The Midsummer Rose

Twenty-One

He sprang to his feet, wrenching himself free of my grasp.

‘You can’t prove it!’ he shouted.

‘I just have,’ I answered steadily, speaking with a confidence that I did not really feel.

He was frightened now, and frightened people do foolish things. If he had stopped, just for a moment, to think about it, he had the perfect reply to my accusation. If it were true, how had the body come to be discovered in Jewry Lane? Who had moved it? But Luke was already scared; appalled by what had happened. But, I guessed, he was more afraid that another man, an innocent man, would be found guilty of the crime and hanged for something he had not done. He had been congratulating himself on how well he had covered his tracks and diverted attention away from his friendship with Marianne Avenel, only to find that Burl Hodge had been accused in his stead. How long had he been trying to convince himself to say nothing, to let events take their course? Perhaps he had already decided to maintain his silence. But now here was I telling him that I was privy to his secret.

Maybe it tipped him into a sort of madness. Or maybe it was simply relief at being able to share his guilty knowledge with someone else. Whatever the reason, he blurted out, ‘All right! All right! Yes, I killed Robin Avenel, but, like you said, it was an accident.’ He was breathing hard as though he had been running. His eyes glittered feverishly. ‘I didn’t mean to stab him, but he started shouting at me like a man possessed. Don’t ask me what he was shouting about; nothing he said made any sense. Then he came at me with his dagger, cursing and swearing, and I could see he was serious. He meant to kill me if he could. I was yelling too by this time, frightened half out of my wits. I managed to grab him around the waist and we struggled for a while. I can’t really remember what happened next; it’s all such a muddle inside my head. I only know he suddenly stopped shouting and slumped to the ground … And when I looked …’ Luke’s voice caught on a horrified sob. ‘When I looked, his dagger was sticking out of his chest. It had pierced him right through his heart.’

Luke began to laugh hysterically, rocking himself backwards and forwards on the balls of his feet. ‘And do you know what, chapman? The silly part of it is, that if I’d set out to do just that, I couldn’t have done it. I would have botched it. People like us don’t learn how to use weapons such as swords and daggers, now do they?’ He continued with his rocking and inane laughter for a few more seconds, long enough for me to rise from my stool and come round the table towards him. But then he snapped to attention, his face transformed into a mask of hatred. ‘Still, now I’ve killed a man once, maybe I can do it again.’

Before I had time to realize what he would be up to, he spun round and reached up to a shelf fixed to the wall behind him. When he turned back, he was holding one of his mother’s long-bladed kitchen knives in his hand.

He smiled. ‘If you’re dead, then who’s to know what really happened?’

I hastily put the width of the table between us.

‘Put the knife down, Luke,’ I said gently, trying to stop my voice from shaking. ‘Don’t be so foolish! How are you going to explain killing me?’

The smile broadened. ‘I’ll say you attacked me. I’ll say you tried to force me into confessing to the murder of Master Avenel so as to save your friend, Burl Hodge.’

He was talking wildly now, not considering what he was saying, and I regarded him warily. In normal circumstances, I was a good deal stronger than he was, but a desperate man, teetering on the edge of unreason, can often display a disproportionate strength. I moved cautiously in the direction of the door. He laughed and made a sudden rush at me, leaping the table.

I turned sideways on to him and felt the knife slash the top of my arm. I was unaware of any pain, only of the need to protect myself. I flung out both hands and grabbed the knife blade as it swooped once more towards me. I was vaguely aware of a cut hand and blood trickling down my left wrist and into my sleeve.

Help arrived in a most unexpected guise, as what appeared to be the three Furies burst through the cottage door and flung themselves on Luke Prettywood, taking him by surprise and bearing him easily to the ground. Bess Simnel and Maria Watkins then sat astride his chest while Margaret Walker, panting a little after so much exertion, clambered to her feet to see if all was well with me.

‘You’re bleeding like a stuck pig,’ was her comment once she had finished her examination, ‘but it’s nothing serious. You’ll live. Now run and fetch that useless lump, Richard Manifold. We three overheard everything that passed between you and this murderer here.’ Noting my puzzled frown, she deigned to explain. ‘When you left my cottage, we followed you — Maria and Bess and myself — to see what you were up to, and we’ve been listening outside the window ever since we arrived. We’ll confirm what was said.’ She gave the struggling Luke a venomous glance. ‘You may not have meant to kill Robin Avenel,’ she spat at him, ‘but you were quite prepared to let Burl Hodge take the blame. You’d have watched him hang just to save your own worthless skin. And no one in Redcliffe will ever forgive you for that.’ She collapsed heavily on to the hapless youth’s legs and glowered up at me. ‘For heaven’s sake, get on your way, Roger! Go! Don’t just stand there like the great, gormless idiot that you are.’

I stooped suddenly and kissed her, a big, smacking kiss full on her lips. She looked astonished, but not displeased.

I kissed her again and went.

There is not a lot more to tell.

