The Midsummer Rose

Twelve

It was a disturbed night. Adela, myself and the three children, not to mention Hercules, were awakened in the small hours of the morning by the thunderstorm that had been threatening the previous day. I went downstairs to calm the dog, and returned to find my place usurped by Adam, who refused point-blank to return to his attic room.

By this time, I was in one of my foulest moods, the bruises and cuts I had received during my fight with Burl Hodge beginning to make themselves felt. I shunted my son to the middle of the mattress, fell in beside him and tried to sleep.

But the events of the previous evening kept going around and around in my head while I tossed and turned and tried to get comfortable. It must have been nearly dawn when I finally drifted into an uneasy doze, from which I was aroused all too soon by the sound of someone banging loudly on our outer door. Groaning and cursing, I heaved myself up, searching for shoes and a cloak with which to cover my nakedness.

Adela was already out of bed, shrugging on a long, loose gown over her nightrail and twisting her two thick braids of dark hair up around her head.

‘Whoever can that be?’ she asked, perturbed. ‘I hope Margaret hasn’t been taken ill!’

I ran downstairs, careless of my state of undress, and unbolted and unlocked the street door, expecting to see either Maria Watkins or a distraught Bess Simnel standing outside. Instead, it was one of our neighbours from across the street, a widow who, so far, had steadfastly refused to acknowledge our existence. But now, she was even moved to seize my hand.

‘Have you heard?’ she gasped. But before I had time to shake my head, she continued. ‘Robin Avenel was found murdered late last night in Jewry Lane.’ She shuddered dramatically. ‘Stabbed through the heart, they say. Left to welter in a pool of blood!’

It was Midsummer’s Day, the Feast of the Nativity of Saint John the Baptist, and we were all going to church at Saint Lawrence’s.

Dressing was a difficult business: it was impossible to concentrate with a mind in turmoil. I cut myself twice while shaving because I had forgotten to sharpen my knife, and because I wouldn’t wait for the water Adela was heating over the fire, but used cold from the pump instead. My fingers were all thumbs, and in trying to fasten my shirt to my breeches I tangled the laces and had to stand impatiently while Adela unknotted them.

‘For goodness’ sake, you’re worse than a child,’ she admonished me in a very wifely fashion. ‘This doesn’t concern you, Roger. It’s not your business. What needs to be done will already have been taken care of by the Sheriff’s Officers and members of the Watch. Now, sit down quietly and eat some breakfast before I lose my temper. You look terrible. Your face is covered in scratches, your eyes have black rings under them from lack of sleep and you’re wearing a dirty shirt that I had put aside to be washed. In addition,’ she went on severely, ‘you’ve been warned by Timothy Plummer to steer clear of any matter concerning Robin Avenel.’

‘Bad man!’ Adam shouted at me, banging his spoon on the kitchen table to indicate that his bowl was empty.

He was learning to speak fast, and I wasn’t sure I cared for this latest addition to his vocabulary, especially as it afforded such amusement to his half-brother and sister. But Adela was right. There was nothing I could usefully do besides ascertain the facts. I had been warned to keep my nose clean or face unpleasant consequences for myself and my family.

But fate was busy taking a hand. I was about to become embroiled whether I wanted to or not.

I was just wiping the grease from my chin after consuming a second bacon collop — all the sweeter because we usually fasted before going to Mass, but Adela had decided this morning that I was in need of nourishment — when there was another knock on the street door; a loud, purposeful banging that, to my ears at least, clearly betokened Authority.

‘Now, who can that be?’ Adela asked of no one in particular. She tidied away a few strands of loose hair beneath her linen cap, smoothed down her apron and went to answer the summons. The children, uninterested, continued eating voraciously, not even glancing up from their bowls when she returned.

‘It’s Richard,’ Adela announced, a tinge of uneasiness colouring her tone.

She stood aside to allow Sergeant Richard Manifold into the kitchen, an unwelcome guest who was followed by his two equally unwelcome henchmen, Jack Gload and Peter Littleman. Meanly, I was secretly delighted to note that the former’s weaselly little face was disfigured by a very swollen nose and a black right eye. Someone had set about him with a will. I silently cheered that someone.

