The Weaver's Inheritance (13 page)

‘And don’t come back without him,’ she instructed the hapless girl. ‘The old charlatan won’t want to come out on a night like this if he can help it. And you!’ She rounded on one of the men. ‘Go and inform the Watch what has happened. As for you, Ned Stoner, you can be off and take the news to my father. Not that I suppose he’ll care!’

As she addressed no remark to me, I lingered, hoping that when William Burnett recovered his wits, he might be able to say who had attacked him. I suggested, therefore, that I carry him up to bed, an offer which was gratefully accepted. So, with the assistance of the other manservant, who took his feet, I manoeuvred William’s inert form up the narrow, twisting stairs to the bedchamber he shared with Alison, and laid him tenderly on the red damask silk coverlet. As I did so, he stirred and opened his eyes.

‘William! What happened?’ his wife demanded, bending over him. ‘You’ve been badly beaten. Who did it?’ William stared blankly at her for a moment, then turned his head restlessly on the pillows. ‘Who did it?’ she repeated.

I was standing in the shadows, unnoticed by the injured man, but able to see him quite clearly in the light from the candle placed near the bed. His eyes opened again, but this time to full consciousness and, I could have sworn, to complete knowledge of what had befallen him. There was the sudden intake of a short, painful breath, and an awareness in every line of his face which told its own story. I felt sure that William Burnett knew who had set upon him and why …

His eyes glazed over, his features grew slack and his head rolled back towards Alison. ‘Someone attacked me,’ he muttered.

And very little more could be got from him in spite of her persistent probing. He had, as he reminded her, been on his way to the New Inn for a rummer of ale when, as he turned the corner of Small Street into the Corn Market by Saint Werburgh’s church, a man with his hood drawn forward over his face had waylaid him, demanding money. When he had refused to surrender his purse, he had been beaten about the head and body until he lost consciousness, and knew nothing further until this minute.

I said quietly, ‘Ned Stoner and I saw Irwin Peto in the Lattis, a few minutes before we found Master Burnett.’

William jumped at the sound of my voice as I stepped forward into the circle of light. ‘Who … who’s Irwin Peto?’ he quavered.

I explained. ‘Surely you must have been told the name by which Clement Weaver says he was known during all those lost years,’ I added.

Alison snorted. ‘Maybe we were informed of it, but we took no notice. We’re not interested in the creature and his lies.’ Her eyes kindled with sudden anger. ‘William, do you think
he
might have attacked you? Perhaps he saw you, quite by chance, and decided to take his revenge because we refuse to acknowledge his claim.’

‘Well, yes … I suppose it could have been him,’ her husband admitted slowly. ‘But I’ve no proof. And why should he demand money from me?’

‘To throw you off the scent, of course.’ Alison’s face set in rigid lines of disdain. ‘If Master Chapman and Ned Stoner hadn’t seen him in the Lattis, we shouldn’t have known that he was anywhere near at hand.’

‘When the man hit you,’ I put in, ‘the strength of the blow might well have caused his hood to fall back from his face. Think, sir! Do you recall getting a glimpse of his features?’

William shook his head. ‘The first blow knocked me clean out of my senses.’ He looked at his wife. ‘But you may well be right, my love. It could have been the creature.’

I was puzzled. I remained convinced that William Burnett had recognized his assailant, and that it was not Irwin Peto. And in any case, why was it necessary for him to put a name to his attacker? Every town and city in the kingdom, then as now, is full of these birds of prey who haunt the streets after dark, robbing, maiming and murdering. If William insisted that he had been set upon by a common cutpurse, no one would think to query it. But if Alison carried an accusation against Irwin Peto to her father, as she was very likely to do in her present mood, it would only give the Alderman greater cause for offence than already existed.

The thought seemed to strike William at the same moment that it occurred to me, and he roused himself in sudden agitation, clasping his wife’s arm. ‘No, no! It wasn’t the creature! I’m sure of it now! Alison, I forbid you to go to your father with this story. The man who set upon me was an ordinary footpad. You must believe me.’

