[Roger the Chapman 03] - The Hanged Man (17 page)

'Fortunately, Nick Brimble and his mother happened along at that moment, and helped me up, and the tailor let me sit down for a while inside his booth.' She smiled bravely. 'So I'm none the worse for wear. But it shows that some people still think I know what happened to Father, and that I may even have had a hand in his disappearance.'

'That's nonsense,' I said stoutly, taking my place at table. 'How could anyone imagine that his own daughter would beat and abduct an old man, even if you had the strength, which you so obviously have not.'

She put dishes of salted herrings in front of me and Lillis, for the day being Friday we were eating fish, and added another of oatcakes in the centre of the board. Then she took her seat alongside her daughter.

'Of course no one would think such a thing,' she chided me, 'but there are those who believe that Father arranged his own disappearance for some secret purpose of his own, and that I helped him.'

'But the blood,' I protested. 'The bloodstains you found in the cottage, how do they explain those?' She shrugged. 'Maybe he cut himself, his wrist perhaps, and let the blood drip on the bedcover and the rushes.'

'How much blood was there?' I sucked some herring bones from between my teeth and spat them out on the side of my plate while waiting for her answer.

'There were two large stains on the bedcover and quite a number on the floor. There were also some splashes on the walls, and hand-prints around the wall-cupboard.'
 

'A lot of blood then; more than a man could afford Io lose if he intended going on a journey.' She glanced inquiringly at me and I said with some impatience: 'If he disappeared, as he did, he had to go away, and far enough away that he couldn't easily be found. He wasn't hiding m the city. In those circumstances, he wouldn't weaken himself so much that he was unable to walk, or even to hide if he could find a mount.'

As I spoke, there flashed into my mind the picture of a man on a stolen horse turning from Magdalen Lane into Stow Hill, towards the windmill. I stared into space, transfixed by the image thus conjured up, feeling as though I were on the brink of a revelation. I was about to make a significant discovery, only Lillis's sly laugh interrupted my thoughts before I could do so.

'You look as though someone had gutted and then stuffed you,' she remarked unkindly. 'And you haven't said anything about my hair.'

Her mother smiled. 'He hasn't even noticed. And you going to the market specially this morning to buy those ribbons!'

I saw then that Lillis had discarded the triangle of cloth which she normally tied around her head in the daytime, and the thick coils of hair had been allowed to hang down in two braids, each one decorated with a bow of red silk.

'It looks very pretty,' I said lamely. But the sight of the ribbons reminded me sharply of those tucked away in my pack in the corner, and the need, before my store ran out, to start earning some wages. I could not continue to live off Mistress Walker: my pride would not allow it.

Lillis could see from my expression that her brave attempt to capture my attention and wring from me some small, pathetic compliment, had failed. She said nothing further, but lowered her eyes and began to eviscerate her herring with a quiet fury.

I made a feeble attempt to placate her. 'I should have noticed,' I apologized. 'But you shouldn't have wasted your money. I have ribbons in my pack. You need only have asked me.'

She dropped her knife with a clatter and bounced up from her stool. 'I'm not hungry,' she announced. She strapped on her wooden pattens and found her cloak. 'I'm going to see Nick and Mistress Brimble. Nick, at least, won't fail to notice.'

There was a blast of cold air as the door opened and closed behind her. After her departure, there was an awkward silence. Mistress Walker said quietly, 'She's fond of you, Roger.'

I pushed my herring around my plate, my appetite deserting me. 'I know. Mistress Walker,' I continued hurriedly, desperate to avoid any further discussion of the matter, 'We were talking about your father; about the possibility that he could have arranged his disappearance himself. If I have asked you this before, forgive me; but do you know of any reason why he might have done so?' 'No. None.' She spoke decisively, accepting for the moment that I had no wish to pursue the subject of Lillis, although I had no doubt that in her own mind it was far from closed. 'Moreover, my father returned home, bearing the scars of a terrible beating. He had, sometime previously, been horribly injured, injuries which he could not possibly have inflicted on himself. I think you will have to look elsewhere for a solution.'