‘What a nice surprise,’ I said. Hercules began attacking Peter Littleman’s ankles, but unfortunately made no impression on his thick leather boots. Still, I didn’t discourage the animal; he was only doing his duty as a guard dog, after all. ‘I don’t recall inviting you three to breakfast.’

‘Roger!’ Adela said warningly. She satisfied herself that the children had finished eating, then sent them off to play in the buttery. ‘Please, sit down,’ she invited our intrepid law officers politely. ‘Would you like some ale?’

I frowned, but happily Richard Manifold overruled the eager nods of Jack and Pete with a shake of his head. ‘We’re on official duty,’ he said.

‘What sort of official duty?’ Adela sounded anxious, no doubt recalling the time her former admirer had arrived at our cottage in Lewin’s Mead to arrest me for murder.

The sergeant smiled thinly, obviously reading her thoughts.

‘It’s all right, my dear.’ Who asked him to call my wife his dear? My hackles rose. ‘On this occasion Roger is a witness, not a suspect.’ A witness? To what? I was mystified. Richard continued. ‘You’ve no doubt heard the news?’

‘About Robin Avenel’s murder, you mean?’ I leaned forward, suddenly all attention. ‘A neighbour told us earlier this morning. Stabbed to death in Jewry Lane, I understand. Do you have any idea when it happened?’

Richard looked annoyed at this turning of the tables on what, after all, was his interrogation.

‘It has to be some time between nine o’clock and midnight,’ he answered grudgingly. ‘Members of the Watch passed along Jewry Lane on their way to help quell the prentices’ riot. The body wasn’t there then. And Edgar Capgrave says he saw nothing after he’d locked the Frome Gate at curfew, when he walked along Jewry Lane to his home in Fish Lane. But at midnight, when the Watch were back on normal patrol, they found Master Avenel’s body sprawled outside Saint Giles’s Church.’

‘So how can I help you?’ I asked. ‘To what am I supposed to have been a witness?’

‘Not supposed to have been,’ was the retort. ‘According to my information, you were.’ Richard Manifold’s chest swelled importantly. ‘We think we already know the murderer. Burl Hodge.’

‘Burl Hodge?’ I was scathing. ‘You must be joking! Burl wouldn’t murder anyone. Oh, he has a hot temper, I grant you that, but he’d never kill someone. Why in the name of Hades do you think it’s Burl?’

‘He deliberately picked a fight with Robin Avenel last night. Accused him of insulting his wife, or some such thing. You can’t deny it, Roger. He would have assaulted Master Avenel even more violently if you hadn’t arrived to prevent him. Then he turned on you. But during your little scuffle, his intended victim escaped. Burl must have sought him out later and finished what he’d started.’

‘How do you know all this?’ I demanded. ‘Who’s been spying on me?’

‘No one’s been spying on you.’ Richard snorted contemptuously at the very idea of such a waste of his and his men’s precious time. ‘You were seen. There was another witness who saw everything. An old beggar who’s been hanging around the town for a week or two now. Comes and goes, but I’ve noticed him about on several occasions.’

Timothy Plummer! Perhaps his disguise was better than I’d thought. Richard apparently hadn’t recognized him, in spite of having encountered Timothy the previous summer in the latter’s official capacity as the King’s Spymaster General.

Where had he been yesterday evening? Standing somewhere behind me in the alleyway leading to Redcliffe Back. I hadn’t been aware of him and I offered him a silent apology: he was obviously better at his job than I’d given him credit for. But what underhand game was he playing? It was plain to me that Timothy was the person subtly directing the sergeant’s attention towards Burl Hodge. He had observed Burl’s attack on Robin Avenel and his subsequent tussle with me, and was using both incidents for his own nefarious ends.

Which were? I was unable to say for certain, but I suspected it was a diversion of some sort to distract attention from the Avenels’ other, more treasonable activities. Would Timothy care if a man were hanged for a murder he didn’t commit? I reached the reluctant conclusion that he probably wouldn’t.

