The Prodigal Son

Seventeen

His answer was immediate and without prevarication.

‘Oh yes! I didn’t think anything of it at the time. But now you mention it, I suppose it was odd. Surely he wasn’t afraid that I would attack him?’

‘I don’t know what he thought,’ I said slowly. ‘I’m not at all certain what he was up to. You … You didn’t happen to recognize the cudgel, I suppose?’

The butcher frowned. ‘Well … I’ve told you that I thought nothing of it then, but looking back … Was it your cudgel by any chance? I’ve noticed yours is weighted at the base, as this one was. I can recall that when Master Bellknapp swung it to and fro, it was rather like a pendulum swinging.’

‘It could have been,’ I agreed cautiously, not yet prepared to admit what I knew to be the truth. ‘I had it in the bedchamber that I shared with Anthony and his man. It would have been a simple enough matter for him to take it with him when he went to meet you. But why he would have done so is another matter.’

The three of us continued our stroll as the light dimmed still further, the wild flowers growing amid the tall grasses at the edge of the moat waving like pale flames in the dusk. The swans had long since gone to rest and the water gleamed grey and cold, like the steel of a naked sword. The trees stretched groping fingers towards the darkening sky and Ronan Bignell shivered suddenly.

‘It was about here that Humphrey Attleborough found Master Bellknapp’s body,’ he said, pointing to a clump of bushes that formed a sort of sheltered arbour near the bank. ‘He’d been out looking for his master and came running back into the house shouting that he was dead. Drowned, he said at first, and we all rushed out to see for ourselves. But when the steward turned the body over, we could see that it wasn’t an accident, but murder.’

Thomas Bignell nodded. ‘Someone had hit him a swingeing blow to the back of his head, then he’d either fallen or been pushed into the water.’

I held my breath, expecting the butcher to make the connection between the cudgel — my cudgel — that Anthony had been carrying and the weapon by which he had met his death. I was still confused as to why he had taken it in the first place if all he had wanted was a quiet talk with Master Bignell about the butcher’s daughter and son-in-law, and why he had considered it necessary to drug both me and Humphrey. But a faint light was beginning to glimmer at the end of what appeared to be a long and very dark tunnel.

It was growing cold and, turning, I suggested that we start to retrace our steps.

‘Is that all you wanted to ask me?’ Master Bignell sounded disappointed. ‘About the cudgel?’ And Ronan muttered something about it not having been worthwhile to leave the comfort of the hall.

‘Master Bignell,’ I said, ‘you told me once that you thought you might have recognized the horseman you saw near Croxcombe Manor on the night of Jenny Applegarth’s murder. Do you know who it was?’

The butcher stared at me through the gloom, looking, as far as I could see, somewhat at a loss. But he was not as simple as he liked to make out and was quicker than his son on the uptake.

Ronan demanded, ‘What’s that to do with anything?’

But his father, after a brief pause, asked, ‘Do you think that the two murders are connected?’

‘They might be.’ I spoke hesitantly as one catching at straws, not wishing to make a fool of myself by any firmer declaration. ‘So, do you have any idea who the man could have been?’

The butcher sighed regretfully. ‘If I said as much as that, then I’m sorry to have misled you. In my own defence, I have to say that there was a moment recently when I thought it could have been Master Simon, but it’s all so long ago and the more I turn it over in my mind, the less certain I am that I saw any likeness to anyone. I must apologize again for raising your hopes. Does it matter?’

I shook my head, swallowing my disappointment, as we re-entered the candlelit hall. This was now deserted, except for Mistress Bignell, our other erstwhile companions having presumably taken themselves off to bed, a fact that the lady confirmed when asked.

‘And it’s time we were asleep, too, my love,’ she said, taking her husband’s arm. ‘I’ve spoken to Dame Audrea while you were outside with the chapman, and she agrees that we may return home tomorrow, provided we agree to remain as quiet as possible for the present concerning the true circumstances of Master Bellknapp’s death. She intends that Sir Henry shall conduct the funeral rites and the body be buried as soon as may be. The family vault in the church will be opened up in the morning and Master Anthony laid to rest by evening. She counts on our discretion. And,’ Mistress Bignell added with more dryness than I would have thought her capable of, ‘she suggests that we supply the manor with an additional two carcasses a week, preferably two young, tender porkers.’