I thought so too, and said no more, asking instead, 'Who is the hooded man I've seen twice now, once at Burl Hodge's cottage and again this morning leaving a house close by? I am almost certain, too, that I heard his voice at your door the second or third night I was here, when I regained consciousness for a moment.'

There was a pause so slight I could well have imagined it. Then Margaret Walker answered smoothly, 'Many people are abroad in the streets, and at this time of year anyone with any sense is well wrapped up against the cold. You yourself, when you returned before dinner, had your hood pulled forward about your face. As for anyone who may have called here during your illness, it is a week or so past, so how can I remember? Lillis and I, in spite of our difficulties, are not completely friendless.'
 

'It was dark. After curfew, when fewer people risk the streets, especially in winter. Furthermore, this was not a friend. You spoke angrily to him, telling him to be about his business and threatening to send for the Watch.'
 

A little colour stole into her sallow cheeks, but her gaze did not falter. 'Oh him,' she said. 'An old acquaintance of my father, and one I always considered to have a bad influence on him. I want nothing more to do with him now that Father is dead.'

'But why would he continue to trouble you?' I persisted, and had the satisfaction of seeing a hunted look in her eyes.

But again, she answered easily enough. 'Perhaps he is lonely.'

'But from what I have seen, he appears to be welcome in many of the weavers' cottages in Redcliffe.' Margaret began gathering up the dirty dishes, stacking them at the end of the table near the fire, where water was heating, ready to wash them. Keeping her hands busy helped to steady her voice. I heard only the faintest of quavers as she said, 'That's nothing to do with me. Folks look to their own affairs round here. I can only say I don't like the man, nor do I want him in my cottage. Are you sure it's the same person you've seen on each occasion?'
 

'I recognized the cloak. Very mud-stained and torn around the hem, as though he does a lot of walking.'
 

'That could be true of almost anyone hereabouts. Weavers and spinners do not have the means to travel on anything but Shank's mare.'

I shook my head. 'No, Mistress Walker. You knew at once who I was speaking of the moment I mentioned the man in the cloak. There is something you're keeping from me, and you won't tell me what it is. If you want me to discover the truth about your father, that's unfair.'
 

'Nonsense!' She clattered the dishes angrily. 'It has nothing whatever to do with Father's disappearance. I told you, the man's just one of his friends; a man I dislike and want nothing more to do with. Move, lad, move! I must get on. I have to take a load of yarn to the weaving sheds this afternoon.' I saw that it was useless to pursue the matter further, for I should only get the same dusty answer. I rose from the table and picked up my pack, slinging it over my shoulders.
 

'What are you doing?' she demanded sharply.

'I'm going to earn some money if I can. This is my trade.' I settled the pack more comfortably. 'Moreover, a little honest work will do me good and help me think better. Don't worry. I shall take my cudgel with me.'

 
She said with some constraint, 'There's no need for flint. I didn't mean to reproach you just now, nor to sound ungrateful.'

I smiled and, suddenly moved by a kind of tenderness lot her, kissed her careworn cheek. 'Nor I to sound churlish. But I meant what I said. A little honest toil will do me good.'

She sighed. 'You'll need a permit, lad, to trade within city limits, or you'll have members of the City Commune on your tail. Bristol money stays in Bristol pockets, that's something you'll have to learn. And I doubt if they'd grant permission to a stranger. Now, if you were going to make your home here, or were married to a Bristol girl...' Her voice trailed away into silence, but it was a silence that shouted aloud an unspoken question. She regarded me, her head on one side.

I slipped the pack from my shoulders without giving her an answer. 'That's that, then,' I said dejectedly. 'But I must walk to clear my head. I shall be back before it's dark.' And I went out, leaving her standing in the middle of the room, a defeated look in her eyes.

