door diverted her attention, and she rose from her stool to answer it. She returned a few moments later, the young boy at her heels. Before she could enlighten me, the lad had delivered his message.

I straightened my back and glared at him.

‘
Alderman
Foster to you, my lad. And what did he really say?’

‘I jus’ told you, didn’ I? ’E wants t’ see you.’

I gave up. ‘What about, did he mention?’

‘Nah! Why should ’e? None o’ my business. But ’e gave I a half a groat.’ He opened his dirty palm to show me the coin, then bit it with his sharp, surprisingly good little teeth. ‘It’s genuine.’

‘I should suppose it is,’ I said. ‘I can’t imagine the Alderman would ever deal in counterfeit coins. And you’d better take care of it. That’s half a day’s wage for a field labourer.’ I looked at Adela. ‘I ought to go at once.’

She nodded resignedly. ‘No doubt it’ll be about this body they’ve dug up at the top of Steep Street. Everyone’s talking about it.’

‘Perhaps,’ I answered cautiously. ‘Although what the Alderman thinks I can do about it, I don’t know.’

She sighed. ‘Well, you’d better go and see. And you,’ she added, addressing the boy, ‘you’d better get off home before you lose that money.’

‘It’s safe with me, mother,’ he retorted cheekily, then stuck his tongue out at the children, who were regarding him open-mouthed, and disappeared, banging the street door noisily in his wake.

I followed him, kissing Adela a hurried goodbye before she had time to remind me that I had a family to clothe and feed and should really be out on the road, selling my wares, not allowing myself to get involved with mysterious deaths that didn’t concern me.

The wind had dropped slightly as I walked up Small Street amidst all the bustle of a new day. The muckrakers were out, trying to clear the drains, piling the refuse on to carts before driving it out of the city, either to dump it in the river somewhere a good way upstream, or to bury it in pits a few miles distant from the town. But it was a never-ending battle. Already, as fast as they were emptied, the drains were being filled up again. And the stench from the Shambles, where butchers were carving up the freshly killed carcasses of sheep, cows and pigs was overpowering enough this morning to make me retch. Normally, I didn’t notice it. I must be sickening for something.

Alderman Foster’s house was basically like my own; a hall, parlour, buttery, kitchen and, upstairs, three bedchambers. Beneath street level were cellars where he stored his salt. The difference lay in the richness of the furnishings; tapestries on the walls, silver candelabra, a profusion of velvet-covered cushions on window seats and chairs, decorated wall cupboards displaying contents of pewter, silver and gold plates and drinking vessels, rugs scattered among rushes which were freshly laid and sprinkled with dried flowers. There were no children’s toys left lying around for the unwary to trip over and no noise as the little darlings themselves pounded around, screaming, overhead. And there was no scruff of a dog scratching for fleas, only two well-behaved hounds stretched out beside a fire of logs and sea coal burning steadily in the grate.

A rosy-faced, neatly dressed young maid opened the door to me.

‘Master’s in the parlour,’ she said, bobbing a curtsey. ‘He said I’m to take you straight in.’

I was unused to such deferential treatment, and felt uncomfortable. Even in royal palaces, servants treated me for what I was; a nobody, like themselves.

John Foster rose to greet me, as I was ushered into the parlour, from a carved armchair near the window whose panes, I noticed, were oiled parchment, unlike those in the hall. (Those, to impress visitors, were made of the rarer and very expensive glass.)

‘Master Chapman, thank you for coming so promptly. Please, sit down.’ And he indicated another lavishly carved armchair, pulled close to his own. Yellow brocaded cushions covered the seat and cradled my back as I sank into it.

‘How can I be of use, sir?’

For a moment, having sat down again, he seemed at a loss as to how to begin. Then he leaned forward, elbows on knees, and said, ‘I’m sure you’ve heard about this body that has recently been found?’ My nod encouraged him to go on. ‘Of course you have. A silly question. There’s been little talk of anything else for the past two days. You are aware, naturally, that it was buried on the land I’ve acquired from the Magdalen nuns? Forgive me. Another unnecessary question. After our conversation in the Lattis in February, you would probably have realized that fact sooner than most, although I think that the majority of my fellow citizens know by now of my intentions. But have you been told that the identity of the poor victim has been established?’

