The Midsummer Rose

Seven

Goody Tallboys’s dwelling was the end one of a row of four that teetered on the edge of the riverside track. A small, fenced-in patch of ground beside the cottage was home to five or six hens, all clucking noisily or pecking greedily in the dirt.

The woman who answered my knock seemed familiar to me, and I thought I recognized her as the passenger who had been waiting for the ferry on the day of the storm — the fat woman with the basket of eggs. When I asked if this were indeed the case, she acknowledged the fact with a cheery, gap-toothed grin.

‘And well soaked I got,’ she complained, ‘old Tyrrwhit pushing off to the alehouse like that. Although, to be fair, there wasn’t much else he could’ve done, the storm was that bad. So I came home and dried myself, then went across later. Anyway, who are you? And why do you want to know?’

I explained that I was the man Jason Tyrrwhit had rescued from the river and she was immediately all concern, inviting me in and offering me a seat at her table.

The cottage was of the single-roomed variety that I had been used to for most of my life. A mattress was rolled up against one wall, a pillow on top of it. A hearth, on which a small fire burned, occupied the central floor space beneath a blackened hole in the roof, while a table and two stools stood close to the tiny window. A spinning wheel, a water barrel and a cupboard, where, presumably, she kept her meagre store of food, comprised the rest of the furnishings. A solitary shelf was sufficient to hold her tinderbox, a couple of tin plates, a knife and two beakers. These last, she reached down and filled with elderberry wine, which she poured from a cracked pottery jug.

‘So,’ she said, seating herself on the second stool, ‘you’re the young man Jason pulled out of the river, are you? We thought you were dead. You’d hit your head a nasty blow on something or other when you fell in.’

‘I thought I was dead,’ I answered with feeling. ‘But I hadn’t hit my head on anything. Someone did it for me. Tell me,’ I added, ‘from where you were standing, did you see anyone else on the shore before Master Tyrrwhit fished me out of the Avon?’

‘What are you saying?’ she asked. ‘That someone deliberately threw you in?’ I nodded. ‘That’s a very serious accusation.’

‘It’s a very serious crime,’ I retorted, ‘and one I take great exception to. Let me explain what happened.’

She listened carefully to my story, which was patently new to her. It was obvious that Richard Manifold hadn’t paid her a visit; had probably not even been aware of her existence. He had accepted the ferryman’s assessment of my condition — a touch of the sun — and enquired no further. Typical!

‘And you say that all this happened in the old Witherspoon house?’ Goody Tallboys sounded doubtful. ‘Impossible! That place has been empty these fifty years and more. Ever since Silas Witherspoon was murdered by his wife and daughter.’

‘I know that,’ I said, irritated. ‘But that’s not to say the house couldn’t have been occupied for a night or two. Or even for a few hours. Who does it belong to now?’

My companion rubbed her cascade of chins. ‘I think it was the nephew who inherited. Old Witherspoon’s brother’s son. What was he called, now? John? James? That was it. James Witherspoon. He was a young man back then, but he must be getting on by now. Might even be dead, for all I know. He was an apothecary, if I remember rightly. Had a shop in Bristol, near the castle somewhere. Never came to live in Rownham Passage. Said his wife couldn’t bear the thought of the house, not after what had happened there. Or so my mother told me. Tried to sell it, but no one would buy it. So it’s just stood empty, rotting away.’

I thought about this. If James Witherspoon was married, he might well have a son who had continued in his father’s calling. It was a long shot, but worth a try. An apothecary’s shop near the castle, if there was one, shouldn’t be hard to locate. But I still hadn’t had an answer to my original question.

‘Do you recollect seeing anyone on the shore before I was rescued from the river?’ I persisted.

Goody Tallboys shook her head. ‘Let’s see now. I recollect the storm coming on. I was taking a basket of eggs to my sister who lives over on the Somerset side. I saw you get out of the boat with Master Tyrrwhit. He went off to the alehouse, so I took myself back here until the rain should stop. I don’t know what happened to you. I didn’t notice. By the time I’d got myself dry, the weather was on the mend, but when I looked out of my window, Jason was halfway across the river again. So I stayed where I was and waited for him to return. He was about mid-way across when I left the cottage and walked down to the shore. A man with a little boy was there and we got talking. Said he’d crossed from Ashton-Leigh earlier in the day to see his mother, who’d been unwell. He was going to give me details of her illness, but just then we heard old Tyrrwhit yelling and shouting. When we looked round, he was rowing off course towards something floating in the river. That was you.’

