Kate Sedley - The Weaver's inheritance

Timothy Plummer sat at the table in Adela Juett’s cottage looking extremely sorry for himself. In front of him was a bowl of bloodstained water, and pressed to his nose a rag on which Adela had smeared some of her home-made sicklewort ointment in order to staunch the bleeding.

‘Master Plummer, I must apologize,’ I said, for what seemed like the twentieth time.

‘So you should,’ he grunted, deigning to speak at last. ‘All I did was touch your shoulder.’ He raised his head and regarded me shrewdly. ‘You’re as jumpy as a cat, Roger. In trouble again? To do, I suppose, with the business you told me about that day in Frome. No!’ He flung up a hand. ‘I don’t want to know. I’ve problems enough of my own.’ He lowered the compress and took a long draught of the ale that Adela had thoughtfully set before him.

His mood was improving, so I drew up another stool to sit opposite him at the table. ‘What are you doing in Bristol?’ I asked. ‘More importantly, what are you doing skulking around this cottage?’

‘I was not skulking,’ he replied indignantly. ‘I was about to knock when I saw you approaching. If you must know, I’m looking for an Imelda Bracegirdle.’ He glanced sideways at Adela.

‘This is the Widow Juett,’ I said quickly. ‘The lady you want is dead. Unhappily, she was murdered last January, and Mistress Juett has been renting the cottage from the Priory ever since.’

Timothy swore softly. ‘ Dead? And since the beginning of the year?’ He chewed his underlip, adding, ‘This will be bad news for the Duke.’

‘For Duke Richard, do you mean?’ I asked, and he nodded. ‘But of what possible concern can it be to His Grace?’

Once again, Timothy glanced at Adela, and she, quick on the uptake as always, took hold of Nicholas’s hand. ‘I’ve promised to visit a neighbour,’ she said, ‘but please don’t disturb yourself, Master Plummer. Stay here as long as you wish; until you feel recovered enough to move.’ She smiled at me and went out, dragging her reluctant son behind her and gently closing the door.

‘Well?’ I demanded impatiently, looking at Timothy.

He swallowed more ale before asking gloomily, ‘You’ve heard the news about Brother George, of course?’

‘What about him? I’ve heard nothing, but then I’ve been on the road for weeks.’

‘I’ve told you before, you just don’t keep your ears open. That’s the trouble with you, Chapman!’ Timothy exclaimed in exasperation. ‘I should have thought that everyone knew by now that the Duke of Clarence was arrested at the beginning of the month and is a prisoner in the Tower. Do you really mean to say you haven’t heard?’

I shook my head, my jaw hanging slack. ‘Not a word,’ I breathed, when finally I could find my voice. ‘I knew that he was arming his retainers. I met whole troops of them when I was in London, in May. And I happened to be at Westminster the day he proclaimed Burdet’s innocence. But the King has forgiven his brother on so many occasions in the past, that I never thought he’d do more than try to reason with him and calm him down. What’s happened to make His Highness behave differently this time?’

My companion grunted. ‘Perhaps Clarence has gone that one step too far. Perhaps the King’s patience has finally run out.’ He lowered his voice. ‘Or perhaps, and I tell you this in the strictest secrecy, Roger, because of the great service you once rendered my master, it’s because King Louis has written to King Edward informing him that Clarence’s bid for the Duchess of Burgundy’s hand was just the first step in an attempt to seize the English crown. Louis says he has this information from his Burgundian spies, who, he maintains, are absolutely to be relied upon. King Edward told my master, who told me in my capacity as his Spy-Master General. So you see, it comes straight from the horse’s mouth.’

I didn’t argue the point, for I had no doubt at all that the Duke of Clarence was perfectly capable of such treachery, judging by his previous conduct. ‘But,’ I cavilled, ‘on what grounds could he possibly depose his elder brother? He’d have to advance some reason, and what could it be? And as well as King Edward, there are the Prince of Wales, the Duke of York and the five Princesses who all have a claim to the throne after their father.’

Timothy propped his elbows on the table and dabbed at his nose, where a thin trickle of blood was beginning to ooze again from his left nostril. ‘As to that, I can’t speculate. Duke Richard is sure that King Louis is lying, in order to make bad blood between his brothers. He might even be right, but he’s been prejudiced against the French ever since the Treaty of Picquigny. But it’s also true that King Louis detests my master. However, whatever the truth of the accusation, Kind Edward thought it serious enough to summon Brother George to Westminster and then order his arrest on a charge of “subverting the laws of the realm and of taking the administration of justice into his own hands.” Members of the Royal Guard were called and Clarence is now safely tucked away in the Tower.’

‘Will there be a trial?’

‘If the King doesn’t decide to pardon him first, then yes, there’s bound to be one sometime or another. And if the Duke’s found guilty, what can the sentence possibly be, other than death?’

‘Edward wouldn’t allow it,’ I predicted confidently. ‘If that happened, he’d reprieve Clarence. Anyway, he’s probably only imprisoned him to give him a fright.’

Timothy pursed his lips. ‘My master isn’t so certain. There are rumours flying about that Clarence employed the Oxford clerk, John Stacey, to cast the King’s horoscope, which prophesied His Highness’s early death.’

‘Is there any substance to these rumours?’

‘Not yet. But there are also whispers that the damning evidence was parcelled up by Stacey and entrusted to a kinsman to bring to a cousin here in Bristol. If that should prove to be the case, then Duke Richard is anxious to get his hands on it before any of the Woodvilles do, so that it can be disposed of.’

If I was shocked at the idea of the Duke of Gloucester destroying evidence that might be used to incriminate his brother, it was an emotion largely suppressed by the tumult of ideas suddenly spinning around in my head.

‘The cousin you mention must have been Imelda Bracegirdle,’ I said. ‘I’d forgotten it until now, but somebody once told me that her mother’s name was Stacey and that she came from Oxford.’ Now at last I knew what it was that had been nagging at me ever since I first heard the name of John Stacey. ‘But why would he want his papers lodged with a kinswoman? Why didn’t he simply burn them? Surely that would have been the safer, easier way?’

‘Maybe they were too valuable. Maybe they represented too many hours’ hard work.’ Timothy drained his cup and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. ‘There’s another rumour that says this cousin is, or was, herself a caster of horoscopes. Perhaps he wished to bequeath her his secrets.’

‘Wait a minute,’ I interrupted. ‘A man did come to this cottage a month or so ago, looking for Mistress Bracegirdle and carrying a bundle of some sort under his arm. I arrived here just as he was leaving, but according to Mistress Juett, he’d claimed to be a kinsman of Imelda. He seemed most put out to discover she was dead.’

Timothy sighed. ‘There you are, then. And if she hadn’t been dead, she’d probably have relieved him of the parcel and hidden it somewhere.’ He glanced disparagingly around the cottage. ‘But it’s difficult to see exactly where.’

‘No, it’s not!’ I cried excitedly, and rose from my stool to fetch the hooked iron bar from its resting place in a corner of the room. I then cleared the rushes from the necessary portion of the floor and raised the flagstone. ‘Come and look at this,’ I invited.