Kate Sedley - The Weaver's inheritance

Naturally, I didn’t believe her, in spite of a lurking suspicion that she might be right. But just talking to her, just the act of sharing my unhappiness and burdening her with part of my sorrow, had in some strange way made me feel better. And when I eventually took my leave, we parted as friends in the deepest and truest meaning of the word. I kissed her lips, and she returned the salutation in the same passionless manner. Then I set out for Redcliffe and home.

* * *

During the next two weeks, I lay low, avoiding all contact with Alison and William Burnett.

On the first occasion when Mistress Burnett called at the house, I was fortunately from home, and although she left a message with my mother-in-law, requesting me to wait upon her as soon as possible, I ignored it. The second time, I was not so lucky, but Margaret, returning from the weaving sheds where she had deposited her basket of yarn, was able to warn me of Alison’s approach. Elizabeth was spending the day with Adela and Nicholas Juett, so I was able to roll beneath the bed without any fear of my presence being innocently divulged by my little daughter. Mistress Burnett was invited by mother-in-law to enter the cottage and check for herself that I was nowhere to be seen.

Her message was peremptory. ‘Tell the chapman that I want to know when he’s setting out for London. It’s high time he was thinking of going. I’m not in the mood to brook further delay.’

‘You heard that,’ Margaret remarked when the visitor had departed. ‘I don’t know what you’re playing at, Roger,’ she reproved me as I scrambled, dusty and dishevelled, from beneath the bed, ‘but I won’t tell lies for you again. As it is, I shall have to do penance for those I’ve already told on your behalf. If you don’t want to continue poking your nose into Alderman Weaver’s affairs, then just tell Mistress Burnett so and have done with it. You know you’ll have my blessing.’

I hesitated, almost succumbing to an impulse that had become familiar to me over the past fortnight or so. But always, just as I was about to reach a definite decision to have nothing further to do with the case, I drew back from the brink. Even in the moments of my greatest despondency, I could not quite resist a mystery, and particularly not one with which I had been so closely connected in the past. I said, surprising myself as well as Margaret, ‘I shall start for London in two days’ time. But tomorrow is May Day and I’ve promised to go maying with Adela, if you’ll look after the children for us.’

No such arrangement had been made between us, and I should now have to make good my lie in order not to disappoint my mother-in-law, whose delight at the news was palpable. She was immediately off to market to buy all those ingredients necessary for a May Day breakfast; parsley, lettuce, endive and fennel; cider, apples, cream and butter. Adela, when I explained what had happened, earned my lasting gratitude by agreeing to get up at the crack of dawn. She would be happy, she said, to accompany me into the surrounding countryside in order to bring in the branches of hawthorn, birch and rowan that were used to decorate the various maypoles set up around the city.

She and Nicholas slept with us in the cottage overnight, and as soon as the Redcliffe Gate was opened at sunrise, we were two of the first people to venture out into the open fields beyond. As we climbed Redcliffe Hill, William Canynges’s great church rose out of the mist like a milky cloud, and to our right, the snaking line of the river glittered silver-grey in the uncertain morning light. The hem of Adela’s gown was quickly saturated with dew, and my boots were wet almost to their tops. Birds shrilled the dawn chorus from the branches of the trees, daisies spangled the grass like snowflakes, and cobwebs, spun overnight between blades of grass, trembled with a myriad diamond drops. A distant orchard caught the first rays of the rising sun, a froth of pink and white foaming up through the mist to bewitch our eyes; and a flock of sheep, newly released from the fold, turned to watch us with their silly, vacuous faces.

‘I think we must be the oldest couple here,’ Adela protested, laughing, surveying our companions who did indeed seem young; boys and girls for the most part, hardly one of them above the age of sixteen and all in their holiday clothes. They cheered us on as though we were in our dotage, solicitously helping us over the rougher patches of ground and assisting us to gather our armfuls of rowan and may.

The young girl who had been chosen to be their Queen was carried home in triumph on my shoulders — for I, as the tallest man present, had been singled out for this honour — and I was physically exhausted as I settled down to the breakfast that Margaret had prepared. But I also felt curiously content, as though this morning’s jaunt had purged me of the sadness that had plagued me for the past few weeks. While we ate, my mother-in-law decked the house with some of the boughs that we had brought back with us. She also decorated the children’s hoops with garlands of trailing leaves and swags of ivy, adding bows of coloured ribbon and little bells, bought the previous day in the market, so that they flashed and twinkled as they were bowled along. Afterwards, the five of us went to join in the dancing around the nearest maypole, and later still, as the sun began to sink in a blaze of crimson glory, I accompanied Adela and Nicholas home to Lewin’s Mead.

As we crossed the Frome Bridge, the river bloodied by the sunset, I said quietly, ‘You’ve been a good friend to me, Adela. Thank you. I shan’t forget. If I can ever be of service…’

‘You and Margaret have already been of great service to Nick and me,’ she interrupted. ‘You have nothing to thank me for. It’s very little that I’ve been able to do in return.’ She quickened her step as we passed beneath the archway of the gate. ‘Look! There’s Richard waiting for me. He must have finished his spell of duty at the castle.’

Not for the first time, the sight of Richard Manifold’s smiling countenance made my hackles rise. There was nothing about him — not his red hair nor his bright blue eyes, not his stocky figure nor his aggressive stance — that commended itself to me. I had no idea why his appearance so irritated me; no notion why I wanted to wipe the smug, self-satisfied expression off his face each time we met. I gritted my teeth, gripped Nicholas’s hand more firmly in mine, as though to emphasize my right of possession, and reluctantly followed Adela to the cottage door.

But for once, the Sheriff’s Officer had not come to pass the time of day or to reminisce about times past, and he gave me none of his usual disapproving looks when I entered the cottage in Adela’s wake. He was too full of news that had arrived at the castle earlier in the afternoon, while most of the population had been out celebrating.

Adela, ever the careful hostess, plied Richard with ale and offered him a seat before allowing him to proceed with his story.

‘Now, what’s happened?’ she asked, but only when satisfied that he was comfortable.

‘The King has arrested one of Clarence’s household, a man called Thomas Burdet, and he’s to be tried on a charge of attempting to procure the King’s death by necromancy. The Sheriff reckons there’s no doubt but he’ll be hanged. A life for a life, even if it means another rigged jury.’

I sucked in my breath. ‘Brother George won’t stand for it,’ I said, forgetting for a moment my dislike of Richard Manifold in my anxiety for his opinion. ‘Does this mean civil war after all, do you think?’

He nodded portentously. ‘It could lead to that. But the lord Sheriff is in two minds about it. He said it wasn’t like King Edward to be so maladroit.’