Thomas Bignell gave no sign, not so much as by the flicker of an eyelid, that he recognized this offer for what it was, saying simply, ‘That’s very gracious of Dame Audrea and I shall tell her so before we take our leave of her tomorrow.’ He turned to me, holding out his hand. ‘In case we don’t see one another again, Master Chapman, I’ll say goodnight and goodbye. If you’re ever in Wells, you must visit us.’ He appealed to his wife. ‘We shall expect it, shan’t we, my dear?’ Then without waiting for her assent, he went on, ‘Now, we must go and find Rose and Ned and see if we can sort things out between them before we go. For my own part, I don’t suspect there’s anything seriously amiss. Nothing that recent events won’t have remedied.’

This tactful way of referring to Anthony’s death at first amused, but then made me uneasy. Was I overlooking the obvious? Was I naive in not being more suspicious of the butcher as the killer of the murdered man? He had both a motive (of sorts) and the opportunity. Furthermore, he was used to killing, no doubt slaughtering many of his own animals in order to ensure the freshness of his meat. But as I watched him quit the hall in search of his daughter, closely followed by his wife and son, I couldn’t bring myself to think him guilty. There were other thoughts, other suspicions floating around in my mind like the pieces of flotsam they might well turn out to be, and in any case, I knew where to find the Bignells if I had cause to change my mind.

I went to look for Simon Bellknapp.

I was informed by the steward that he was already abed, but in spite of the lateness of the hour, he returned a grudging message by George Applegarth — who had volunteered to be my messenger — that he would see me if he must.

His bedchamber was next to Dame Audrea’s, an arrangement that I guessed had pertained since childhood; a small, stuffy room overburdened with furniture and with a row of wooden toys — horses, soldiers, cup-and-ball and even a tiny, jointed doll — arranged on a shelf alongside his bed. This was a large four-poster, far bigger than that needed by a solitary person, with dark red canopy and curtains and with numerous little drawers and cupboards let into the bedhead. (I had seen another like it some years before, in a house in Glastonbury, and presumed therefore that they were both the work of a local craftsman.)

Simon himself was sitting up, propped against the pillows. He was still very pale and his broken arm obviously continued to give him pain, a fact which might account for his unusually sour expression — sourer even than was customary for him — although I doubted this. He was not pleased to see me, and I suspected that he had been persuaded against his will by George Applegarth to give me audience. He was certainly on the defensive, as his opening remark clearly indicated.

‘I didn’t kill Anthony, so you can just go away and leave me alone. I’m master here again now, and I don’t have to answer to you or anyone.’

I raised my eyebrows. ‘Not even to your lady mother? I think she’d argue with that, don’t you? And I have her permission to question whomsoever I please.’

He snorted so vehemently that the flame of his bedside candle guttered in the draught, but I noted that he didn’t contradict me. Instead, his eyes suddenly narrowed and he went on the attack.

‘What about you?’ he demanded nastily. ‘How do I know — how do any of us know — that you’re not my brother’s murderer?’

‘And why would I have wanted to kill Master Bellknapp?’ I asked quietly.

He shrugged, pouting angrily. ‘How can I tell? But I consider it very odd you turning up here the very same day that Anthony reappeared after eight years’ absence.’

‘Coincidence,’ I said. Or divine interference in my affairs. But I didn’t risk saying that to Simon, lest he accuse me of blasphemy. And I was beginning to wonder myself if, in this case, it were true. I hadn’t been able to save Anthony Bellknapp from a violent death, but maybe that had not been God’s purpose.

Simon made no reply, but continued looking sulky and unconvinced. ‘I still think it’s strange,’ he flung at me defiantly.

I ignored this. ‘You, on the other hand,’ I pointed out, ‘had all the reason in the world to get rid of your brother. You made no secret of the fact that you wanted him dead from the moment of his return.’

The young man patted his broken arm. ‘How could I have killed him with this?’ he demanded truculently. ‘Try not to be a bigger fool than you look, Chapman. Although that might be hard, I agree.’

I refused to let myself be riled.

‘Your left arm,’ I said. ‘There’s nothing wrong with your right. And you’re right-handed.’

But even as I spoke, I silently acknowledged the fact that his injury would have proved a major difficulty to overcome. Whoever had wrested the cudgel from Anthony Bellknapp would have had to move swiftly to retain the element of surprise and to strike before the other man realized his intention. It would have needed two hands to swing my cudgel with the necessary force, and an accuracy of aim hardly achievable with the use of only one arm. Reluctantly, I relinquished the idea of Simon as his brother’s murderer. Not that I was going to tell him that, at least not in so many words, although, if sharp enough, he might deduce it from the slight alteration in my manner.