His tone was urgent. Obsessed with keeping his secret, he had foolishly allowed himself to implicate another man, and he was now likely to rue this deception unless he could convince his wife of his change of heart. But it was obvious to me that Alison now considered the situation between herself and her father to be as bad as it could get, and she seemed to have abandoned all hope of a reconciliation. Her one pleasure, henceforth, would be to prove to the Alderman, as often as possible, the depraved nature of the man who claimed to be his son. It was also obvious that Alison regarded her husband’s sudden retraction as no more than a ploy to curb her animosity; her soothing reassurances that of course she believed him, only serving to underline her incredulity. William must have realized this, too, for after a time, being in considerable pain, he gave up the struggle to convince her and lay back against the pillows, closing his eyes.

I decided, reluctantly, that I must take my leave. There was nothing more that I could do, and I was beginning to feel like an intruder. Besides, it was high time that I returned home. I had been absent for some hours and should no doubt be greeted with reproaches. And as neither Mistress Burnett nor her husband uttered a word to hinder my departure, I murmured my farewells and went downstairs and out into the street.

*   *   *

I can’t pretend that my return was rapturously received by either my mother-in-law or my daughter, but I was used to Margaret’s disapproving silences, and was growing accustomed to Elizabeth’s indifference to me now that she had a playmate of her own age. Not, it appeared, that Nicholas Juett would be her companion for very much longer, a fact which explained his mother’s smiling countenance.

‘We’ve had a visit from one of the Lay Brothers of Saint James’s Priory,’ Adela said, almost before I had closed the door on the bleak scene outside. She rose from her stool, where she had been doing some mending, and took my wet cloak, shaking it so vigorously that the drops of melting snow hissed among the logs and sea-coal burning on the hearth. ‘I can have temporary use of Imelda Bracegirdle’s cottage, and maybe permanent tenancy if all goes well.’

‘That is good news,’ I said, a shade too heartily to please my mother-in-law, who looked sourly at me.

But I suspected that Margaret was not too unhappy at the prospect of her cousin’s leaving. Two days had been ample time to prove to her that she did not care for sharing her home with another woman.

‘When do you go?’ I asked Adela.

She began shepherding the two children towards the bed and making preparations to wash them. ‘Tomorrow. I wondered if I might count on you to help me with my things?’

‘Of course you may,’ my mother-in-law answered for me. ‘You’ll be happy to do anything you can, won’t you, Roger?’

‘Of course.’ I sat on Adela’s vacated stool to pull off my boots. ‘And to lend Mistress Juett any money she may need until she finds employment.’

‘Thank you, but that won’t be necessary.’ Adela poured hot water into a bowl, then added cold from the barrel in the corner. ‘I have a little of my savings left, and tomorrow, Margaret has promised to speak to Alderman Weaver about me.’

‘You’d do well to visit him early then,’ I advised my mother-in-law, ‘before his daughter has time to get to him.’ And I related the events of my day whilst helping myself to some bread and cheese from the various food crocks that had been placed ready on the table against my return.

And later, when the two children were safely in bed – although not anywhere near asleep, judging by the chattering and giggling which reached our ears from behind the drawn curtain – I was forced to go over it all again as we ate our supper of dried salt beef and such stewed root vegetables as were obtainable at this season of the year.

‘And you think Master Burnett knows who set upon him?’ queried my mother-in-law, adding with a shrug, ‘Well, he must have made plenty of enemies in his time. He’s never been as popular as his father. He gives himself too many airs and graces. Thinks himself superior to his workmen. People resent that. But he’s foolish if he drives a bigger wedge between his wife and father-in-law than exists already. According to what you say, that seems to have been your fault, Roger. Opening your mouth too wide as usual. If you hadn’t mentioned seeing this Irwin Peto, or whatever his real name is, entering the Lattis…’

The subject occupied us comfortably until bedtime, smoothing over any little awkwardness which might otherwise have arisen from Adela Juett’s determination to quit her cousin’s roof after less than three days. And I could still hear the two women discussing this latest piece of gossip long after they had retired for the night, their voices muted for fear of waking the now-sleeping children at the other end of the bed. I laid my own pallet as close to the dying fire as it was safe to do, took another blanket from the press, and hoped that not too much snow would drift through the smoke-hole in the roof. And the next thing I knew, it was morning.