‘So, where does Burl say he was last night?’ I enquired.

Richard shrugged. ‘Where you’d expect. Says he was at home in bed with his wife. Says they both headed for their cottage as soon as the riot became serious, and stayed there.’

‘That sounds like good sense. Jenny confirms this?’

‘Naturally. But it’s just what she would say, isn’t it? In these circumstances, her testimony is useless.’

I curled my lip. ‘You know Jenny Hodge as well as I do, Sergeant. Probably better. Do you really think her a woman who would lie to save a murderer? Even her own husband?’

Richard Manifold shifted uncomfortably on his stool and made no answer. I guessed that the Sheriff and other civic eminences had pressed for an early arrest. An important and wealthy citizen had been done to death, and such a killing called for swift, if not immediate, retribution.

‘Where is Burl?’ Adela asked, speaking for the first time. I could hear the anger trembling in her voice.

Richard cleared his throat, a little too noisily. ‘He’s in the bridewell.’

‘And you’ve pursued no other lines of enquiry?’ I didn’t bother to hide my disgust.

Richard flushed angrily. ‘We don’t believe in wasting public time and money. There are no other suspects. With the beggarman’s testimony and yours, why should we search any further?’

I sprang to my feet. I wasn’t aware of how I looked, but Adela later described my expression as murderous. I advanced my face to within about two inches of Richard’s.

‘What you mean is that our precious Mayor and Corporation want this murder solved in double-quick time and with no awkward questions asked. The Sheriff, at least, must know that there are suspicions of treasonable activity in connection with Robin Avenel. That I, myself, have implicated him in what happened to me at Rownham Passage. That I am still willing to swear that Elizabeth Alefounder and her maid were present, that they assaulted me, and that one of them killed the Irish sea captain, whose body was dragged out of the Avon twelve days ago. But Robin Avenel was a respected citizen of this fair city — ’ I sneered openly — ‘and his father, the soapmaker — ’ I managed to make it sound like an insult — ‘has a bottomless purse that is always at the disposal of the City Fathers. And we don’t want to sacrifice a good Bristol citizen and sully his name with accusations of treason, do we? Especially not when Providence has so thoughtfully provided us with our very own ram in the thicket. Well, I’m not going to let it rest there!’

Richard Manifold had the grace to blush, but he answered steadily. ‘Then you’re an even bigger fool than I take you for. Remember, you’re a family man now. You can no longer afford to take the law into your own hands.’

‘And if I refuse to testify against Burl?’

‘You’ll find yourself in the bridewell on a charge of obstructing justice. You may also find yourself accused of being an accessory to murder. Don’t forget we have the beggar’s testimony.’ He appealed to Adela. ‘Make him see sense, my dear.’

‘Roger …’ she began, but I interrupted with a roar.

‘Who asked you to keep calling my wife your dear? Get out of my house before I lose control and give you the same treatment that your red-nosed friend here has suffered at some other hero’s hands. Whoever it was, he has my undying admiration.’

‘It was Luke Prettywood,’ Jack Gload snuffled, fingering the swollen member tenderly. ‘Well, he’s got his comeuppance.’ He tried to grin, but I was happy to note that it hurt his face, so he desisted.

Richard got to his feet with more dignity than I think I could have mustered in the circumstances. He nodded to Adela, then turned to look at me.

‘I shall expect you this afternoon, Roger, at the Councillors’ Meeting Hall to make your deposition. Don’t let me wait in vain.’

And on this warning note, he left, Peter Littleman and Jack Gload trailing in his wake.

I have been inattentive in God’s house many times in my life, but that Midsummer morning I don’t believe that I was aware of a single thing that went on around me. In my own defence, I have to say that I was not the only person paying scant attention. There was an undercurrent of unease, of feverish excitement, and a constant sibilance that suggested much whispering behind hands and an even greater disregard of the priest than usual. And, once released from our devotions, the babel of voices was worthy of the great tower itself. The names of Burl Hodge and Robin Avenel were on everybody’s lips.

