[Roger the Chapman 03] - The Hanged Man (12 page)

Chapter Ten

The Gaunts' Hospital stands outside Bristol city walls and on the opposite bank of the River Frome, close by St Augustine's Abbey. Behind it, the ground rises steeply in the first of that series of hills which leads, eventually, to the high plateau above the great gorge, whose bed is that of the River Avon. The hospital itself consists of the church of St Mark, surrounded by hall, buttery, kitchen, dormitories and outbuildings. Its famous orchard stretches eastward until it almost abuts the land of the Carmelite friars, whose huge cistern has helped supply Bristol with its water for several centuries, piped across the Frome Bridge to the conduit by St John on the Arch. In spring, the orchard is a mass of foaming blossom, and in autumn the apples glow like round, red lamps among the leafy green; but on that cold January afternoon, the branches were bare and black, the grass at their feet yellowing beneath drifts of last year's leaves.

The porter at the gate listened courteously to my request before handing me over to one of the brothers, who conducted me to the hall, where many of the inmates were to be found. A fire burned cheerfully on the big hearth, flames roaring up the chimney, and stone benches, built along the other three walls, together with stools and trestles, provided seating for the fragile and elderly. Fresh rushes, mingled with dried summer flowers, were scattered across the floor, and helped to counteract the more unpleasant smells associated with extreme old age.

The man I sought, Miles Huckbody, pointed out to me by my guide, was not so very old, although I could have been forgiven for thinking him so on first acquaintance.

His hair was almost white, the long, narrow face seamed and wrinkled. Before my arrival, he had been playing fivestones with one of his fellows, and I noticed how his hands shook as he rolled the pebbles. Having removed my cloak, I crouched down beside him and made myself and my business known. At the first mention of William Woodward's name, his features were contorted with hatred.

'That devil!' he exclaimed, and spat in the rushes. 'He had me and my family turned out because we'd fallen behind with the rent. He told me it was on Master Herepath's orders, but it weren't. Master Herepath knew nothing about it. William called in the bailiffs hisself.'
 

'You're sure of that?' I questioned, even though it tallied with Edward's own story. 'Without Master Herepath's authority, I doubt William could have done so much.'
 

'After I returned to Bristol, I saw Master Herepath in the street one day, and I caught at his bridle. I thought as you do, that William must've bin acting on his orders, but 'e denied it. Said 'e knew nothing about it 'til we were gone. Said William must've got him to sign the necessary paper by false preterites. Said as how William were over-zealous on his behalf.'

'And you believed him?'

'Why shouldn't I? He got me this place in the hospital because he's a friend of the Master Chaplain. Reckoned 'e owed me that much when 'e learned my woman and child'd died. I'd taken to begging in the streets and had this cough which 'as never left me.' He paused to give a demonstration, and indeed, the cough was bad, rattling in his chest and shaking his emaciated frame. "E'd not have done that if he'd had ill intentions to'ards me in the first place.'

'But you were behind with your rent. Few landlords will tolerate that for long.'

'I'd never done such a thing afore. Always paid regular, but that quarter I'd bin ill and not able to harvest the crops, and the pig'd died.' He shrugged. 'My woman did her best, but she'd bin ill, too, and the little 'un was crying for food. What there was, we ate, so there was nothing left to sell.'

'You blame your misfortunes on William Woodward then, and no one else?'

'At, I do. That bastard!'

'You wanted revenge?'

Miles Huckbody eyed me askance as he suddenly realized where my probing was leading. 'I was glad to know someone had given 'im a beating, and gladder still to hear that he were dead, but 'twere nothing to do with me. Oo are you, coming here, asking me questions? I didn't prop'ly hear yer name, when you said it.'
 

'Roger,' I answered. 'I'm a friend of Mistress Walker, William's daughter. She's anxious to find out what really happened to her father during the time everyone thought him murdered.'

'Well, 'twere nought to do with me, but he were up to no good, you may be sure o' that. An evil man, if ever there was one.'