‘And you didn’t see anything or anyone further along the bank? No one running towards the Witherspoon house?’

Goody Tallboys shook her head. ‘I’m afraid not. Until that moment, I was looking away from the house, you see. And the man, the stranger — I didn’t ask his name — was looking at me. Although, now I come to think of it …’ She sipped her wine slowly, frowning.

‘Yes?’ I asked eagerly, hope reviving.

‘Now I come to think of it,’ she repeated, ‘I do recall the child kept tugging on his father’s sleeve, trying to attract his attention. He was facing in my direction, but not looking at me, if you follow what I mean.’

‘He was looking beyond you? Upriver?’

‘That’s right, dear. Eyes all over the place, bored by the adults’ conversation, as children are. Perhaps he saw something. Perhaps that was what he wanted to tell his father.’

‘He didn’t mention anything later on, after I was safe ashore? He didn’t say anything then?’

‘Oh, as to that, lad, I couldn’t rightly tell you. Not that I know of, at any rate. Might have done to his father. Jason and I were too busy trying to decide if you were alive or dead and thinking up the best way to get you home to Bristol.’

‘And you don’t know the boy’s name, or where he lives?’

She shook her head sadly. ‘Only that he and his father come from the other side of the Avon. Somewhere in Ashton-Leigh.’

That was that, then. I thanked her for her time and trouble, and apologized for bothering her.

‘No bother, dear. I was glad of the company.’ She was struck by a sudden thought. ‘What’s today? Saturday?’ I nodded. ‘Ah, well then! He might be over here, that man. Told me he and the boy usually visit his mother on a Saturday. He’d only made a visit on the Wednesday that week because the old lady had been poorly, and had sent a message across by a neighbour.’

‘Do you happen to know where the stranger’s mother lives?’ I enquired eagerly, but without much hope.

My companion shook her head. ‘But don’t look so downhearted,’ she encouraged me. ‘Rownham Passage ain’t that big. Not above a score of cottages all told. Walk around a bit. Most windows’ll be open in this weather. Pop your head inside. You’ll find him and the boy somewhere. Sure to.’

I was less optimistic. I took her advice, however, having first begged a bucket of water for the cob, still patiently awaiting me. Then I stabled him in the cool of the outhouse belonging to the old Witherspoon dwelling.

It was by now very hot indeed. I removed my jerkin, slung it over one shoulder and retraced my steps towards the main group of houses, Goody Tallboys having assured me that none of her immediate neighbours was a sick, solitary, elderly woman. I had no real expectation of finding my quarry, even when the the hamlet was so small. Goody’s estimate of a score of cottages was on the generous side; by my reckoning there were no more than fourteen. But not all of them had their shutters open, and I could hardly knock on each door demanding to know who was inside.

A brief conversation, however, with a little girl sitting in the dirt and trying to mend a broken hoop with an inadequate piece of string, elicited the information that a certain Goody Longstaff was an ailing widow whose son and grandson came to visit her every Saturday. My informant pointed out the hovel, I parted with half a groat, much to her grateful surprise, then set off at a trot to the other end of the village.

A thin-faced man with a watery, defeated eye answered the door. He was accompanied by an equally thin child, about ten years of age, whose white slip of a face beneath a thatch of dark, curly hair registered a lively curiosity and a determination not to be left out of whatever it was that might be going on. It took me some time to explain what I wanted because of frequent, querulous interruptions from the old lady in the bed on the far side of the room; but when the gist of my enquiry eventually sank in, the boy, without waiting for permission from his father, caught hold of my hand and dragged me indoors.

‘I saw them,’ he said, hopping up and down on one stick-like leg. ‘I saw them.’

‘Who did you see?’ I asked, crouching down beside him and gripping him by his bony shoulders in an effort to make him stand still. It was like holding a little bird.

