Kate Sedley - The Weaver's inheritance

I turned my head and smiled at her. ‘Thank you for being so frank. It clears away all constraint, and I hope that from now on, we shall indeed be good friends.’

She made no reply, but none was needed. We understood one another.

We made our way first to Saint James’s Priory, and afterwards to the cottage in Lewin’s Mead. One of the Brothers accompanied us as far as the door, his presence putting the seal of authority on our right to enter, in case any zealous neighbour should challenge it. No one did, however, although I had the impression of being watched by half a dozen or more curious pairs of eyes.

‘Are the Sheriff’s men any nearer to discovering Mistress Bracegirdle’s murderer?’ I asked the Brother.

He shook his head. ‘The Sergeant is as certain as he can be that it was a passing thief, who tried the door, found it open and chanced his arm. When Mistress Bracegirdle confronted him, he killed her.’

‘I can see you find it hard to accept that explanation,’ Adela remarked when our escort had departed in the direction of the Priory, huddled into his cloak against the bitter cold. ‘May I know why?’

‘Because,’ I answered, ushering my charges into the cottage, ‘it seems far more probable to me that a thief would have turned tail and run. Or if he were determined on violence, he would have used his fists or a stool to bludgeon her to death. Or even a knife to stab her, if one had happened to be lying handy on the table. But strangle her? No! It doesn’t make sense. To do that, he must have taken her from behind, and surely she would never have turned her back on an intruder.’

‘Maybe you’re right,’ Adela answered thoughtfully, and began to inspect her new home.

All was much as it had been, except that a three days’ coating of dust now covered everything, and the remains of the murdered woman’s last meal were beginning to smell. The dead ashes of Imelda’s fire still lay on the hearth, and the cooking utensils that stood on a long shelf just inside the front door, proved, on inspection, to be none too clean. There was much to be done before the place could be rendered truly habitable. ‘What do you wish me to do first?’ I asked.

Before she could answer, however, there was a knock on the door and, being nearest, I opened it. Richard Manifold stood on the threshold.

‘I’ve come to pay my respects, Mistress Juett,’ he said, remaining outside the door, as though unsure of his reception. ‘I heard that the tenancy of the cottage has been granted to you, and I want to say how pleased I am. Welcome home.’

Adela went forward, hands outstretched. ‘Richard Manifold! I’m happy to see you again after all these years.’

I had never see her so animated, not even when greeting my mother-in-law, and I felt a small stab of irritation. Surely her cousin deserved a warmer response than a mere friend, however close to one another Adela and the Sheriff’s Officer might have been in the past.

‘Come in,’ she invited, ‘and shut the door. The weather’s bitter.’

‘I can’t stop but a moment or two,’ Richard Manifold protested, but doing as he was bidden. ‘I’m on my way to Master Burnett’s house. It seems he was attacked last night.’

Adela nodded, pushing forward one of the chairs, which she dusted with a corner of her cloak, and seating herself on the other. ‘I know. It was Roger, here, and a man of Alderman Weaver’s who found him and helped carry him home.’

Richard Manifold turned his head to look properly at me for the first time since his arrival and gave me a nod of recognition. ‘ You found him, eh? Did Master Burnett give any indication who he thought might be responsible for the assault? Did he mention a name?’

I hesitated a moment before answering. ‘There was some talk of this young man who claims to be Clement Weaver, but…’

The Sheriff’s Officer cut me short. ‘That accounts for it, then.’ In response to our raised eyebrows, he went on, ‘One of our Sergeants was called to Alderman Weaver’s house in Broad Street earlier this morning to deal with a disturbance between Mistress Burnett and two of her father’s servants, who had been ordered to remove her bodily from the premises. She was in a great sweat, my friend said, pouring out a torrent of abuse on the Alderman’s head, and calling him by names which no respectable matron should even know, let alone make use of.’

Adela gave a little snort of laughter. ‘And did they manage to remove her?’ she asked.

Richard Manifold shrugged. ‘As far as I can gather, Mistress Burnett was eventually persuaded to let one of her father’s men take her home, before she was charged with causing a public affray.’ He shook his head sadly. ‘A bad business, that. A very bad business. She’s been a good daughter to the Alderman, and for the old fool to take against her in such an unreasonable fashion is a great shame. But she’s just as pig-headed. She won’t consider for a minute that this man who says he’s her brother might be telling the truth.’ He waved a dismissive hand. ‘However, I didn’t come to discuss the affairs of my neighbours, but to welcome you back to Bristol, Mistress Juett. Though I must say,’ he added, ‘that that name sits uneasily on my tongue, for Adela Woodward you’ve always been to me, and always will be.’

‘That was a long time ago,’ she smiled. ‘I’m the Widow Juett now with a two-year-old son, and no doubt you’re a father yourself, Richard.’

‘I’ve never married,’ he answered simply, looking at her with a soulful expression which, for some unknown reason, deepened my irritation and made me long to knock both their heads together.

My companion, however, suddenly seemed to sense danger in the situation. ‘It was kind of you to call,’ she said hurriedly, ‘but as you can see, there is much work to be done here if I’m to make the cottage habitable by Nicholas’s bedtime.’ And suddenly recollecting her son, she looked around to see what mischief he was up to, only to discover him sitting on the floor at the back of the room, quietly playing among the rushes.

Richard Manifold, with a sigh and a thought to his own duties, took the hint and also his leave, but not before promising to return later in the day to see how she was faring. ‘For there’s still a deal to talk about,’ he added comfortably. ‘No doubt you’ll want to know what’s become of your old friends and neighbours.’

Adela could have said that her cousin had already told her all that she wished to know, but she didn’t, increasing my festering annoyance yet further. She was so calm, so self-contained, so self-possessed. It surely must be as obvious to her as it was to me that the Sheriff’s Officer was presuming on what I guessed to have been an unequal friendship in order to renew their acquaintance, and to ensure a comfortable billet for his bachelor evenings during the long winter months ahead. Why then did she not send the fool packing with a flea in his ear? Why encourage a man who, I arrogantly concluded, was not worthy of her notice?

Not, of course, that it mattered to me who Adela Juett chose as her intimates, but, I told myself, I was indignant on my mother-in-law’s behalf. Margaret had set great store by her cousin’s return, and I resented anyone who might deprive her of Adela’s wholehearted attention and company.

‘What do you wish me to do first?’ I asked when the door had finally closed behind Richard Manifold, repeating my question of half an hour earlier.

But once again the reply was delayed as Adela cried sharply, ‘Nicholas! What are you up to?’

She went across to her son and fell on her knees beside him. I followed suit, and was interested to discover that the cottage floor, when swept clear of rushes — Nicholas having busily created a space all round him — revealed stone flags, and not the beaten earth that I would have expected. But this was not all. With his strong little fingers, and at the cost of a broken fingernail or two, the child was trying to prise free one of the flags which stood proud of its fellows.