There was no sign of any member of the Avenel household present, but that was hardly surprising. They must still be coming to terms with their recent bereavement. But I couldn’t help wondering how the smart young widow was bearing her loss. And what of Luke Prettywood? How was he taking the news? Where had he been when Robin Avenel was murdered?

The tidings that I was to be one of the Crown’s two chief witnesses against Burl Hodge had not yet reached a wider public. So Adela, the children and I were allowed to escape the crowds still milling around Saint Lawrence’s Church, not yet sated with gossip, and make our way home to Small Street unmolested. But we breathed a sigh of relief too soon. Dreams of a quiet family dinner while we took stock of the situation were shattered as soon as we saw Margaret Walker standing outside the house, impatiently awaiting our return.

‘Roger!’ She wasted no time on any other greeting. ‘Have you heard about Burl?’ When I nodded, she went on urgently, ‘You must come back with me to Redcliffe and speak to Jenny. She’s beside herself with anxiety. She thinks you might be able to prove Burl’s innocence. Don’t shake your head like that. You’ve solved other mysteries. You helped me and Lillis. Don’t worry about your dinner. I’ll feed you all. Just come!’ As I hesitated, she lost her temper. ‘Oh, by the Blessed Virgin! You’re not so petty as to hold Burl’s recent animosity against him, are you? Think of Jenny! Think of the boys! Adela! Persuade him!’

‘It’s all right, Mother-in-law,’ I said quietly. ‘Adela doesn’t need to persuade me. I’ll just fetch Hercules. I can’t let him remain mewed up all day on his own. You and Adela and the children go ahead. I’ll catch you up.’

Once indoors, I dealt with Hercules’s effusive welcome — he always greeted me as though I’d just returned from a three year voyage to the realms of Prester John — found his rope halter and leading string, then sat down at the kitchen table for a moment or two, savouring the tranquillity of the empty house and marshalling my thoughts.

Somehow or other, I had to find Timothy Plummer and discover what exactly he was up to. I entertained a faint hope that I might be able to convince him to disappear for a while without giving further evidence to the magistrates, forcing them to rely on my word alone. Then if I denied what had happened …

But that would do no good. There must have been other witnesses to Burl’s attack on Robin Avenel. There was the ship’s master to whom Robin had been talking for a start. But he was a foreigner. Maybe he spoke little English. I must try to see him as soon as possible … There was a lot to be done, and I recollected with a sigh that I also had to report to Richard Manifold at the Councillors’ Hall sometime that afternoon.

I glanced down at Hercules who, once in his harness, was anxious to be off and chafing at the delay. I cast a regretful eye over Adela’s preparations for dinner, which appeared to be one of her succulent rabbit pies, followed by junkets and stewed pippins. A Midsummer’s Day feast to remember. Ah well!

I wanted to visit Jewry Lane to see for myself the place where Robin Avenel’s body had been found. But I guessed that, by now, Adela and Margaret would be wondering why I hadn’t caught them up, so Hercules and I set off up Small Street without more ado.

At the top, we turned left into Corn Street and made for the High Cross. Immediately ahead of us was Wine Street, where I could see a small, angry crowd surrounding the pillory. Investigation revealed that two of the ringleaders of last night’s apprentices’ riot had been placed there and were being pelted with refuse from the central drain. I threw a few handfuls of rotting vegetables myself, just to let them know how I felt about my wife and children having been frightened by their antics, then walked down High Street to Bristol Bridge, where I eventually overtook my family.

By now, my stomach was rumbling and I was in urgent need of sustenance, so I was not best pleased to discover that we were going straight to the Hodges’ cottage to see Jenny. But in Temple Street I found a repetition of the scene I had left behind on the other side of the Avon. Set in the Redcliffe pillory, near Temple Church, were two more ringleaders of the riot and one who had been arrested for assault. Luke Prettywood!