Richard Manifold, who, I think, was beginning to have doubts, if not about Burl’s culpability, then certainly about his chances of making the case against him stick, was grateful for my proof of Luke Prettywood’s guilt and the three goodies’ testimony, which corroborated my story. Not that anyone would have known it from the surly way in which he behaved, berating me for withholding evidence and upbraiding Margaret Walker and her friends for putting themselves in danger. But he got short shrift from my three avenging Furies.

‘You’d have had another murder on your hands if we hadn’t followed Roger here,’ my former mother-in-law informed him roundly. ‘Luke was about to kill him.’

‘Kill him! Kill him!’ echoed Maria and Bess, wagging their heads vigorously and showing their blackened stumps of teeth.

The sergeant made a valiant attempt not to look too downcast by the fact of my survival as he marched his prisoner away under guard, flanked by Jack Gload and Peter Littleman. The former could barely contain his satisfaction at the outcome: he still bore the scars of Luke’s Midsummer Eve attack.

I went home, accompanied by Margaret Walker, to confess all to Adela, to be scolded, exclaimed and fussed over and made to feel a hero — which I wasn’t. I was also made to promise — although this was done so subtly that I hardly noticed it at the time — to concentrate on my work as a pedlar now that Burl’s innocence had been happily established. The cuts on my upper left arm and hand were bathed and bandaged with sicklewort leaves, in order to staunch the flow of blood. Then I was sent to bed with a potion of lettuce juice to help me sleep, while my womenfolk kept the children quiet and no doubt discussed my latest antics with pursed lips and much sad shaking of their heads.

By the time my younger son woke me, using the simple expedient of yelling at the top of his voice in my right ear, it was almost suppertime and I was ravenous. I sat up, my head ringing from Adam’s stentorian effort, hauled him on to the bed, tickled him mercilessly until he was almost choking with laughter, then, carrying him on my shoulders, went downstairs.

The news of Burl’s release from prison and of my part in the arrest of Luke Prettywood had spread like wildfire, and the house seemed to be overflowing with people. Half the denizens of Redcliffe, including the Hodge family, had crossed Bristol Bridge and were crowded into the Small Street hall, parlour and kitchen, helping themselves liberally to my ale and eating the food intended for my dinner. Jenny Hodge flung her arms around my neck and burst into tears of gratitude — I could feel myself flushing with embarrassment. Jack and Dick patted any part of my anatomy they could manage to reach, and even Burl himself, pale and sunken-eyed from his brief sojourn in prison, muttered a few awkward words of thanks. He couldn’t stop his envious glance from darting here and there, taking in every detail of a house he was sure I didn’t deserve, but he embraced me before departing.

‘Friends?’ I asked, thrusting out my hand.

‘Friends,’ he agreed, somewhat reluctantly, then suddenly grinned. ‘Oh, damn you, Roger!’ He thumped me in the chest. ‘How can folk stay at odds with you, when you go around pulling them out of trouble all the time?’

‘That’s enough of that sort of talk,’ Jenny admonished him sharply. ‘Just be thankful that there’s somebody who can!’

Eventually, my well-wishers dispersed, including Margaret Walker, who was borne off in triumph by Bess Simnel and Maria Watkins to recount their adventure and be fêted in turn by those Redcliffe neighbours who had not ended up in Small Street, eating and drinking me out of house and home.

Adela, the children and I settled down to a belated supper of mutton stewed with lentils and garlic and a much-depleted bowl of cherries, my favourite fruit (and, by the look of things, the favourite fruit of many of our uninvited guests). But we were not to be left alone for long. The arrival of Richard Manifold, to ask more questions, put paid to our peace.

He was not our only visitor. Accompanying him was Timothy Plummer, who had at last shed his various disguises and was restored to the full importance of his royal livery. His apparently sudden appearance had plainly disconcerted the sergeant, who was regarding him morosely. And my innocent revelation that the King’s Spymaster General had been in the city for several weeks, first as a beggar, then as a Dominican friar, only added to his resentment.

I ushered them both into the parlour and folded my arms, waiting to hear what they had to say.

‘Well, we have Luke Prettywood’s confession,’ Richard began. ‘And we also have Mistress Avenel’s evidence that her husband attacked Luke first and that the killing was done in self-defence. Of course, that’s borne out by the fact that Master Avenel was stabbed with his own dagger.’

‘Mistress Avenel was present when her husband was killed?’ I asked.

Something in my tone must have betrayed my stupefaction because Timothy Plummer glanced sharply at me. Richard Manifold, however, heard and saw nothing out of the ordinary.

‘Of course. She was down in Saint Giles’s crypt with Luke when Master Avenel found them. Why else would he have attacked the lad, if not because he was her lover? He must have suspected what was going on between those two and followed them. It also explains how the body came to be moved into Jewry Lane. But for some reason or another that I can’t quite fathom, they both deny shifting it. However, it’s obvious to me why they did it. If people knew where their trysting place was, they ran less risk of being suspected of the crime if it was thought Master Avenel had been killed in the street. Then, to make doubly certain, Luke assaulted Jack Gload and was taken into custody. Oh, yes! He’s a very cunning young man.’