So I abruptly changed the subject, a tactic I had often found disconcerted people and threw them off their guard.

‘Do you remember any of the details of Jenny Applegarth’s murder?’ I asked.

‘Wh-what?’ he stuttered, blinking rapidly. ‘Jenny Apple… No. I wasn’t here. A-and what’s that got to do with…?’ He tailed off, staring at me stupidly. Next moment, however, his native cunning and intelligence reasserted themselves. ‘You think there’s a link between them,’ he accused me.

By now it was dark outside, the glimpse of sky beyond the still-open shutters a faded black, against which were sketched the inkier shadows of the distant trees. An owl hooted as it swooped past the window in search of prey. The shadows in the room were lengthening, inching forward until Simon Bellknapp and I were islanded in the pool of light thrown by the solitary candle.

‘I was at Kewstoke Hall with my parents,’ my companion continued, ‘visiting my sister and brother-in-law.’

I nodded. ‘And, as I understand it, all the household officers had accompanied your father and mother with the exception of the Applegarths and Dame Audrea’s page.’

‘Yes. John Jericho. I remember him.’

‘What do you remember? Would you have thought him capable of robbery and murder?’

‘I don’t think I thought much about him at all. It must be all of six years ago. I wasn’t much more than nine. He was just another servant.’

The sneering, dismissive tone angered me, but I was determined to hold on to my temper and not give rein to it.

‘Then you can’t help me,’ I said, and turned to go. ‘I’ll wish you goodnight, Master Bellknapp, and pleasant dreams.’

‘Wait!’ His curiosity had been aroused, and now that I appeared to have abandoned the thornier subject of Anthony’s murder, he was more willing to talk. ‘It’s perfectly true, I don’t recall a lot about John Jericho — like many other people, I thought that a silly, made-up name — except that he was small and dark and was always disgustingly cheerful. I recollect that once, Mother had him quite severely beaten for some misdemeanour or another — I can’t remember what — and he just laughed when it was over, as cocky as ever.’

‘Who administered the beating? Can you remember?’

Simon shook his head. ‘But it was probably Jenny Applegarth. She’d been our nurse, Anthony’s and mine — I suppose she still was mine at the time, although Father declared I was growing too old for petticoat government — and she could always give a thrashing when she thought it was deserved.’ He spoke with a certain venom, as if he hadn’t shared his dead brother’s affection for their former nurse. ‘Mother could well have turned the page over to her for punishment.’

Here was something new to think about. ‘Would he have resented it?’ I asked.

‘I told you, he didn’t seem to. But who knows what people are feeling secretly?’ Simon settled himself more comfortably against the banked-up pillows and eased his splinted arm into a different position, although not without a wince of pain. ‘Perhaps that’s why he killed her when he got the chance. When she caught him stealing the household plate and the jewels my mother had left behind, he couldn’t resist the temptation to avenge his humiliation.’

An unplanned murder was how I had always visualized it, but until that moment, I had thought it was because the page could not risk leaving behind a witness to his guilt. Yet now I came to consider it more carefully, there never had been any doubt in anyone’s mind as to who had committed the crime: John Jericho’s flight had made that all too certain. And the killing of a woman, attempting to preserve her employers’ property, had only made matters a thousand times worse for him. A moment of uncontrolled vindictiveness, however, offered a more reasonable solution.

All the same, ‘You still haven’t answered my question,’ I said.

‘What was that?’

‘Would you have considered this John Jericho capable of robbery and murder?’

Simon curled his lip again. ‘Who isn’t, if pushed?’ I watched him realize what he had said and he began to bluster. ‘I mean … well … a low-born fellow like that, he’s probably capable of anything.’

‘You’re sure he was low-born?’

Simon spluttered a laugh. ‘Came out of nowhere, didn’t he? Wandering about the countryside, sleeping rough. Mother took one of her inexplicable fancies to him. My father, the Applegarths, everyone told her she was mad. Courting trouble, I remember Father saying. But she wouldn’t listen. She can be obstinate when she likes. And look what came of it!’

‘You argue with hindsight,’ I persisted. ‘Think back to before the murder. Would you have considered John Jericho likely to turn thief, let alone killer, before it happened?’

‘I’ve told you! I never thought about the man at all. I don’t waste my time thinking of stable lads or kitchen maids or even Mistress Wychbold.’ Again, he shrugged. ‘Why should I? They’re nothing to me.’

