The Christmas Wassail

FOURTEEN

This time, I didn’t bother to light either a candle or a lantern. There was sufficient daylight from the open door to see my way across the hall to the dais and I knew exactly where to find the discarded clothing.

The same disquieting odour still hung about the place; a mustiness compound of dirt, decay and the peculiar sickly-sweet scent of blood. Hercules whimpered a little but did not hang back, trotting ahead of me, although his tail was drooping. Suddenly he stopped, one paw raised, head to one side, listening. I paused also, straining my ears to hear what he had heard, but the silence, except for the whisper of the dead leaves scuttering across the floor, was as profound as ever.

‘What is it, lad?’ I asked.

He gave a single bark, but then proceeded on his way, making straight for the end of the hall. A bird fluttered amongst the rafters high above us and then resumed its slumbers. I told myself I was getting jumpy for no good reason.

I found Sir George’s clothes where I had dropped them earlier, and yet it seemed to me that the sad little pile was not quite where it had been. I plunged my hand inside the pouch, my fingers groping for the paper …

It wasn’t there. The pouch was empty.

At first, of course, I refused to believe it, thinking the note must have slipped under the lining again and ripping at the silk until I had torn almost all of it away from the leather. Nothing. Then I decided I must have fumbled when I put the paper back and dropped it on the floor, so I went down on my hands and knees, feeling all around me in an ever increasing circle. Finally, I was forced to fetch and light a lantern from the counting-house and make a more extensive search. But there was still no sign of any note.

I sat down on the edge of the dais and closed my eyes, trying to recall my actions of an hour or so ago. And with sudden clarity, I could see myself pushing the paper down inside the pouch and then fastening its flap. The note which had summoned Sir George to his death had definitely been there then. Now it was gone. There was, therefore, only one conclusion to be drawn. It had been stolen.

This meant that someone had been here during the time that I had been visiting the hermitage and Goram Lane; someone who, perhaps, had seen me arrive and who, most certainly, had seen me depart. Someone who, even now, might still be watching me. I felt the hairs lift on the nape of my neck.

I stood up slowly and blew out the lantern, my uneasiness communicating itself to Hercules, who began to tremble. He raised his head, sniffing the air while I grabbed my cudgel, swinging it gently to and fro, feeling the comfort of its weighted end. I could do a lot of damage with my trusty ‘Plymouth cloak’.

I walked forward a pace or two, keeping my eyes on the two lines of doors, one on each side of the hall, which gave access to the other parts of the house. Then I told myself I was being foolish. Whoever had been here in my absence would not have expected me to come back — I had not expected it myself — and had probably gone on his way. No one was lying in wait for me. The best thing I could do was to return home and say nothing about today’s events. I could not mention the note without either implicating young Alyson Carpenter or revealing my intention to destroy evidence, but at least I now knew how Sir George had been lured to his death.

A door softly opened and closed somewhere behind me, and I realized with a shock of dismay that I had forgotten the door which invariably opened into and out of the back of any dais; a door which allowed the head of the household to make his entrance or exit after or before everyone else. I swung round, but was a fraction too late. A cloak descended over my head, muffling me in its folds.

Hercules was barking like a fiend and I could hear his jaws snapping as he tried to tackle my assailant. I dropped my cudgel as I sought to free myself from the thick, all-enveloping wool and the hands which were seeking to choke the life out of me through the cloth. But I was at a disadvantage in that the fellow had seized me from behind and so I was unable to use my legs to knee him in the groin. I heard him curse violently as Hercules bit him somewhere tender, but his grip didn’t slacken. Half-throttled, half-stifled, I was beginning to lose consciousness and fought even harder to get my arms free …

A girl’s voice shouted, ‘What are you doing to him? Leave him alone, you brute!’ The hands were suddenly removed from about my neck and I was pushed to the floor. There was a flurry of movement and the next moment the cloak was removed from about my head and shoulders and Alyson was kneeling by my side while Hercules danced around us, pausing occasionally to lick my face. There was a trace of red on his chin. My attacker had obviously drawn blood.

Alyson smoothed the hair back from my forehead. ‘Are you all right?’ she asked.

I nodded weakly, putting up a hand to my mangled throat. I made a sort of croaking noise and then, to my shame and horror, I fainted.

When I came to again, my saviour was bathing my brow with the edge of her cloak which she was dipping in a small basin of greasy-looking water.

‘Where … Where did you get that?’ I wheezed.