I made allowances for his antipathy towards William.

It was natural that he should hate the man he regarded as responsible for the deaths of his wife and child; but I could not reconcile myself to the belief that William had had the Huckbodys evicted without orders from his master. And when, later, Edward Herepath had found himself confronted by the avenging figure of Miles, probably desperate enough by that time to commit violence, what more natural than that he should seek to lay all the blame on his rent collector? Conscience, too, sharpened no doubt by his growing love for Cicely Ford, may have spurred him on to make amends and obtain Miles a place at the Gaunts' Hospital. I sighed. Any faint hope I had nurtured that the man beside me had been in any way responsible for William Woodward's disappearance had been dispelled the moment I saw him. Margaret Walker had warned me that I was wasting my time, and she had been right.

I straightened myself and stretched my cramped legs with a regretful sigh. Miles Huckbody could not help me.

His companion, who had moved a little distance from us when we began speaking, now came closer again, still holding the five stones in his hand.

'You be talkin' 'bout William Woodward and them Herepaths,' he accused us. 'My ears are sharp. I 'eard what you was saying.'

'No law 'gainst it that I knows of,' Miles Huckbody retorted. He jerked his head. 'This here's Henry Dando,' he informed me.

I nodded at the old man whose rheumy, pale blue eyes were regarding me so intently. Taking this as a sign of encouragement, he settled down again beside Miles on the bench and prepared to discuss the events of the previous year which had shocked all Bristol.

'Terrible thing to 'ave 'appened,' he said, "angin' an innercent man.'

'Not so innocent,' Miles Huckbody protested. 'Stole his brother's money, rents and suchlike. Robert Herepath were always a nuisance, judging by all people do say of 'im.'
 

'Did you ever meet him?' I asked, interested.

Miles shook his head, but Henry Dando nodded eagerly. "E were always around the city, kicking up 'is 'eels, even when 'e were younger, in trouble with the law, bein' bailed out o' the Bridewell by 'is brother. Once, 'e were in the Newgate lock-up fer three days fer knocking down an old woman in the street. And another time, 'e were in the castle cells a while after 'e and some of 'is friends went on the rampage.' Henry sniffed. 'But 'is brother got 'im off each time. Knew the right people to bribe among the city fathers or in the sheriff's office. And it's no good you tut-tutting, Miles 'Uckbody, and trying to shush me, 'cause I knows what I know.' He sucked his few remaining teeth, probing with his tongue for lingering particles of dinner. 'I shouldn't think,' he added judiciously, 'that 'twere any great loss to Master Edward Herepath to be rid of 'im.'

Miles immediately sprang to his benefactor's defence.

'You mustn't say such things. They were blood-kin when all's said, whatever Robert may have done. Besides,' he went on, as though obscurely feeling that some kind of guilt were being attached to Edward Herepath, 'he were in Gloucester when it all happened.'

Henry Dando looked resigned. "E were, that's true enough. I saw 'im meself on the Friday morning as 'e were setting out. 'E were some way distant, but I recognized that bay of 'is that 'e were ridin'.'

At this point, both men lapsed into silence, interest switching to me as two pairs of eyes looked me up and down. Their scrutiny rendered me uneasy. I thanked them for their help and swiftly took my leave before they could begin to ask questions. I also said my farewells to the porter at the gate before making my way back across the Frome Bridge and re-entering the city. I had learned nothing that I did not already know, but at least I was satisfied that Miles Huckbody could have had nothing to do with William Woodward's disappearance. I turned again to my belief that Irish slave traders could indeed have been involved, and decided that I would have to pay a second visit to Alderman Weaver. He appeared to know people who could advise me how to make contact with these elusive men, but it would have to wait now until the morrow. I was feeling suddenly very fired, with a curious lightness of the head and trembling in the limbs. Once again, I was forcibly reminded that I had not long risen from my sick-bed and, strong though my constitution was, I could not afford to overtax that strength. So instead of pausing outside the house in Broad Street, I continued past the High Cross, down High Street and across the bridge to the Redcliffe Ward and the homes of the weavers.