I could see that I was wasting my time, so I gave up. I didn’t suppose Simon Bellknapp had ever seriously considered the thoughts and feelings of anyone except himself in the whole of his life. I detached myself from the bedpost against which I had been leaning, and gave a curt nod of my head. (I certainly wasn’t prepared to give the little monster the courtesy of a bow, whatever the difference in our stations.)

‘I’ll wish you goodnight once more then, Master.’

‘And don’t come bothering me a second time,’ he hissed viciously, jerking himself forward, away from the pillows, to emphasize his words.

For a moment, his head was haloed by the candlelight, and I was taken aback by his unexpected resemblance to his brother. The shadows had temporarily aged a face that was normally young and immature, giving it the same saturnine expression that I had occasionally noted on Anthony.

‘What are you gawping at?’ he demanded ill-naturedly, irritated by my fixed, unblinking stare.

I ignored the question, briefly inclined my head again and left the room.

I judged it too late by then to interrogate any more of the household, most of whom would have already sought their beds, although it was possible that the maids had not yet retired to whatever corners they inhabited during the watches of the night. So I made my way to the kitchens and was rewarded by finding two of the girls still hard at work, one busy damping down the fire with sods of peat from a pile which stood at the side of the hearth, the other stacking bowls and plates on the table ready for use in the morning. And by a lucky chance, the first girl was the one I was looking for.

Both maids were plainly startled by my late appearance, but were immediately all smiles when they realized it was no one in authority come to spy on them.

‘Goodness! You made me jump,’ the fair-haired one complained, rising from her knees and brushing the residue of peat from her hands on the sides of her skirt. ‘I thought you were Mistress Wychbold come to check on us. She does that sometimes.’

Her darker-haired companion agreed, nodding her head vigorously. ‘The old dragon doesn’t trust us. She suspects us of letting the stable lads in for a bit of you-know-what.’ She giggled. ‘She’s never caught us at it yet, though. We’re too clever for that.’ The girl eyed me provocatively. ‘Is that what you’ve come for? To try your luck?’

I grinned and gave her back look for look. ‘Unfortunately, no. I don’t think my wife would approve.’

‘Oh, wives!’ was the dismissive answer. ‘What the eye doesn’t see …’

‘Bridget, behave yourself,’ the first girl admonished her friend. ‘What will Master Chapman think of you?’ She glanced at me and asked shyly, ‘Can we help you?’

‘It’s you I was hoping to see,’ I answered.

‘Your lucky night, Anne,’ the girl called Bridget giggled.

Her friend blushed to the roots of her hair, but maintained a dignified silence, merely raising her eyebrows at me and waiting patiently to hear what I had to say.

‘When we spoke at breakfast this morning,’ I said, ‘you told me that twice during the night you heard people moving about. I wondered if, by any chance, you knew who they were.’

She frowned a little in puzzlement, then her brow cleared.

‘I remember. You were off your food and when I asked you why, you admitted to feeling queasy. And I thought it might have been something you ate at supper because I’d been woken by the noise of someone scuffling along the passageway. I usually sleep in the dairy in the summer,’ she added by way of explanation. ‘It’s nice and cool in there.’

‘And do you have any idea who it was?’

She shook her head regretfully. ‘But it was a man. I heard him cough. That was the first time.’

‘And the second?’

‘It was just someone mounting the stairs to the bedchambers. The bottom two creak, and I remember thinking that perhaps now we had a new master, he’d get the treads replaced. Dame Audrea’s been talking about doing it for ages, but so far nothing’s happened.’

Bridget, irritated at being left out of the conversation, asked mockingly, ‘You’re sure you didn’t dream all this, Annie? You’re usually such a heavy sleeper.’ She transferred her gaze to me. ‘It takes me and another of the girls to wake her every morning.’

‘I did hear it, just as I said,’ Anne protested indignantly. ‘If you don’t believe me, you can ask Master Steward. He looked into the dairy a few minutes after I’d heard whoever it was go upstairs. He wanted to know if we were all right, as he’d heard someone creeping about, too. You wouldn’t have known that, though,’ she finished triumphantly. ‘You were sound asleep and snoring!’

Honours now being even, the girls forgot their animosity and became firm friends again, both begging me to sit down and have a cup of ale.

‘It’s not very late yet,’ Bridget urged.

‘And no one’s likely to come in and find you here,’ Anne added. ‘Mistress Wychbold said she was so worn out after the terrible events of the day, she didn’t expect to stir all night.’