Across the little room, I met Timothy Plummer’s unwavering gaze.

‘And is that what you think happened, Roger?’ he asked.

‘Well … Yes, of c-course. It makes perfect sense,’ I stuttered.

‘And you can offer no other idea as to who might have moved Robin Avenel’s dead body? Or why?’

‘I don’t know why you suppose I should be able to,’ I answered blandly, recovering my poise. I turned back to Richard Manifold, who was regarding the pair of us with a slightly puzzled expression. ‘What does Mistress Alefounder have to say concerning her brother’s movements on Midsummer Eve?’

The sergeant shrugged. ‘She has no knowledge of them. He’d said nothing to her of his suspicions, and there was so much confusion during the feast. She’s returning to Frome as soon as possible. It’s been a terrible time for her. First her brother’s death, and now this revelation of her sister-in-law’s perfidy.’ He braced his shoulders, his natural self-importance reasserting itself. ‘Well, I must be off. There’s work to be done. I just thought you’d like to know what’s happened, Roger. Once again, you’ve done the Law a service.’

Heaven knows what the admission cost him. He had to grit his teeth and his features were set in a rictus smile. Besides, he must have guessed that I had been aware of Timothy Plummer’s presence in the city and given him no warning. But still, he managed it with sufficient grace to make me disclaim modestly that I wasn’t worthy of such high praise. The Spymaster General looked as though he agreed with me, and I wasn’t surprised when he declined Richard’s invitation to dine with him at the castle.

‘I need to speak to the chapman, Sergeant, if you don’t mind. Privately.’

All Richard’s suspicions were reawakened, I could tell, but there was nothing he could do but leave us alone.

‘I’ll make my adieus to Adela, if I may,’ he said stiffly, and I nodded.

‘You’ll find her in the kitchen.’

When the parlour door had closed behind him, Timothy let out a sigh of relief.

‘That man’s a fool,’ he remarked, stretching and seating himself, uninvited, in the window embrasure. ‘If he were capable of placing events in an orderly sequence, he’d see at once that that adulterous pair couldn’t have moved her husband’s body. So, Roger, who did?’

‘Why should you think that I know?’

He laughed mirthlessly. ‘Because you knew what was going on. Because you worked out where Albany was hidden and you found him. It was somewhere down in that cellar beneath the church. It has to be. And don’t insult my intelligence by trying to persuade me otherwise. So where’s our precious renegade now, eh? Mistress Alefounder obviously doesn’t know any more. She’s lost him or she wouldn’t be going home to Frome. That leaves you, Roger. You realize I could charge you with treason?’

‘I should deny all knowledge of any Scottish duke. I should also deny speaking to you on the river bank when you told me far more, I’m sure, than you ought to have done. For which you should be thankful, or it might be you who is charged with treason. All I’m guilty of is clearing the name of an innocent man who you were quite prepared to see die on the gallows. You thought that Albany had killed Robin Avenel, didn’t you? So you found a scapegoat and threw him to the wolves.’

Timothy sighed. ‘You are bitter, aren’t you? Is that why you did it? Why you helped Albany get away?’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ I answered coldly.

The Spymaster got to his feet.

‘Ah well! I shall just have to return to the King and report failure in this case. Don’t worry, I shan’t mention my suspicions concerning you. I’m riding north, anyway, as soon as I can, to rejoin my lord of Gloucester. I think I told you. Shall I say you commend yourself to him?’

I shook my head. ‘No. I love him, but I’d rather you said nothing about me. Out of sight is out of mind and I’d just as soon he forgot me.’

Timothy laughed, but I realized later — too late — that he’d made no promise not to mention me. Politely, I held open the parlour door, intimating that he should take his leave. He laughed again as he passed me. But then he turned and tapped my arm.

‘I shan’t go back to Westminster entirely empty-handed. I shall be taking the Tudor spy, Silas Witherspoon, with me as a peace offering and to prove that my time here has not been altogether wasted. It’s a pity, of course. It means Sergeant Manifold will have to be on the lookout for his replacement from Brittany, and it won’t be easy. He’ll probably suspect entirely the wrong man. But there you are. Needs must when the Devil drives. My salutations to Mistress Chapman. I won’t trouble her with them in person.’ He scratched one armpit. ‘A most unsatisfactory affair. Most unsatisfactory!’

He was gone and I drew several deep breaths, unconsciously straightening my shoulders. I hadn’t been arrested. I was free to return to my family and my life. But it wasn’t until I was in bed that night that I remembered two things.

The first was Albany’s valedictory salute. ‘You’ve been more than good to me, Roger Chapman, Sassenach though you are. I shan’t forget you. I shall know who to call upon if ever I need a friend among the English.’ At the time, it had seemed no more than the parting words of a grateful man. Now, lying in the dark, it suddenly had a sinister ring. It held the seeds of future trouble.

The second was the realization that I would never now possess the sheath that Apothecary Witherspoon had been making for me. Adela and I would have to go on relying on the old, untrustworthy methods of child prevention. And, as I snuggled up to her, I wondered if there was any cabbage in the house.