Kate Sedley - The Weaver's inheritance

I gritted my teeth, but made no answer.

* * *

The Priory of Saint James had been founded as a cell of Tewkesbury Abbey, but at some time in the distant past, an agreement had been reached between the then Abbot and the local people that the nave should be maintained by the parishioners and used for parochial purposes. This morning it had been taken over by the Sheriff and his men in order to hold a brief, preliminary inquest into Imelda Bracegirdle’s murder. I wondered whether or not to go in and make them free of my thoughts on the subject. Then I told myself not to be a fool, and went instead in search of Brother Elmer.

The January morning was less overcast than it had been earlier, the threat of rain and sleet receding, but it was still extremely cold and the trees of the orchard stood like skeletons against the skyline. I found Brother Elmer at last, after enquiries at both the brewery and the bakehouse directed me thither; he was closeted with Father Prior, and so I was able to make my request on Adela’s behalf to the highest authority. I was promised that the matter would be raised at the following day’s Chapter meeting, and with that I had to be content. There would also be, as Brother Elmer pointed out to me, other equally deserving cases to be considered, but the claim of Adela Juett would be borne in mind.

‘Do you have any idea by whom, or why, Mistress Bracegirdle was murdered?’ I asked as I turned to go.

‘Oh, a chance thief, undoubtedly,’ replied Brother Elmer, ‘who took advantage of an unbolted door. The Sheriff is convinced of it.’ He glanced for confirmation at Father Prior, who inclined his venerable head. ‘There were always stories that Imelda had a secret hoard of money, though alas, poor soul, I think it most unlikely. But a thief, abroad after dark and who had heard the rumours, finding her door unlocked could have thought it worth the risk, and a sudden evil impulse prompted him to kill her. Or perhaps a man desperate for money, to repay an urgent debt.’

I knew now where Richard Manifold got his version of events, for it seemed to be the Sheriff’s version, too. I was half-inclined to pay this worthy a visit and tell him about the scream heard by Adela Juett, with the added information that it had still been only dusk at the time. But what good would it do? The Sheriff already seemed to have decided what had happened, and Adela would not thank me for dragging her into the clutches of the law. Besides, what proof did I have that the scream had been uttered by Imelda Bracegirdle? Neither the Porter nor I could confirm Adela’s story. I decided therefore to go about my business and not interfere. With a sigh of relief, I hitched up my pack and bade Father Prior and Brother Elmer good-day.

* * *

It was nearly suppertime when I returned to the Frome Gate, and my pack was once again almost empty.

On leaving the Priory, I had decided to visit those remote homesteads and dwellings on the heights above the city, and had walked as far as the great gorge cut between the rocks by the River Avon as it ebbs and flows between Bristol and that narrow sea which divides us Westcountrymen from the wilder shores of Wales. I had done well, parting with such wares as I had for a purseful of money, and I hoped that my mother-in-law would be pleased; for I should need all the goodwill I could muster when she discovered that I had done my best to obtain the tenancy of Imelda Bracegirdle’s cottage for Adela, and so thwart her plans for keeping us both beneath the same roof. I felt a little guilty when I thought of my daughter, for Elizabeth was certainly enjoying Nicholas’s company, but she had not yet had sufficient time to grow used to it, and would no doubt soon recover from his loss.

As I entered the Frome Gate, I glanced back towards the empty cottage, where it now stood shuttered and silent. Richard Manifold had vanished, relieved of his guard, and there was no longer anyone or anything to single it out from its neighbours. Adela could make herself and her son comfortable there, I reflected, provided that what had happened did not give her a distaste for the place. But I did not think that likely. She was a sensible woman, not easily given to panic, and I sent up a short prayer that the Prior and his monks would favour her claim above the others.

Shops were beginning to close for the night, stall- and booth-holders locking their goods away until morning. The central drain was choked with meat and fish offal, although not so much as in the summer months, and the stench was correspondingly less. I was looking forward to my supper, for it was some hours since I had last eaten; a collop of salted bacon between two slices of black bread given me by an elderly woman to whom I had sold some needles. I recollected that Adela was to do the cooking today and wondered what she would put on the table.

As I pushed open the door of my mother-in-law’s cottage, a warm, savoury smell stole out to greet me, making my mouth water. But I was also aware that the room was even more crowded than when I had left it early that morning. A woman was seated in our only good chair, a man standing behind her, drumming his fingers impatiently against its back.

My mother-in-law said with relief, ‘Ah! Here he is at last. Roger, Master and Mistress Burnett have come especially to see you.’

William Burnett wasted no time in greetings, but said at once, ‘We require your services, Chapman.’

‘Indeed?’ I answered coldly. I set down my pack and cudgel and divested myself of my cloak without further comment, then went to warm my hands at the fire.

Master Burnett, who had doubtless expected instant acquiescence, was annoyed and showed it. A hot rejoinder was plainly on the tip of his tongue, but his wife held up an imperious finger to silence him.

‘If you please, Master Chapman, and if you can spare the time,’ she amended politely.

Gone was the screaming harridan of the previous afternoon and in her place was a tired, sad woman in want of help. Alison Burnett had never been what you could call truly pretty; her nose was a trifle too large, her mouth slightly too wide, her jaw a little too determined. But she had always had lovely eyes, soft hazel flecked with green, and a clear, honey-coloured complexion. The eyes, however, with their fringe of long, dark lashes, seemed to have dulled with the passage of time, and her skin was muddied and sallow. In short, the past six years had not dealt kindly with her. Nevertheless, she still had that air of command as of someone accustomed to obedience, and which she almost certainly inherited from her late mother, a member of the de Courcy family. But Alison also had a fair share of her father’s guile and his rock-hard determination to get his own way by any means at his disposal. She would pander to my vanity by treating me like an equal if it served her purpose, unlike her husband whose high opinion of himself was too great ever to allow him to employ such a measure.

I had never liked William Burnett. His father, another of Bristol’s Aldermen, had, according to my mother-in-law, been a sensible, down-to-earth man who had made light of his kinship with Lord Henry Burnett, a nobleman who lived in the village of the same name, a few miles outside the city. But the Alderman’s weakness had been his only son, whom he had indulged and encouraged in every kind of folly from William’s boyhood onwards. The result was an empty-headed man of great self-consequence who thought only of his own convenience and pleasure. In appearance, he had changed very little from the young fop I had first encountered in Alderman Weaver’s house nearly six years earlier. The pikes of his shoes were perhaps a little shorter than they had been then, and it was no longer necessary to fasten the points to his knees with ornate golden chains. But they were still of a length to set any dandy aquiver with admiration, and the auburn hair which curled fashionably to his shoulders was anointed with a peculiarly pungent pomade. His clothes, too, would not have been out of place at King Edward’s court, his parti-coloured, tightly-waisted tunic being almost obscenely short and his cod-piece decorated with dangling golden tassels. His ornamental red velvet cloak was lined with black sarcenet, his sleeves slashed to reveal insets of oyster satin. Beside him, in her dark blue, fur-trimmed gown and white lawn hood, his wife paled into insignificance.