Kate Sedley - The Weaver's inheritance

They both looked relieved, and neither enquired what I should do for a bed for the next few nights, although I could see that the question was on the tip of Jeanne’s tongue. Indeed, she had her mouth open to speak, when I saw Philip give an almost imperceptible shake of his head. What they did not know, they could not reveal, should anyone come knocking on the door for information.

* * *

I decided, upon reflection, to visit Baldwin Lightfoot’s cousin first, as Saint Paul’s was on my way to the Ward of Farringdon Without; but it was only as I approached the churchyard and the towering bulk of the church itself, topped by its great, gilt weathercock, that I realized I did not know the cousin’s name. Throughout my life, I have, from time to time, been guilty of this kind of oversight, and although I am always ready to curse myself for my stupidity, I am perfectly well aware that it will happen again and again. As my mother used to say, periodic inattention to detail is one of my many failings.

I recollected that Alison Burnett had referred to Baldwin’s cousin as a kinsman of his father; therefore there was a possibility that he, too, might be called Lightfoot. Consequently, I began knocking at every house in the vicinity of Saint Paul’s churchyard, starting in Paternoster Row, proceeding along Old Change and then turning west into Carter Lane, enquiring if one of the inhabitants was so named. And luck, or God, was with me, for at the third dwelling from the further end of Carter Lane, the young maid who answered the door said that if I’d wait, she’d see if the master was within. She disappeared, returning a few moments later to ask my name.

I told her, adding with a fine disregard for the truth, ‘I’m a friend of your master’s cousin, Baldwin Lightfoot.’

She eyed me askance. ‘That won’t be much of a recommendation,’ she sniffed. Nevertheless, she departed for a second time, eventually reappearing with a request for me to follow her upstairs.

The small, first-floor parlour into which I was shown was snug and well furnished, with a fire burning on the hearth, for the May day was chilly, plenty of fresh, sweet-smelling rushes on the floor, a corner cupboard on whose shelves were displayed items of pewter, silver and latten tin, tapestry cushions liberally piled up on the windowseat, and two beautifully carved armchairs. In one of these, his knees covered by a hand-embroidered, fur-lined rug, was an elderly man wearing an old-fashioned woollen gown trimmed with budge, while a linen hood, with lappets and strings that tied beneath his chin, protected his head from the many draughts whistling about the room.

Master Lightfoot looked me appraisingly up and down with a pair of beady grey eyes. ‘And who might you be? I don’t recognize your name. Have you come to pilfer from me, like that wretched cousin of mine?’

‘I, I’m sorry, sir,’ I stammered, taken aback. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘I mean what I say,’ he snapped. ‘Baldwin came to stay with me last November, sponge off me would, I suppose, be nearer the mark — and after he’d gone I discovered that a silver-gilt cup was missing from that cupboard over there, and my housekeeper reported her best leather girdle had been taken from her room. There were some other odds and ends taken as well, a few trinkets that he purloined and has no doubt by now turned into cash, for Baldwin’s always hard up. He’s piddled away the money his father left him on women and strong drink, and has virtually nothing left. So if he’s sent you as his emissary to touch me for a loan, then he’s going to be disappointed. You may tell him from me that I know all about his thieving ways, and that he’s lucky I don’t set the law on his tail.’ The old man continued grumpily, ‘It’s not that I haven’t thought of doing so, believe me, but blood’s thicker than water when all’s said and done, and unluckily he’s the only family I have left nowadays.’ He raised his eyes to mine. ‘Well! Speak up! Why did he send you here?’

‘Er … Master Lightfoot didn’t send me,’ I faltered, trying desperately to find something to add, for I had really been told everything that I needed to know. I now felt almost certain that Baldwin’s denial of being in London six months earlier had more to do with his shame at having stolen from his cousin than from any need to deny a meeting with Irwin Peto. ‘He … er … He’s talked of you so often that I … er … Being in London, I thought I’d call on you and see how you did.’

The elder Lightfoot snorted. ‘Talked of me, has he? He might well do so if his conscience troubles him.’ He gave me another long, deeply suspicious stare. ‘You don’t look like a friend of Baldwin’s to me. In fact, you look more like a pedlar with that great pack on your back … What’s going on, eh? Get out of my house! Go on! Get out of my house, before I send the maid for the law. Susan! Susan! Where is the dratted girl? Never about when I want her!’

‘It’s all right,’ I assured him hastily. ‘I mean you no harm. I’m going. Now, this minute!’ And I left the room so fast that I collided with Susan, just outside the door.

‘Oops!’ she exclaimed, and giggled, looking up coyly into my face. ‘You’re in a hurry. Upset him, have you? Well, that’s nothing new. He’s an ill-conditioned old codger, but I suppose I’d better see what it is he wants.’

‘He wants me out of the house,’ I said. ‘He’ll be all right now that I’ve gone.’ She was nothing loath to be persuaded, not wishing to brave her employer’s bad temper, and preceded me downstairs again. At the bottom of the flight, I caught her arm. ‘Your master has a cousin who’s an acquaintance of mine…’

‘A friend, you said.’ The girl laughed. ‘I’m not surprised you weren’t received with favour. There were things went missing after Master Baldwin’s visit last November, and he — ’ she jerked her head upwards, indicating the room above — ‘hasn’t had a good word to say for him since.’

‘How long did Baldwin stay?’ I asked.

Susan shrugged. ‘Three days, maybe four; I can’t remember exactly. But it wasn’t for any length of time. His visits are always short, but this one was shorter than usual.’

‘And did he go out much?’

If the girl resented this interrogation, she gave no sign of it. ‘He hardly left the house. It was very bad weather, raining and sleeting the whole three or four days. But when I sympathized with him, Master Baldwin said it didn’t matter; he didn’t have any money to spend anyway.’ Susan gave a reminiscent chuckle. ‘He’s a one, that Baldwin! He never stopped trying to get me into bed with him all the time he was here.’ She gave me a demure glance from beneath long dark eyelashes.

On impulse, I bent and kissed her lips, which were soft and pliant, and I felt the tip of her tongue brush mine. I backed away hastily. Apart from the fact that I had no time for dalliance, I found that I had no inclination for it, either. I assumed that it was because of my attachment to Rowena Honeyman, but the face that suddenly swam into my mind was not fair-skinned and blue-eyed, framed by corn-coloured hair, but of a sallow complexion with a pair of steady brown eyes and tendrils of dark hair escaping from beneath a widow’s cap. The mind, I thought irritably, could play strange tricks at times.

Susan, pardonably angered by my recoil, opened the street door and indicated that I should leave. ‘And don’t bother coming back,’ she called as she slammed it shut behind me.

I had no intention of returning, but neither did I immediately hurry away. At the end of the street was a stone water trough, and as no horses were drinking from it at that particular moment, I lowered my pack to the ground and sat on its rim to think. Was I now convinced of Baldwin Lightfoot’s innocence in this matter of Irwin Peto? All in all, allowing for the fact that there could be no total certainty until the true culprit was exposed, I thought I was. He had stolen from his cousin and, being at heart an honest man and deeply ashamed of his action, was trying to persuade himself that he had never been in London last November. Indeed, he had by now probably convinced himself of the fact. Added to this was his assurance, backed up by that of Alison Burnett, that he had not seen Clement often enough in the years immediately preceding the latter’s disappearance to recognize a double if he saw one. I felt reasonably confident, therefore, that I could rule out Baldwin Lightfoot as the instigator of this plot.