‘What’s that? What’s going on, John?’ chirrupped the voice from the bed. A cane thumped the bare beaten-earth floor.

‘I’ll tell you later, Mother. Just lie still,’ begged her harassed son, turning his attention back to me and the child. ‘Henry, what are you saying? You didn’t see anything. You’re making things up again. Don’t tell lies.’

‘I did see them!’ Henry stamped his feet in their worn, but carefully mended little boots. ‘I tried telling you, but you were too busy talking to that fat woman with the eggs. After, it was too late. There was no point in wasting my breath.’

The elder Master Longstaff made a threatening move, hand raised, towards his offspring, but this had no effect whatsoever on the ebullient Henry, who wriggled from my grasp and danced out of reach, waggling his fingers in his ears.

‘Henry,’ I pleaded, straightening up, ‘tell me what you saw.’

‘Two women,’ he answered excitedly. ‘One of ’em had her skirts hoisted right up round her waist.’ His eyes sparkled lasciviously at some secret recollection. (I could guess what. I’d once been ten years old myself.) ‘They were dragging something across the mud. I couldn’t see what exactly, ’cause it had started to rain again, but I thought it might be a bundle of old clothes they didn’t want.’

I made no comment, but I was tired of being mistaken for a parcel of old rags. There was no help for it: I should have to sharpen up my sartorial image.

‘What did the women do with this bundle?’ I asked.

‘They towed it into the river until they were nearly up to their knees in water, then they shoved and prodded it as far out into the current as it would go before wading back ashore. The one who’d hitched up her dress, well it had worked loose from her girdle and fallen down by now.’ Henry sounded disappointed. ‘She was as soaking wet as the other one.’

‘Was there a man with them? Or anywhere about?’ He regarded me blankly. ‘Right,’ I said, taking his silence to mean no. ‘And after that, what happened?’

The boy shrugged. ‘Dunno. They vanished. Into the house, I reckon. I’d given up trying to tell Father what I’d seen by then, so I lost interest. It wasn’t until the ferryman began shouting and waving and dragging you out of the river that I realized what they must really have been up to.’

‘What’s he saying? What’s he been up to?’ the old lady demanded agitatedly, brandishing her cane to the danger of life and limb.

Her son ignored her and, making a lunge at the boy, roared, ‘Why in the Virgin’s name didn’t you tell me all this at the time, you stupid little brat? Didn’t you stop to think it might have been important? You need a good leathering, that you do!’

Henry skipped behind me as I was the biggest object in the room and therefore afforded the greatest protection. His one aim was to avoid physical chastisement; otherwise, he was not at all put out by his parent’s disapproval.

‘I’m fed up with talking to you when you never listen to me,’ he piped. ‘Ever since Mother died, you take no notice of anything I say. I might as well not be here.’

The fight went out of the older man. His hands dropped to his sides. Tears welled up in the dark eyes.

‘He’s right,’ he admitted sadly. ‘I always confided everything to Margery. I miss her. Henry’s just a child.’

I drew Henry out from behind me.

‘Oh, he’s more than that,’ I said. ‘I think you’d find him rewarding enough to talk to if only you’d make the effort.’ I smiled down at the boy, who grinned back cheekily. ‘Thank you, Henry. You’ve proved the truth of a story no one else believed in. If I asked you to repeat what you’ve just said in front of a Sheriff’s Officer, sometime or another, would you be willing to do so? You wouldn’t be frightened?’

‘Of course not.’ His thin chest swelled with self-importance.

I looked for confirmation to his father.

Jack Longstaff nodded. ‘He doesn’t know the meaning of fear … We live on the other side of the river, in the manor of Ashton-Leigh. Anyone over there’ll tell you how to find us.’

I thanked both him and his son, then turned towards the old lady in the bed, who was regarding me malevolently.

‘My gratitude for your hospitality, ma’am,’ I said.

‘What?’ she screeched in frustration. ‘Who is it? What’s he saying? Why doesn’t anyone tell me what’s going on? I’m not deaf and dumb, you know! I’m not a fool!’