He was being pelted with filth by a crowd of street urchins who were promptly shooed away by Margaret Walker. Luke, as he had informed me the night before, was a Redcliffe man, and Redcliffe people look after their own, no matter what they’ve done. Moreover, this was the hero who had set about Jack Gload. I patted his matted hair. He gave me a sheepish grin.

‘How long?’ I asked.

He knew what I meant. ‘Until curfew,’ he croaked, his neck restricted by the confining headboards. He looked awful, with an unshaven chin and bloodshot eyes, muck and ordure streaking his face. ‘Hit Jack Gload. Shouldn’t have done it. Too much cuckoo-foot ale. Y’know what that stuff’s like.’

I did indeed, but Adela always kept a careful eye on the amount that I consumed. Spiced with ginger, basil and dill, it was a refreshing drink for a hot night that seduced you into thinking it harmless until you swallowed one draught too many. Then it kicked like a mule, and within minutes you were ready to fight the rest of the world. And, as in Luke’s case, you probably did.

‘Cheer up,’ I said. ‘At least you have the consolation of having picked the right target. Jack Gload has a marvellously swollen nose and black eye.’

Luke gave a strangled gurgle that might have been an attempt at laughter, then groaned. ‘My head’s bursting.’

‘Roger!’ Margaret’s voice rang out peremptorily. ‘Jenny’s waiting for us.’

I grimaced at Luke and moved away. Then, realizing that he might not yet have heard the news, turned back.

‘Robin Avenel’s dead,’ I said. ‘Murdered. That idiot Richard Manifold has arrested Burl Hodge.’

I hadn’t thought it possible for Luke’s face to get any whiter than it already was, but I was wrong. Every last trace of blood seemed to disappear, leaving his skin, beneath the dirt, the colour of old parchment. He struggled for words and finally whispered, ‘Marianne … How’s Mistress Avenel?’

‘I don’t know,’ I answered, my sympathy for him evaporating. ‘My concern’s with Jenny Hodge. I’m sure Mistress Avenel won’t prove inconsolable.’ Then my conscience got the better of me. I patted one of his hands, where it hung limply through the boards. ‘I’ll let you know if I get any news of her.’

As I moved out of range, another mob of children arrived to pelt Luke and the unfortunate apprentices with handfuls of dung which they had stolen from a cart further along the street. But by this time, Margaret Walker, together with Adela and the children, had walked on to the Hodges’ cottage, so there was no one to reprimand them.

The one-roomed dwelling was overflowing with people — concerned neighbours who had been told of Burl’s arrest and had come to express their outrage. There were a few faces I failed to recognize: strangers from without the city walls. I knew that Jenny and Burl were Lollard sympathizers, although the fact was never mentioned aloud.

‘Roger!’ As soon as Jenny caught sight of me, she leaped up from her stool, pushing aside her many well-wishers, and came towards me, hands outstretched. She had been crying; her face was puffy and tear-stained, and when I took her in my arms, I could feel her trembling violently. Jack and Dick were right behind her, her protectors; two boys who had been forced to grow up overnight and learn to act and think like men.

‘It’s all right,’ I soothed, awkwardly patting her back. ‘It’s all right.’

But of course it wasn’t all right: everyone knew that. Nevertheless, they all looked hopeful, as if they were expecting me to perform an instant miracle and tell them who had really killed Robin Avenel. I glanced despairingly at Adela, but she was busy soothing Adam, who was not only hungry, but highly annoyed at finding himself in a crowd of people to whom he had taken immediate exception. Margaret had her hands similarly full with our two elder children and the dog.

Something had to be done. I raised my voice. ‘I should like to speak to Mistress Hodge and her sons alone, and I’d be grateful if you would all go home. Margaret, take Adela and the children back with you and feed them. Hercules, as well. It’s past their dinnertime. I’ll join you later.’

There was a good deal of muttering and indignant sniffing, but eventually, urged more diplomatically by Jenny and her boys, the neighbours dispersed one by one until I was left alone with her and Jack and Dick. Adela pressed my arm lovingly as she went, her way of wishing me good luck.

I sighed. I was going to need it.