She smiled. ‘From the kitchen. There’s still some water in the barrel. It’s a bit slimy, but it won’t do you any harm. The bowl’s rusty and has a small hole in the bottom, so it must have been left behind as useless.’

I sat up abruptly, feeling extremely foolish, and fended off any further ministrations.

‘How long have I been unconscious?’

‘Not many minutes.’

I doubted this, calculating how long it must have taken her to go to the kitchen, find the bowl and water and return. Five minutes? Ten? Fifteen? There was no hope now of overtaking my attacker who must, by this time, be well away. I leant forward, taking Alyson’s wrist in an urgent grip. ‘What did the man look like? You must have seen him. Describe him to me!’

She shrugged her slender shoulders. ‘I would if I could, but he was masked.’

‘Masked? What sort of mask? Was it a bird with a big, hooked beak?’

‘No. A dog with a silly, flat sort of face.’ She sat back on her heels, regarding me. ‘Are you all right now?’

I scrambled to my feet, unhappily aware that I must cut an undignified figure. ‘Yes, of course I’m all right. I can’t think how I came to faint like that. It must have been the shock of the assault.’

She nodded gravely. ‘And you’re not a young man.’

For a moment, I was speechless. Finally, ‘And I’m not in my dotage, either,’ I snapped. She would have spoken again, but I forestalled her. Any attempt at explanation on her part would, I felt, only make matters worse and shatter my self-esteem completely. Besides, another thought had occurred to me. ‘Why did you come after me?’

Alyson also rose to her feet, putting the bowl down on the dais and wiping her wet fingers in her cloak. She looked a little apprehensive. ‘Are you going home to Bristol now?’ she asked.

‘That is my intention. Unless,’ I added grimly, ‘I get ambushed by my assailant on the way. But this time I shall be on my guard. He won’t get the better of me again. Why do you want to know?’

‘Then will you please take me with you?’ Her face was eager. ‘I can’t risk the journey on my own.’

‘Do your mother and father know of this request?’

She gave me a pitying look. ‘Of course not, stupid.’

‘In other words, you’re running away from home. The answer is no, I won’t take you.’

‘Oh, please!’ She was reproachful. ‘I’ve just saved your life.’

I sighed. ‘Don’t think I’m not grateful. I am. Very. But I won’t help you deceive your parents. Anyway, why do you want to go to Bristol?’

‘I heard the mummers are playing there during Christmas.’

‘There are mummers, certainly. But they’re a very small troupe.’

She nodded eagerly. ‘I know. They stopped to give a performance in Clifton before going on to the city. But the girl who plays the Fair Maiden, Toby’s wife’ — she coloured slightly as she spoke his name — ‘is with child. She won’t be able to perform much longer. I could help them out.’

That all-betraying blush made the situation perfectly plain. She fancied young Master Warrener and intended to seduce him. She would probably succeed. Maybe she had succeeded already. I felt a sudden surge of anger on Dorcas’s behalf.

‘You know Tobias Warrener, do you? You made friends with him?’

My tone was dry and she lifted her chin defiantly. ‘We talked after the performance, that’s all.’

‘But you’d like to know him better, is that it?’ She refused to reply, her mouth setting in a mulish line. I went on: ‘My answer is no, mistress, I won’t take you to Bristol with me. I won’t help you to deceive your parents, nor will I help you to come between a man and his wife. The mummers are friends of mine. I’m truly grateful for all you’ve done for me, but no!’

I picked up my cudgel and Hercules began frisking around me in joyful anticipation of moving at last.

‘I’ll follow you,’ she threatened.

I shook my head. ‘You won’t be able to keep up. I have a very long stride.’

‘I hate you,’ she said. ‘I wish I’d let that man kill you. It would have served you right.’

I couldn’t help laughing, which made her angrier than ever and she lashed out at me with her little fists. I decided it was time to be gone. I gripped her by the shoulders.

‘Sweetheart,’ I said, ‘you’re a very pretty girl who could make a good match if you’d just learn to behave yourself. Forget about men like Sir George and young Toby Warrener. Look around you for a decent husband and settle down to domestic life and having children. It’s what women are for.’

Her eyes narrowed as she scrutinized me carefully. ‘You sound just like my father.’ She pulled herself free of my grasp. ‘Just like all men,’ she continued scornfully. ‘You’re even older than I thought. If you have a daughter, I’m sorry for her!’ Then she was gone, her cloak flying out behind her as she vanished through the door.