I declined their offer, tempting though it was, giving it as my opinion, based on experience, that it was when people were overtired and overwrought that their rest was most fitful. I wished them both a good night and pleasant dreams — although in the present unhappy circumstances this seemed like mere politeness — and returned for the second time that evening to the bedchamber I continued to share with Humphrey Attleborough. I was prepared to find him asleep, but he was still sitting just as I had left him, on the edge of his truckle-bed and fully clothed. He had not even bothered to light a candle, so, cursing, I fished in my pouch for my tinder box, made my way to the four-poster and lit the one standing on the chest beside the bed.

‘For heaven’s sake get undressed,’ I said crossly.

‘I’m not tired,’ was his morose reply, whereupon I let rip with one of my more colourful oaths.

‘Well, I am!’ I roared, making him jump.

I was immediately contrite, particularly as he looked as if he might burst into tears.

‘Shit! I’m sorry,’ I said, going over to sit beside him. ‘I know you’re upset and worried, lad, but you ought to try to get some rest. You’ve important decisions to make tomorrow.’ He still made no move, and I sighed wearily. ‘Would it help to talk about Master Bellknapp? You seem to have been fond of him.’

Humphrey nodded and a tear trickled down his cheek. ‘He was kind to me. Mind you,’ he added fair-mindedly, ‘he wasn’t kind to everybody. He could be very unpleasant to people he didn’t like. In fact, more than just unpleasant. We were in an inn in Cambridge once, and a man annoyed him. I can’t even recall now what the argument was about, but it grew very heated until the master lost his temper good and proper. The man had a dog with him, a thin, mangy-looking creature, but the man was obviously very fond of it. Kept pulling its ears and petting it. Master Bellknapp just picked up a knife off the nearest table and stuck it straight into the animal’s throat. We had to get out of there in a hurry, I can tell you, or the other drinkers would have torn him limb from limb. In fact, we got out of Cambridge altogether for a while until we judged people wouldn’t recognize us and it was safe to go back.’ He must have seen the expression on my face, because he added apologetically, ‘It was only a dog. A mangy cur. The master didn’t kill a person.’

Even so, it struck me as a pretty ruthless thing to do, and I recollected Dame Audrea’s statement — which I had dismissed at the time as a sign of her prejudice against Anthony — that her elder son had an evil streak in him. An uneasy suspicion was beginning to form in the back of my mind, only to be rejected as impossible. Or, then again, perhaps not …

‘You say Master Bellknapp treated you well; fed you, clothed you as befitted the servant of a well-to-do man. Was he always wealthy, do you know?’

‘As long as I’ve been with him, he seemed to want for nothing. But he had known lean times after he was first thrown out of home by his father. I’ve heard him say so.’

‘I think I’ve asked you all this before, but if so, bear with me. How did he recoup his fortunes, have you any idea?’

Humphrey shrugged. ‘Gambling mostly, I think. Though whenever I’ve watched him play at dice he’s never had much luck. He must have had a winning streak at sometime or another, but it didn’t last.’

‘Were you conscious of the fact that money was becoming a problem to Master Bellknapp?’

Humphrey nodded slowly. ‘Now you mention it, yes. Looking back, I can see that there were economies; we’d begun to avoid certain inns and taverns that we used to patronize, as being too expensive, we’d started drinking cheaper wine, buying less costly garments and making them last longer.’ (He was truly the devoted servant, identifying himself with his master in everything.) ‘But it was very gradual, you understand. So gradual, in fact, that it happened almost without me noticing it. I suppose it wasn’t really until we met that William Worcester, and the master suddenly learned that his father was dead and about the terms of the old man’s will, that I realized how very relieved he was. Within a day, or two at the most, we were on our way to Croxcombe.’

‘Master Bellknapp had no ties? No wife, mistress or children?’

‘No. He told me once that he’d been put off women for life. His mother had never loved him, he said, and his nurse was treacherous, fondling him one minute and tanning his hide the next. Leave women well alone was his advice to me. Use them for your own purposes, but then let them be.’

Humphrey was at last beginning to yawn, his eyelids drooping. Talking had done the trick. I stooped and got hold of his legs, rolling him, still fully clothed, on to the hard straw mattress and throwing a blanket over him. He was snoring within a couple of minutes. Then I stripped off myself and clambered between the sheets of Anthony’s bed, stretching my length and easing my tired limbs. But I knew there was little prospect of sleep coming quickly. Humphrey had given me too much to think about.