I walked quickly, swinging my cudgel, trying, with my purposeful strides, to shake off a sense of frustration; a feeling that events were closing in on me; of being caught in a snare. It was not that I did not wish to get married one day, to have children and a home. The words of the Carmelite friar in the barn near Salisbury came back to me. 'The best thing you can do, my son, is marry. Find a good woman who will make a home for you to go back to every winter, and who will maintain it while you are away each summer.' Sensible advice if I could find the right woman, but that woman was not Lillis. There was something wild and fey about her which frightened me.

And, as so often lately, my thoughts turned to Cicely Ford.

But I had no illusions. She was too far above me even if she had loved me, which she did not. How could she? We had only met once; yet it was not that. No man now would ever obtain the heart of Cicely Ford. Her hand, maybe, but her heart was in the grave with Robert Herpath, and her life, however long or short it was, would be an atonement to his memory for doubting him.

I had been so engrossed in my thoughts that I had not noticed where I was going. I was half conscious of the people around me, of blindly bumping into someone every now and then, of being cursed and told to watch my step. But I had walked down Broad Street and was half-way across the Frome Bridge before a gentle voice, calling my name, made me aware of my surroundings.

'Master Chapman.' A hand was laid on my arm as a slight figure barred my path. 'Where are you off to in such a hurry?'

l blinked, like a man in a dream, for there before me was Mistress Ford herself, wrapped in a blue woollen cloak, the silk-lined hood framing her charming face, into which a delicate colour had been whipped by the wind.

Behind her, a disapproving frown marring her pleasant features, stood her companion, Dame Freda.

'I... I don't know,' I answered stupidly. 'I... I was just walking.' I felt myself blushing. She must think me the biggest fool in Christendom.

But she gave no sign of being aware of my discomfiture. She simply smiled her sweet, grave smile and said, In that case, would you be kind enough to turn back and give me your support as far as Small Street? I'm rather tired, and Dame Freda, as you see, is weighed down with the basket.'

I barely registered her companion's outraged expression or her breathed remonstrance of 'Cicely!' My heart was beating too fast to have thought to spare for anything but my own turbulent emotions. Would I be kind enough? Kind enough! Did she not realize that I would go with her to the world's end?

'O-Of course,' I stuttered, and she laid one hand on my proffered arm.

'Dame Freda and I have been visiting the House of the Magdalen Nuns,' she confided as I retraced my steps back across the bridge to St John's Gate. She indicated the full basket carried by the older woman. 'As you see, they always load us with gifts. Today it's wine and winter vegetables from their garden.' A faint sigh reached my ears.

'They have been so good to me, particularly Mother Superior, since.., since...' Her voice broke and she was unable to finish. After a moment, she continued more cheerfully: 'The hours I spend there are such happy ones. It is a house of retreat, you know, for women, and also a seminary for young ladies who can afford it. The young girls are so gay and carefree.' She spoke as though she were fifty at least, instead of the seventeen or eighteen summers I took her to be. She added, almost to herself, 'There must be great satisfaction in the religious life.'
 

Dame Freda, however, had caught her meaning if not her words. 'As great a piece of nonsense as ever I heard!' she exclaimed angrily. 'You were made for marriage and children. Sorrows fade, believe me. You'll fall in love again sooner or later. There are plenty of good fish in the sea.'

I thought Cicely Ford might take umbrage at being addressed in such round terms, but she merely turned her head to smile at her companion. Her tone, when she answered, was even amused. 'And Master Avenel, I suppose, is leader of the shoal! Dear Dame Freda, I appreciate your concern for me, but I shall never love Robin Avenel.'

She said no more on the subject; but, as an outsider able to see the truth more clearly than those closer at hand, I realized at once that Cicely Ford had already made up her mind. She may not have known it herself just then, but her future lay in the cloistered calm of a nunnery and a life devoted to helping others. She would become a Bride of Christ, but of no earthly man. I think my wild and ridiculous passion for her started to fade from that instant. In my eyes, she began to assume an aura of sanctity which ordinary love could only despoil.