Kate Sedley - The Weaver's inheritance

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.