I took my leave, having pressed my remaining half groat into Henry Longstaff’s receptive little fist, and made my way back towards the ‘murder’ house. I must think about returning home if I were to reach Bristol in time for a belated supper. I was tired: it had been many long hours since I had replenished my pack. And I was yet to clap eyes on Elizabeth Alefounder, although I now had no doubt at all that she was the woman in the brown sarcenet. But at least now I had a witness to the fact that I had been set upon and nearly murdered. Richard Manifold would have to listen to me — he could no longer afford to discount my story. I should be completely vindicated in the eyes of the law and in those of my womenfolk.

I whistled tunelessly to myself as I walked along the track.

Someone was lying in wait for me. Someone who was trying to look as inconspicuous as possible behind the stump of wind-blasted tree. I slowed my step and grinned.

‘Come out and show yourself properly, Master Plummer,’ I called as I got within hailing distance. ‘You’re getting too fat to hide behind a tree trunk of such meagre proportions.’

‘Will you keep your voice down,’ he hissed as I drew nearer. He made no attempt to come into the open.

‘What in heaven’s name are you up to?’ I demanded, rounding the tree to confront him. ‘I saw you in the alehouse, trying to look like a part of the furniture. It doesn’t work, you know. In spite of that noisome jerkin and two days’ growth of stubble, you still look what you are. A King’s man.’

‘That’s only because you know who I am,’ he snapped. ‘I’ve a reputation at court as a master of disguise.’ I tried to maintain my gravity. ‘Moreover,’ Timothy added, deeply affronted, ‘I am not getting fat.’

‘Of course not,’ I soothed. ‘Just a little bit plumper than you used to be. A plumper Plummer, shall we say? Now, do you want to speak to me for some reason?’

‘Yes, but not here, where every fool in creation can see us.’

This was a gross exaggeration. Even on a hot summer’s afternoon, Rownham Passage was hardly West Cheap on a festival day. Nor even on a wet Sunday morning, if it came to that. But I curbed my impatience with such posturing.

‘All right,’ I humoured him. ‘There’s a hut just behind you, where I’ve stabled my horse. We can go in there.’

‘A horse?’ he queried as I led the way. ‘You have a horse? But, of course! You’ve come up in the world since last we met. Or so I’ve been told.’

‘I’ve inherited a house,’ I answered shortly, pushing open the door and leading the way inside. The cob whinnied, evidently pleased to know that he hadn’t been forgotten. ‘But no money to go with it. I still have to earn my daily bread by the sweat of my brow. And the horse is hired from the local stable.’

‘All right! All right!’ Timothy groped his way forward, temporarily blinded by the transition from bright sunshine to near total darkness. ‘No offence intended. Your good fortune doesn’t bother me. Although I don’t suppose it’s delighted too many of the good folk of Bristol.’

‘True,’ I agreed glumly, thinking of former friends like Burl Hodge, who were now little more than polite acquaintances. ‘So, why do you want to see me? And why the secrecy? You’re not usually this coy about advertizing your presence.’

‘I am when I’m engaged on a highly sensitive job that requires diplomacy and finesse,’ he retorted.

Once again, I restrained a smile. I’d forgotten just how pompous Timothy could be.

‘Well? And what has that to do with me, pray?’

‘This.’ He prodded me in the chest. ‘Keep your nose out of things that don’t concern you, Roger!’

‘What are you talking about? What things? And if you mean what I think you do, let me tell you that it’s very much my concern. I was nearly murdered.’

‘I know all that,’ was the irritable rejoinder. ‘But keep your nose out, all the same.’ Timothy sighed. ‘It was just one of fate’s dirtier little tricks to land you right in the middle of this affair. I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw you in the alehouse. After you left, I got in conversation with your friend, the ferryman. A couple more beakers of ale soon loosened his tongue enough to learn the whole story. Fortunately, he still isn’t completely convinced by your version of events.’

‘Well, he should be,’ I barked triumphantly. ‘I’ve found a witness to what really happened.’

‘Who?’ Timothy’s eager question instantly made me wary.

‘Never you mind. That’s my secret.’

I saw him clench his fists. The cob stirred uneasily.