I stared sadly at Hercules. ‘She’s right, you know, lad. I used to try to seduce girls, not read them lectures about propriety.’ He barked and jumped up at me excitedly, anxious to be on his way. He didn’t care for this place with its lingering smell of death. With my free hand, I fastened my cloak at the throat and pulled up the hood, then swung my cudgel once again. ‘There’s one thing,’ I added as we moved towards the oblong of grey daylight at the other end of the hall. ‘She needn’t feel sorry for Elizabeth. That girl never heeds a word I say. As far as she’s concerned, I’m just an eddy of trouble disturbing the otherwise calm waters of her life.’

Although I was on my guard, our return journey to Bristol was uneventful. Such people as we passed were all going about their lawful business and were uninterested in a man and his dog. One or two gave us greetings of the season, wishing me the love of the Holy Virgin and her Babe; others were too busy collecting fresh branches of greenery with which to decorate their houses anew for the great festival of Twelfth Night Eve, now only four days away. This was the night when we would all go wassailing around the orchards, pouring jugs of sweet cider around the base of the tree trunks; libations to the old Saxon gods of the Tree and the Stone. For generations, the Church had tried to suppress such heathenish practices, but to no avail. So they had wisely incorporated it into the Feast of the Epiphany and the coming of the Wise Men to the stable, where they had been shown the Christ Child in his manger, the Hope and the Light of the world. (But the old gods still held their place in people’s hearts and refused to be ousted.)

Adela was in the kitchen, putting the finishing touches to her Twelfth Night cake.

‘You both look exhausted,’ she said, putting down a plate of scraps for Hercules, who fell on them like a ravening wolf. ‘You’ve walked that poor dog off his feet, and in this cold weather, too.’ She regarded me thoughtfully. ‘You don’t look too well, yourself. Supper won’t be long, but first, I’m afraid you have a visitor. James Marvell. He’s in the parlour, warming his toes.’

He was in fact pacing around, impatient for my return, dressed in funereal black from head to toe.

‘Master Chapman,’ he said eagerly as I entered, ‘I think I may know where we might find Miles Deakin.’ He paused, suddenly concerned as I swayed a little on my feet. ‘Is something wrong? Shall I call your wife?’

‘No, no!’ I sank gratefully into one of the armchairs. ‘I shall be all right in a moment or two and I don’t wish to worry her. Is that a jug of ale I see on the hearth? If you’d be kind enough to pour me some …’

‘Of course.’ He handed me a brimming beaker, then settled down in the chair opposite mine, the fire crackling and sparking between us. ‘Has something happened?’

I suddenly changed my mind and decided to tell him everything, holding nothing back. He listened attentively, merely grimacing slightly over the intelligence that his grandfather had bedded a girl young enough to be his granddaughter. But, ‘I’m afraid he couldn’t leave women alone, and the younger the better,’ was his only remark, made with a wry grimace.

Finally, I came to the end of my recital and waited for his further comments. He leant forward, elbows on knees. ‘You don’t think these Carpenters, this Alyson’s parents, could be my grandfather’s murderers, do you?’

It was a thought that, until that moment, had not occurred to me, and I stared at him, somewhat shocked that I could have overlooked such an easy and obvious answer. But after a moment or two, the reason for this omission was clear and I gave a decisive shake of my head.

‘From what I saw of them, neither is sufficiently strong. Nor would they be even as a pair. You saw your grandfather’s body. It was a vicious, brutal murder carried out by at least two people with a desperate grudge. I doubt very much indeed if Alyson’s parents would have dared lay a finger on Sir George, whatever their feelings about him. Besides, they know their daughter. According to the Saint Vincent’s hermit, the whole district knows her for what she is. They must realize only too well that disposing of one man would in no way prevent her moving on to the next. No, I think we can absolve Master and Mistress Carpenter of the crime with absolute certainty.’

James nodded. ‘I think so, too. You say this unknown attacker tried to kill you. You’re sure of that? He wasn’t just trying to lay you out?’

I swallowed the dregs of my ale and wiped my mouth on the back of my hand. ‘It’s not the first attempt on my life,’ I said, and told him the story of the poisoning.

He frowned. ‘And your little son definitely saw someone put something in your drink during the Saint Thomas Becket’s Day wassail? You believe him?’

‘Why shouldn’t I? I had already suspected poisoning myself, my sickness was so violent.’