It had stopped snowing, but was freezing hard, making conditions underfoot extremely treacherous. On inspection, the handle of the local pump was found to be immovable and the well water inches deep in ice. As soon as it was light, therefore, the men of the surrounding houses, including myself, were set to shovelling frozen snow into iron pots, which the women of the household then heated over the fire. I was thrown into the company of Jack Nym and Nick Brimble, both of whom were already in possession of the story concerning yesterday’s assault on William Burnett.

‘You and Ned Stoner discovered him, so I’m told, Chapman,’ Nick Brimble said, pausing to wipe the moisture from his face, for, in spite of the cold, the exercise was making him sweat.

‘And went home with him,’ I agreed.

‘They’re saying –’ this was Jack Nym – ‘that Mistress Burnett is laying blame for the attack on this fellow who claims to be her brother, and that Master Burnett also believes it might have been him.’

I wondered how, in the name of Saint Michael and all the angels, had he got hold of that piece of information? However dark the night, however appalling the weather, there must be constant communication between one household and the next, from one side of the bridge to the other. I hastened to set them straight on the matter.

‘Master Burnett, it’s true, did at first encourage her in that belief, but only for a moment. When he had had time to think about it properly, he denied it utterly and has forbidden her to spread the rumour. The misunderstanding was, according to my mother-in-law, in some respect my fault,’ I admitted, and explained what had happened. ‘My own feeling, for what it’s worth, is that William Burnett knows who his attacker is, but isn’t saying.’

Nick Brimble and Jack Nym glanced at one another and guffawed. ‘Daresay he does know,’ said the former.

‘One of Jasper Fairbrother’s men, no doubt,’ agreed Jack, stretching his arms with the air of a man who had done quite enough shovelling on an empty stomach.

I knew of this Jasper Fairbrother by repute, and he had been pointed out to me on several occasions. He was a master baker who constantly flouted the law – in particular a city ordinance made four years earlier, protecting the livelihoods of the women hucksters whose right it was to sell loaves and pastries – but who escaped punishment by threatening his victims with condign retribution if they laid a complaint against him. He employed three or four hefty young bravos solely for this purpose, and had once, in a very roundabout fashion, tried to recruit me, but I had given his messenger extremely short shrift.

‘What would Jasper Fairbrother have to do with William Burnett?’ I asked, puzzled.

Nick Brimble grinned. ‘They both like games of chance, dicing and suchlike. And they also share the shortcoming that afflicts a lot of rich men: they resent parting with their money when they lose. Word at the Lattis is that William Burnett has had a run of bad luck in recent months and owes Jasper Fairbrother a goodly sum, so I reckon Jasper has at last lost patience and given him a warning. And if I’m right, it wouldn’t be surprising if William wanted to keep Mistress Burnett in ignorance of what really happened.’

I grasped my shovel in one hand and picked up the iron pot full of frozen snow with the other. ‘It would explain a good deal,’ I admitted. ‘I didn’t know William Burnett was a gambler.’

‘Always has been, like his father and grandfather before him,’ said Jack Nym. ‘They were rich men and could afford it, and so can William. It’s just that he has this mean streak which makes him reluctant to discharge his debts until forced to do so. He’s the same with his taxes, by all accounts. Mind you, he’s generous to himself; never stints on any item of his dress or comfort for his home. Keeps a good table.’

‘Simply doesn’t like paying out money for anything that doesn’t show a return,’ added Nick Brimble.

I returned to the cottage, where my mother-in-law was waiting impatiently for the pot of snow, which she immediately placed on the fire. I retired to a corner, out of the women’s way and until Margaret was ready to dole me out a measure of hot water for shaving, to mull over the information just imparted by Nick Brimble and Jack Nym. I had no doubt that what they had told me about William Burnett was true, for Bristol was their city and they were more attuned to its gossip than I was; for although I had lived there now for over three years, I was absent for long periods and had not the interest of a native in my neighbours. All the same, I had the temerity to question their judgement. On the face of it, it explained satisfactorily all that had happened; it made sense of my conviction that William Burnett knew his attacker – or at least understood the reason for the attack – and was therefore anxious to divert his wife’s suspicion into a different channel. And yet, I could not bring myself to believe that this was really the answer. I felt there was a deeper mystery that I had not yet fathomed.