‘Now, look, Roger, I’m warning you! Go home and forget any of this ever happened. You haven’t discovered a witness to your story. You’re beginning to think it may all have been a dream …’

‘Oh, no! I’m not admitting to anything of the sort,’ I roared. ‘I’m sick of being thought a fool!’

‘Keep your voice down,’ he begged, his own sinking to little more than a whisper. ‘Try to forget what’s happened. Stop talking about it. Stop discussing it with all and sundry. If anyone mentions it, just say you’re bored with the subject. It’s over. You’re not interested. And, above all, stop prying and poking around this village. Stop asking questions. Because if you don’t, I won’t be answerable for the consequences. And I don’t want anything to happen to you, Roger, I really don’t. I’ve grown fond of you over the years, strange as that might seem. And Duke Richard would be most upset … No need to look like that. This has nothing to do with him. He still lives retired on his Yorkshire estates. I’m working for the King. Pity, but there it is. The quiet life and I don’t mix.’

‘That’s all very well,’ I said. ‘But if Robin Avenel and his sister are involved, it’s easy enough to guess that it has something to do with Henry Tudor.’

The Spymaster General managed both to nod and shake his head at the same time, quite a remarkable feat.

‘Yes and no,’ he grunted. ‘There’s more to it than that, my friend. You’ll just have to take my word for it. It’s not that I don’t trust you,’ he continued hastily, recalling past services that I had rendered the Crown, ‘but you might inadvertently let something slip. You wouldn’t mean to, but you might.’

‘Have I ever, in the past?’

‘Not wittingly, no. But you just can’t keep your nose out of trouble. When you scent a mystery, you’re like a dog after a rabbit. I daren’t risk telling you. Be content with that.’

I was hurt, even though I had to admit the truth of what he said. But I was angry, too. It was my life, after all, that had been put in danger.

‘I think I have a right …’ I began hotly, but Timothy interrupted me without compunction.

‘You have no rights at all where the safety of the realm is concerned. I’m warning you, Roger. Forget this entire episode ever happened. Go home to that wife and family of yours and, like I said, pretend it was all a dream.’

‘Or?’

‘Or you might get hurt. Or one of your children might get hurt. Or Adela — is that her name?’

I was beyond anger. I was furious.

‘Don’t you dare threaten me or mine, Timothy Plummer!’ I could scarcely spit the words out fast enough. ‘If necessary, I’ll go to London and appeal to the King!’

The Spymaster laid a placatory hand on my arm.

‘Calm down. Be sensible. You must realize as well as I do, that King Edward wouldn’t lift a finger to protect you or yours if he thought his throne was in danger. Do as I ask, I’m begging you, and no one will get hurt.’

My temper cooled a little. ‘Like that, is it?’

‘Like that.’

I chewed my bottom lip. ‘Very well,’ I said after a pause for reflection. ‘But I shall tell Adela the truth. She’ll say nothing, particularly if she knows that doing so would jeopardize my life or those of the children.’

Timothy hesitated, then nodded. ‘All right,’ he agreed. ‘I’ve met her. She seems a sensible woman. Far too sensible for you,’ he added with gratuitous insult, but then grinned affectionately and squeezed my shoulder. ‘Off you go now, lad, and take care.’

I led the cob outside and mounted. ‘Take care yourself,’ I told him.

He grinned and slapped the horse’s rump. At the bend in the track, I slewed round in the saddle, but, as I had expected, he was nowhere to be seen.

I rode home through the softly shimmering landscape, watching the shadows lengthen and the grasses blacken in their path. It was cooler now, a soft breeze floating inland from the river. But my curiosity was on fire. Something was going on, but I wasn’t allowed to know what it was, in spite of having, albeit unwittingly, become a part of it.

As I rode towards the Frome Bridge, someone was approaching, also on horseback, from the opposite direction. With a jolt to my stomach, I recognized her directly. She was actually wearing the same brown sarcenet gown, while, behind her, rode Rowena Hollyns, demure in grey homespun and a white linen coif.

‘Good evening, Mistress Alefounder,’ I said through gritted teeth.

She inclined her head, but did not answer. From her demeanour, it would seem that she had never seen me before in all her life.