Kate Sedley: The Prodigal Son

‘Neither of the men with her recognized him as this John Jericho.’

‘Her steward, George Applegarth and her receiver, Edward Micheldever … No, they didn’t, or so I understand. That is what’s exercising Sergeant Manifold’s mind. That’s why I consulted with my friends.’ That meant the mayor and the rest of the Bristol hierarchy. ‘But the charge is a serious one. Robbery and murder. It couldn’t be ignored.’

‘It’s your cousin’s word against my — against the Irishman’s,’ I pointed out, sounding more aggressive than I meant to.

John Foster raised his eyebrows, but if he noticed my slip, he gave no sign. He merely shrugged and asked, ‘What’s your interest in this affair, Master Chapman?’

‘I don’t like the thought of an innocent man being imprisoned,’ I answered with perfect truthfulness.

‘If he is innocent, neither do I,’ was the swift rejoinder. ‘So am I to understand that you are taking up the cudgels in defence of this John Wedmore?’ He gave both names an emphasis that it was impossible to ignore.

‘John is a very common name,’ I said. ‘Indeed, it’s your own. And although he freely admits to being from these parts originally, the young man swears he was in Ireland six years ago.’

‘Do you intend going to Ireland?’ the alderman enquired with a faint smile.

‘No.’ And I gave him my reasons.

His smile grew rueful. ‘You believe justice is only for the rich?’

‘I think that people with money and influence stand a better chance of it. Yes, of course I do, don’t you?’

He didn’t answer the question directly, but after a moment, said quietly, ‘I’ll do what I can to help you in your quest for the truth of this matter. You want a history of the Bellknapp family. I’ve already told you, I’m not close to my cousin, but I’ve probably picked up enough information over the years, during her annual visits to Saint James’s fair, to be of some use to you. I stress again that my knowledge is limited, but such as it is, I’ll share it with you.’

He arranged himself comfortably, eased his back, cleared his throat and began.

‘Audrea Bellknapp is a cousin on my mother’s side of the family, several times removed. What her maiden name was, I have no idea and can hardly believe it relevant to anything you might wish to know. Suffice it to say that ever since I can remember she has been first the wife, then the widow of Cornelius Bellknapp of Croxcombe Manor. This, I understand, although I have never visited it, lies a mile or so from Wells, at the foot of the Mendips.

‘I have met Cornelius, in the days when he used to accompany his wife to Saint James’s fair, and, if I’m honest, I didn’t much care for him. A very serious man, strict in his ways and expecting everyone else to be the same; judging people by his own limited perception of right and wrong. A man who lacked — now, how shall I put it? A man who lacked the gift of laughter. Yes, I think that describes him perfectly. But he suited Audrea, who is herself a woman without a sense of humour.

‘Cornelius did not, however, get on with the elder of their two sons. According to my cousin, Anthony was nothing but trouble from an early age.’ John Foster grimaced sympathetically. ‘I imagine the poor young fellow was simply a normal, mischievous little boy, but one who was punished and reprimanded so often for what was nothing more than high spirits that he grew up at loggerheads with both parents, but particularly with his father. Audrea was inclined to blame, at least partially, the boy’s nurse, Jenny Applegarth, the wife of her steward, who doted on the child, and was thought to have encouraged his rebellious attitude.’

‘Isn’t that the woman who was murdered?’ I interrupted.

The alderman nodded. ‘It is. She was, I believe, stabbed to death while trying to foil a robbery by my cousin’s page, this John Jericho you’ve heard mentioned.’

‘The young man Dame Bellknapp accuses Master Wedmore of being.’

‘Quite so. But to return to my history. Anthony Bellknapp was some ten or eleven years old — I think I’m right in saying that — on the way to manhood, at any rate — when another son, Simon, was born, and who, for some unfathomable reason, immediately became the darling of both mother and father.’ My informant sniffed disparagingly. ‘He accompanied his mother to the fair last year and Audrea brought him with her when she paid us a visit. The vagaries of the human heart are hard to define, Master Chapman. I thought him a mean-minded, petulant youth, with little interest in anyone or anything beyond himself and his own interests. However,’ the alderman added hurriedly, ‘maybe I’m being unfair to him. He wasn’t here above an hour, and it’s difficult to make a judgement in so short a time.’

‘Did Mistress Foster and your children feel the same way about him?’

‘My son wasn’t present, but … Yes, yes! I have to admit that my wife and daughter shared my opinion. But again, I digress. Where was I?’

‘The birth of Simon Bellknapp.’

‘Indeed. Well, his arrival, and the fact that he could do no wrong in his parents’ eyes, only made matters worse between Anthony and his father. Eventually, about eight years ago, things came to a head. There was a terrible quarrel between the two, during the course of which it seems Anthony drew his dagger and attacked Cornelius. I gathered from my cousin’s account that he did no actual harm to his father, but the assault was serious enough for the young man to be sent packing and told in no uncertain terms never to set foot in the house again.’

‘What happened to him?’ I asked curiously.

The alderman shrugged. ‘No one knows. He’s never been seen from that day to this. Nor has there been any word as to his whereabouts. At the end, when Cornelius was dying — he died the year before last — I think he might have been glad to have some news of his elder son. At least, that was the impression my cousin gave me. And he refused to disinherit Anthony completely. Audrea tells me that everything is left to her until either Simon reaches his eighteenth birthday (when the manor will pass to him entirely) or until Anthony reappears, whichever is the sooner, when everything goes to him .’ My informant tut-tutted disapprovingly. ‘A most foolish way of carrying on, if you want my opinion. It leaves young Simon for the next three years not knowing where he stands; uncertain of his future. Much as I dislike the boy, it’s unjust to my way of thinking.’ John Foster took a deep breath and stretched his arms above his head. ‘So there you are, my dear sir. That’s the history of the Bellknapps insofar as I know it. A very incomplete history, I’m sure, but I’m afraid I can do no better.’

‘Can you tell me anything about the robbery and murder, sir?’

The alderman shook his head. ‘No more than you probably know already. My cousin’s young page tried to steal the family silver, was discovered by Jenny Applegarth and he killed her. He disappeared the same night, vanishing without trace. Until, perhaps, now. But if you want more details on that score, you’ll have to approach my cousin herself. Or someone of her household.’

‘Is she still in Bristol?’

‘I doubt it. She’s not a woman who approves of inns, and the journey to Croxcombe can easily be achieved in a little over three hours on horseback at this time of year, when the roads are dry and the days longer. I imagine her departure from the city was delayed following her accusation against this unfortunate young fellow — Wedmore? Is that the name? — but, even so, she could still most likely have been home before nightfall. I’d own myself surprised if she were still here, but you could make enquiries. Sergeant Manifold will probably be able to tell you. He must know what arrangements have been made.’