This was news to me. ‘No, I didn’t know,’ I said shaking my head vigorously. ‘Who … Who is she? Did you know her?’ In my eagerness, I even forgot to address him as ‘sir’.

‘I knew of her. And of her parents,’ the Alderman admitted. ‘But only by hearsay. From friends of friends or acquaintances, so to speak. It’s all a long time ago. It must be getting on for twenty years since Isabella Linkinhorne disappeared.’

‘Twenty years!’ I echoed, astonished, not having seen the state of the body, nor having had it described to me. But now I could guess, which made my next question inevitable. ‘How, in that case, has it been possible to establish who she is? Or, rather, was?’

‘By a gold and amber necklace, and by a girdle of gold and silver links with an amethyst clasp that the corpse was still wearing. One of the nuns, who had known the lady well, was able to identify them almost immediately. And her father – Isabella’s father, that is – who is now a very old man of eighty-five, was able to confirm Sister Walburga’s story when they were shown to him.’

‘The parents are still alive, then?’

‘Not the mother. Mistress Linkinhorne, so I’m told, was found drowned in the Avon a year after her daughter’s disappearance. A terrible accident. I don’t know the details, but possibly distress of mind at not knowing what had happened to her child might have been a cause. Who can say? But Jonathan Linkinhorne is still alive and lives now in the Gaunts’ Hospital.’

‘How old was this Isabella Linkinhorne when she vanished?’ I wanted to know. ‘And when you say disappeared …?’

The Alderman pursed his lips. ‘My understanding, from the enquiries I have made, is that she was about twenty, the only child of elderly parents, born when they had given up all hope of having children. Those in the know say that as a consequence, Isabella grew up over-indulged, spoiled and wilful, just as you might expect of one allowed to run wild from an early age.’

‘And she just disappeared?’

‘Apparently. One day she went out riding, as was her daily custom, and never came home.’

I frowned. ‘Was she not looked for? Weren’t enquiries made as to what might have become of her?’

At this point, the little maid re-entered the parlour, carrying a tray on which reposed a flask of wine, two beakers and a silver dish of sweet oatmeal biscuits. She placed it on a small table near the Alderman’s chair.

‘Sorry to take so long, Master,’ she said, giving him a fleeting, conspiratorial grin. ‘Trouble in the kitchen.’

‘Again?’ he murmured with a rueful smile. ‘All right, my dear, and thank you. You’d better get back and see if there’s anything you can do.’

She departed with a giggle, leaving me relieved to know that things could go wrong in the most well-run establishment as well as in the chaos of my family kitchen.

Alderman Foster poured and handed me a beaker of wine, then sipped his own. ‘Now, what was it you were asking me, Master Chapman?’

‘I was asking, sir, what efforts were made to find the girl at the time of her disappearance.’

‘That I don’t know. The impression I get from the various people I spoke to yesterday – people who were acquainted with Jonathan and Amorette Linkinhorne – is not perhaps as much as one would expect. For the simple reason, I gather, that the idea of Isabella having come to any harm never entered her parents’ heads. They assumed she had run away with one of her many admirers. She was known to have at least three. Anyway, you will be able to find out more when you make your enquiries.’

‘When I …?’ At last, we had come to the nub of the matter; the reason for my urgent summons which, I had to admit, had escaped me until now. I should have guessed.

Alderman Foster lowered his beaker, looking guilty. ‘Forgive me, Master Chapman, but I was hoping that … well, that you could be persuaded to discover the circumstances surrounding Isabella Linkinhorne’s death. Her body has been found on land that now belongs to me and, foolish though it may seem, I feel responsible for uncovering the facts of the crime and bringing the murderer to justice if I can. You’re the only person I know who might be able to do this.’

Oh, thank you, God! You’ve taken over my life again!

‘But … but, Alderman,’ I managed to stammer before he raised a finger, enjoining my silence.

‘Master Chapman, believe me, I know what you’re going to say. You have a wife and family to support. I understand that. Therefore you must allow me to be your paymaster during such time as you are working at my behest.’