‘But why? Why should anyone wish to kill you?’

I shrugged. ‘You may be aware that I have a certain reputation for solving mysteries.’ This was no time for false modesty. ‘Perhaps whoever it was is afraid that I’m getting too close.’

‘And who is that?’

‘The man in the bird mask, obviously. The same man who was seen outside your and Dame Drusilla’s houses the afternoon before your grandfather disappeared. The man who must have given him the bogus note from Alyson Carpenter that sent him hurrying up to Clifton in the middle of the night.’

James chewed a thumbnail. ‘Which could, of course, have been Miles Deakin,’ he murmured.

‘Quite so. You say you know where he can be found?’

‘Might be found. I’ve been talking to one of my great-aunt’s maids who, if I read the situation aright, was enjoying the young man’s favours at the same time that he was paying court to Drusilla herself.’

I pulled down the corners of my mouth. ‘An enterprising fellow, making sure of a good lay once he was married to Mistress Marvell.’

James looked sour. ‘So I think. I begin to sympathize with my grandfather’s view of the matter.’

‘And this girl knows where he might be?’

‘Yes. She thinks, although, mark you, she isn’t sure, that he and his parents went into Gloucestershire, to his mother’s sister, who lives near Nibley Green.’

I nodded. ‘I know the place. There was a battle there some thirteen years ago. I remember it being talked of when I was a novice at Glastonbury Abbey. I think the village still bears some of the scars.’

My companion grunted. ‘It was between the Berkeleys and the Talbots, I believe, to settle some private grudge. I’ve heard people mention it.’ He hesitated. ‘I was wondering,’ he said eventually, ‘if you would be willing to go to Nibley to see if you can ferret out any information concerning the Deakin family.’ He gave a deprecating shrug and indicated his mourning. ‘I can hardly leave my father just at this present. So much work has devolved upon him, and Bart is worse than useless. Patience also, and although I hesitate to own it, my mother is little better. Do you think you could see your way to doing me this favour?’

‘No,’ I answered brusquely. ‘To Nibley and back would take the better part of four days and my wife and family would very reasonably be angry at my absence on Twelfth Night Eve. What with the wassailing and the first-footing it’s the most important day of the festivities. I’m sorry, Master Marvell, but I must decline. I’ll go after Twelfth Night. I have to be on my travels then, in any case. I shall need to be hawking my wares or the family purse will be empty. I can easily journey that way and call at Nibley Green and North Nibley in the course of my work.’

He leant forward eagerly. ‘I’ll hire a horse for you again from the Bell Lane stables. On horseback, you could get there and back easily in two, maybe two-and-a-half days.’

‘Is the matter so urgent? Don’t forget that enquiries are still being made by the sheriff and his men and will continue to be, despite the season. Indeed, now might be the time to inform them of our suspicions of this Miles Deakin and leave them to do whatever they think fit.’

James bit his lip, then shook his head decisively. ‘No, for the reasons I gave you before. The sheriff was with my father and myself this morning and, as you may imagine, he is being pressed by the mayor and aldermen for an arrest. Two prominent citizens murdered most barbarically! Miles Deakin wouldn’t stand a chance.’

‘He would stand his trial the same as anybody else.’

‘And have you never known an innocent man condemned?’

I said nothing. I couldn’t deny it. I wondered if he knew the story of Robert Herepath, who had been hanged for the murder of a man who wasn’t even dead, and my involvement in it. ‘Very well,’ I conceded after a few moments. ‘But as I told you, I’ll not go until next week. After Twelfth Night.’

‘I repeat, I’ll pay for a horse if you’ll go tomorrow.’

‘Why? A few days can make no difference.’

‘I can’t really explain.’ His gaze shifted and he stared into the heart of the fire. ‘If the murderer is this Miles Deakin, I want to know. He has a simple, straightforward motive. Revenge.’ He shifted uneasily in his chair. ‘I’m concerned about my father. Something is worrying him. He denies it most emphatically. Too emphatically. But there is something on his mind which is troub-ling him. If it is at all possible, I should like the killer found for his sake.’

‘You’re sure you’re not imagining this? Your grandfather’s murder, the brutal nature of it, must have shaken you all.’

He raised his eyes to mine. ‘No, I’m not imagining it. I know my father too well.’

‘Has it occurred to you,’ I asked after a moment or two, ‘that this Miles Deakin might not be capable of writing his name? In a man’s flesh or anywhere else.’