I ached in every joint, and could hardly wait for Mistress Walker to douse the rushlights and pull the curtain, which divided the room in two before flinging off all clothes except my shirt, and tumbling between the blankets on my truckle bed. But once at ease, I found it unexpectedly difficult to sleep. To begin with there were small, rustling noises from the other side of the curtain as the women undressed, the subdued murmur of their voices as they said their prayers and bade one another good-night. Then, as silence filled the little room, the fire gave a dying spurt, sending shadows racing up the walls, to cling and then recede, merging into an all-enveloping blackness. Finally, as I thankfully closed my eyes, prepared for instant oblivion, a picture of Cicely Ford rose before me to set me tossing and turning restlessly, in the grip of unrequited passion.

I was astonished at the intensity of my feelings, of my desire for this girl I barely knew, of my longing to hold her in my arms and love her. The knowledge that I had no hope of ever possessing her in no way cooled my ardour; rather it made my lustful imaginings worse.

These, no doubt, were further inflamed by the fact that I had not lain with a woman for several months; a celibacy enforced by the rough winter weather and my failing health. Now, however, in spite of recurrent bouts of weakness, I was on the road to recovery, and I had moreover met a woman who appealed to my senses as no other had in a very long time.

I had just decided that sleep would never come, when my eyelids began to grow heavy and my mind blurred at the edges, thoughts running together like melting ice. If I was conscious of the slender shadow which emerged from behind the curtain and tiptoed across the floor towards me, it was an awareness which failed to rouse me from the near-slumber into which I had fallen. It was only when I felt the chill of Lillis's naked body snuggling close to mine that I awoke to the full realization of what was happening. And by then it was too late. I was already on top of her, impelled by my craving for Cicely Ford.

It was over all too soon, and to my shame, I doubt if Lillis derived much satisfaction from our copulation - for to dignify it by any other name would be to lie - except that of having managed to seduce me in the face of my obvious determination to ignore her advances of the past few weeks. For if looks could have stripped me naked and put her in my bed, she would have been there long ago, in spite of my sickness.

I lifted myself off her and sat up, gasping, trying to keep the nausea from rising in my throat. I started to shiver, and only controlled it with an effort, clamping a hand across my mouth. She said nothing, but slender fingers, feather-light, stroked my back.

'Lillis,' I mumbled, turning towards her, but she hushed me, also sitting up and then sliding from the bed.

'It's all right,' she whispered. 'I know you were wishing I was Cicely Ford.'

Once again, she astonished me by her percipience, by the swiftness with which she could change from a greedy, grasping child into a woman of maturity and understanding. She made no further comment, but slipped away behind the curtain to resume her place beside her mother, who was snoring gently and sleeping the sleep of blessed ignorance. As for me, I was left to toss and turn upon my truckle bed for what seemed like hours, weighed down by a guilt which was not mine alone, but which felt, in the small hours of the morning, like a solitary burden.

Resentment that I should feel solely responsible was intermingled with the knowledge that I had betrayed Margaret Walker's trust; that I had allowed my craving for another woman to overwhelm my senses. And my shame was compounded by the fact that Lillis had been a virgin; something, had I stopped to think about it, I should not have expected.

Eventually I fell into an uneasy sleep, and it was already daylight when Margaret woke me. She had been up an hour or more, moving silently in and out of the cottage in order not to wake me. The fire was lit and an iron pot, filled with lentil porridge, was warming over it.

Lillis, pale and withdrawn, was cutting slices from a loaf of black bread.

'Why didn't you wake me sooner?' I demanded ungraciously, stumbling out of bed and pulling my shirt down around my knees. I saw a faint smile lift Lillis's lips and hurriedly looked away again.

'I thought you could do with the rest,' Margaret Walker answered briskly. 'You looked tired last night. Take your clothes behind the curtain and dress.' She indicated a smaller iron pot. 'There's hot water if you want to shave before breakfast.'