Kate Sedley - The Prodigal Son

‘How do I get to Croxcombe Manor from here?’ I asked as he placed a beaker of small beer before me and gave Hercules another bone to gnaw on.

‘Croxcombe Manor, eh? Well there! If you’d woken betimes, you could have accompanied Master Anthony. But on second thoughts, I’d give the manor a wide berth today, if I were you. Things are going to be pretty lively there, I reckon, when the prodigal turns up. I don’t suppose anyone but George Applegarth will be pleased to see him.’

I swallowed a mouthful of oatcake and asked, ‘Why not?’

The landlord cast a quick glance over his shoulder to make certain that Mistress Litton was nowhere about, then sat down opposite me at the table.

‘The Bellknapps aren’t near neighbours of ours, you understand. On foot it’ll take you the best part of the day to get there, especially as you’re already late setting out. On horseback, now, and with an early start, I daresay Master Anthony will arrive by midday. So, as I say, we’re not near neighbours, but not so far distant that one doesn’t hear things. And the Bellknapp family has been good for gossip in and around Wells these many years, what with Cornelius’s feud with the elder boy, Anthony’s disappearance and then, of course, the robbery and murder of Jenny Applegarth. And now’ — the landlord chuckled — ‘just as matters seem to have settled down, here’s the renegade marching back to claim his inheritance and put young Simon’s nose well and truly out of joint.’ He sighed. ‘I’d give my last groat to witness that encounter.’

I said, ‘I know a little of the Bellknapps’ affairs. A cousin of Dame Audrea is a neighbour of mine, in Bristol.’ I saw the landlord’s look of startled disbelief and hurried on, ‘I assure you it is so, unlikely as it may seem. And to prove I’m telling the truth, I know that Cornelius Bellknapp left everything to his wife until the younger son reaches his eighteenth birthday, when he inherits, but only if the elder brother hasn’t returned by then, when everything goes to him . And now he has.’

Master Litton nodded, eyeing me with a new and wary respect, as though he wasn’t quite sure what to make of me. A pedlar who lived in the same street as a kinsman of Dame Bellknapp was something of a phenomenon, and I could tell he was half inclined to say no more. But curiosity got the better of him and instead of going about his business, he fetched himself a beaker of ale and sat down again.

‘So you can understand as well as I do why Master Simon won’t be pleased to see his brother, and why I’d like to be a fly on the wall at that meeting.’

‘Yes. But you also implied that others in the household won’t exactly welcome Anthony with open arms. What about his mother?’

The landlord shrugged. ‘Gossip says Dame Bellknapp never had much affection for him, not even when he was small. That’s as maybe, and more than I know, but it’s certain he didn’t get on with his father, and his mother holds his behaviour as partly responsible for her husband’s death. Although Master Bellknapp must have felt some remorse for his treatment of Anthony, or he wouldn’t have left things as he did when he was dying.’

‘You say this George Applegarth is fond of him?’

‘Oh, aye! He’s Dame Bellknapp’s steward and his wife, Jenny, was nurse to both the boys in turn. They’ve no children of their own and Anthony was like a son to them, the more so because he was neglected by his parents. Yes, George Applegarth, at least, will be delighted by his return.’

I reflected that for a distant neighbour, Master Litton knew a great deal about the Bellknapps, their history and their household. I was not, however, surprised. I had grown up in Wells and knew as well as anyone how far and how swiftly gossip travelled. And what better place than an alehouse — or inn, as I felt sure the landlord would have preferred me to call it — for the telling and hearing of such local tittle-tattle?

‘And the rest of Dame Bellknapp’s retainers?’ I enquired. ‘Surely they have nothing against Master Anthony? His return can make no difference to them.’

Again the landlord shrugged and waved his free hand while sipping his ale. ‘We-ell, the old chaplain, now, Henry Rokewood, nearing sixty I should guess, he and the older boy never got on. Poor old Sir Henry has a limp and a stammer — had ’em for years — and boys being boys, and a bit cruel sometimes, Master Anthony used to make fun of him. I’ve seen him do it in the street with everyone looking on and sniggering behind their hands. I’ve laughed myself, I have to confess, for he was a good mimic. But being the butt of a joke’s a different thing altogether, and the chaplain was often near to tears. No, I don’t reckon Sir Henry’ll be pleased at Master Anthony’s return.

‘Then there’s the chamberlain, Jonathan Slye. His sister has a bastard child, a son. A handsome young fellow, about nine years old. The girl could never be persuaded to name the father, but Jonathan Slye swears it’s Anthony.’

And people think that they see life in the towns! ‘Go on,’ I invited, highly diverted.

‘Not much more to tell, really. Rumour has it that Reginald Kilsby — he’s the bailiff — has high hopes of marrying Audrea Bellknapp someday. People do say they’re already lovers, but that may be just malicious gossip. Dame Bellknapp don’t strike me as the sort of woman to marry her bailiff. Bit of fun between the sheets, yes. Marriage, no. But the point is that Reginald Kilsby thinks she might. Simon probably wouldn’t raise any objections: his mother can persuade him to almost anything. But Anthony, he could quite well forbid all thought of any such nonsense.’

I grimaced. ‘If all you say is true, then you’re right. It doesn’t seem likely that Anthony Bellknapp is in for the warmest of welcomes when he reaches Croxcombe.’

‘No. And furthermore, Edward Micheldever — that’s the receiver, a man somewhere about your own age — has not long married a pretty young wife. Anthony’s reputation where women were concerned left much to be desired before he disappeared eight years ago. He may have improved with age, of course, but I doubt it. And he didn’t mention anything of a wife and family to me during our conversation at breakfast this morning. Didn’t talk like a married man either, so I don’t reckon he’s settled down and got wed.’

‘So his arrival really will put the cat among the pigeons?’

‘Bound to. Can’t but do aught else that I can see. Lord! Lord! There’ll be ructions as sure as God’s in His heaven and Old Scratch is down below. Here!’ The landlord caught up my beaker and his own. ‘Let’s have another stoup of ale.’ He noticed my expression and grinned. ‘It’s all right. No charge, but don’t tell my wife.’

He filled the cups from one of the barrels ranged against one wall, and then, rendered mellow more by the gossip than the beer, resumed his seat. Hercules had abandoned his bone and was stretched out contentedly in front of the cold hearth.

‘Do you know anything about the page, this John Jericho?’ I asked. ‘The lad who was accused of the robbery and the murder of Mistress Applegarth?’

Master Litton rubbed his forehead. ‘Nothing much more than that, really. It’s a long time ago now. Six years gone. Quite a stir it caused at the time. I remember the family were away when it happened. Master Bellknapp, Dame Audrea and young Simon, they’d gone on a visit to Sir Damien and Lady Chauntermerle at Kewstoke Hall. Took most of the household with them except for the lower servants, but for some reason, Jenny and George Applegarth must have stayed behind. And the page, of course. Don’t know why he didn’t go. Must’ve pretended to be ill. Anyway, he decamped with all the family silver and some of Dame Audrea’s jewels that she hadn’t packed. Poor Jenny must have disturbed him, so he killed her. Stabbed her through the heart as cool as you please. Disappeared and has never been seen again from that day to this.’