He rose and crossed the room to where a small chest, beautifully carved with acanthus leaves, stood on top of another, larger one. The former had a wrought-iron lock that the Alderman opened with a key, taken from the pocket of his velvet gown, and lifted out a leather drawstring purse which he brought back and placed in my lap. As he did so there was a satisfactory chink of coin on coin.

I made a half-hearted protest. ‘Sir, I have never taken money for any of the mysteries that I’ve solved. I’ve always regarded the ability to do so as a God-given talent; something to be shared freely with other people.’ All the same, I could just imagine Adela’s anger if she learned that I had refused the proffered assistance.

My companion seemed to read my thoughts and chuckled.

‘If your conscience troubles you, Master Chapman, give the purse to your goodwife as a present from me. You needn’t touch a penny of its contents. Well, what do you say? Will you take on this search for me? Will you try to discover what really happened to this poor young woman, even though she was murdered twenty years ago? I feel sure it’s within your powers of deduction.’

I hesitated, but more for effect than any other reason. I could already feel the prickles of curiosity, the need to know the answer to any problem with which I was presented, nudging me towards acceptance of John Foster’s proposal.

‘And if I’m unable to discover the truth?’ I queried.

‘I shall still be satisfied that you have done your best.’ Nevertheless, his tone implied that he would be disappointed.

I sighed. That was my constant fear; that one day someone would present me with a mystery I would find impossible to unravel. My self-esteem would be trampled in the dust.

‘Very well,’ I said, ‘but only if my wife agrees.’ The Alderman inclined his head. ‘So, tell me,’ I went on, ‘who are the people I should speak to? Is there anything further that you, yourself, know about the Linkinhornes?’

The Alderman resumed his seat, reaching out to lay a hand on my arm.

‘First, accept my thanks. I’m deeply grateful to you for your willingness to undertake this investigation for me. I could not go ahead and build a chapel on this land at the top of Steep Street if I felt that I had not done everything in my power to let this poor girl’s spirit lie easy; to bring her murderer to book.’

I doubted that the killer, supposing I could unmask him, would share the same sentiments. Whoever he was, the discovery of Isabella Linkinhorne’s body – if, that is, he had yet heard about it – must have come as a nasty shock. He would surely have thought himself safe after twenty years or more. All the same, he would probably consider it unlikely that anyone would bother to search for him, or that his identity would be uncovered even if anyone tried. It would be almost impossible to prove a man was in a certain place at a certain time two decades earlier. I began to feel very uneasy, wondering what I had taken on.

I realized that Alderman Foster was speaking, answering my question.

‘I can only advise you, my dear young man, to visit Jonathan Linkinhorne at the Gaunts’ Hospital as soon as possible. As I told you, he is a very old man now, eighty-five or thereabouts, unable to look after himself and with no woman to care for him and tend to his needs. Only he can give you the true facts of his daughter’s disappearance, so I would suggest that you talk to him without delay.’

I nodded, picking up the purse and making preparations to rise. ‘Are – were – the Linkinhornes a Bristol family?’ I asked.

‘I believe they lived in the manor of Clifton. Indeed, my information is that Jonathan Linkinhorne continued to live there until he grew too weak to fend for himself. But he will tell you all you need to know. He may be frail in body, but it seems his mind and understanding are as good as ever. Although I am only repeating what friends and mutual acquaintances have told me.’ I got to my feet. The Alderman rose with me. ‘Let me say again how grateful I am to you, Master Chapman. I am in your debt.’

I smiled wryly. ‘Save your thanks, sir, until I’m able to tell you what you want to know. I promise nothing.’

He patted my arm once more. ‘I feel certain you won’t fail me.’ I wished I could share his certainty.

Adela was not best pleased when I reported my conversation with Alderman Foster, but her feelings underwent a change when I produced the purse. She emptied its contents on to the kitchen table and drew a deep breath as the coins ran in all directions. The children, always interested spectators, whooped with excitement and chased those that fell off the edge and clattered across the stone-flagged floor.

‘That’s very generous of the Alderman,’ she said, rescuing the groat that Adam was trying to stuff into his mouth, and instructing the other two to put their booty back on the table. She was beset by sudden doubts. ‘Should you really be willing to accept so much, Roger? I daresay that altogether there’s the value of at least two or three nobles here.’