He glanced up, startled. ‘No,’ he said slowly. ‘I hadn’t thought of that. You’re right, of course. It’s quite possible that he couldn’t.’

‘Moreover,’ I went on, ‘I’m still convinced that it took two people to commit both murders. Mind you, that doesn’t necessarily rule out the fact that it could be Deakin. He might have had an accomplice.’

‘And he might be able to write his name.’

‘D-I-E-K-I-N.’

‘Yes. There are many ways of spelling a name. Grandfather spelt ours several different ways. You said yourself that you thought the despoiling of the body was interrupted.’

‘I still think it possible.’ I said nothing about Briant of Dungarvon. That was my secret and would remain so.

‘Look,’ James urged, leaning forward once again in his chair, ‘we have to find this Miles Deakin and make up our minds if we think he could be the killer. And the sooner the better, as far as I’m concerned. I tell you, Master Chapman, I truly am concerned about my father. There is definitely something bothering him. For his peace of mind, if it is this Deakin fellow, I want him caught. If, on the other hand, it turns out that he could not possibly be the guilty man, then we must think again.’

‘And you have no idea what it might be that is worrying Master Marvell?’

He shook his head.

‘Have you asked him?’

‘Certainly. But he denies that there is anything wrong. He insists that I’m imagining it. But I’m not.’

‘Has any other member of your family noticed anything?’

He shook his head. ‘They think his depression is due to the circumstances of my grandfather’s death.’

‘But that’s not your opinion?’

‘Partly. Naturally it is. But I also believe that Father knows something about Grandfather’s past which may do the old man discredit. Maybe, in a moment of honesty, Grandfather confided some secret to him.’ He broke off, shrugging. ‘And then again, perhaps it is just my imagination.’

‘Let me get this clear,’ I said. ‘You’re hoping that this young man, this Miles Deakin, will turn out to be Sir George’s killer for the very good reason that he has a simple, understandable motive. As you said yourself, revenge. Revenge for his beating at your grandfather’s hands and revenge for his parents’ loss of livelihood. Am I right?’

‘Yes.’

‘And you also think that such an outcome would relieve your father’s mind of whatever it is you fancy is bothering him?’

‘Yes,’ he said again.

I sighed. ‘Very well. Hire me a horse from the Bell Lane stables and I’ll set off first thing tomorrow morning. But if I find that the Deakin family has moved on further north than Nibley Green, I’m not going after them. I intend to be home for Twelfth Night Eve come what may. Is that understood?’

James got to his feet and wrung my hand in gratitude. ‘Thank you, Master Chapman. I shan’t forget this. If ever I can do you a good turn, just let me know. The horse will be waiting for you in the stables tomorrow morning from first light. Once again, I thank you most sincerely.’

I grimaced. ‘You wouldn’t care to come and explain things to my wife, I suppose? She is not going to be pleased.’

Adela, however, when I told her over supper, appeared more resigned than angry, merely remarking that she had always known how it would be. ‘For the fact is, Roger, that from the moment I heard the news of Sir George’s murder, I knew you would be unable to keep out of it; that you would be poking and prying about, if only to annoy poor Richard.’

I protested at this calumny as well as I could through a mouthful of apple dumpling, much to the amusement of the children, who were convulsed with laughter.

‘You’re like the dog!’ shouted Adam. ‘You’re like the dog when he tried to bark with his mouth full of sosinges.’

This remark was kindly translated for me by Elizabeth, who explained that Margaret Walker had taken her, Nicholas and Adam to see the mummers that afternoon; a farcical comedy about the Sultan of Morocco and his dog, Ali, whose job it was to bark every time his master was in danger, but who also had a passion for sausages which he stole from the Sultan’s kitchens.

‘And he couldn’t bark,’ Adam reiterated, banging his spoon in ecstasy on the table, ‘’cause his mouth was full up with sosinges.’

‘The dog was played by Master Chorley,’ my daughter added. ‘You can always tell it’s him by his missing fingers.’

‘And Mistress Tabitha was the Cook and Tobias was the Sultan,’ my stepson said, passing his plate for a second helping of dumpling. ‘Master Monkton wasn’t there today. I expect he’d drunk too much and was having a rest.’

This idea made us all laugh, and the subject of the mummers and their plays lasted us very well until bedtime. Adela insisted we all retired together.

‘For thanks to your foolhardiness,’ she told me, ‘in agreeing to this jaunt, you’ve a tiring few days ahead of you.’