The Prodigal Son

Four

I swung round to see who had spoken and was confronted by a tall, thin man with a rather small head perched precariously on top of a long, narrow neck. A pair of slightly bulbous brown eyes were, at this moment, wide with alarm and indignation, and the note of accusation in the surprisingly deep voice was unmistakable. The thinning hair was ruffled, as though the speaker had just risen from bed, a fact confirmed by the loose red velvet robe thrown on anyhow over the crumpled nightshift.

‘You!’ he repeated in horrified accents, as though unable to believe the evidence of his own eyes.

‘Sir Damien!’ the landlord exclaimed apologetically, confirming the gentleman’s identity, which I had already guessed. ‘I’m sorry that you should have been disturbed. A late night traveller, that’s all.’

The knight took no notice, continuing to glare at the new arrival like a rabbit transfixed by the eyes of a snake.

The stranger, whom I judged to be a year or so younger than myself and at least half a head shorter, had taken off his cloak, draping it negligently over one arm, and even in the failing light, I could tell that it was obviously fashioned from good broadcloth and lined with sarcenet. The rest of his clothes, including a pair of fine leather boots and a plume of jaunty feathers in his cap, suggested someone of adequate, if not substantial, means, while his general air and way of speaking indicated a person of breeding.

He, too, had been shocked by this unexpected encounter — he had started violently at the sound of Sir Damien’s voice — but he recovered his poise quicker than the older man.

‘My dear brother-in-law,’ he drawled, ‘what a pleasant surprise. I hadn’t counted on seeing any of the family until tomorrow at the earliest. My sister is well, I hope?’

Brother-in-law? Sister? This certainly wasn’t Simon Bellknapp who, according to Alderman Foster’s narrative, could only be fifteen or sixteen years of age. Therefore it had to be the renegade; the missing Anthony.

It was while I was brooding on the unlikelihood of such a coincidence that I realized the worst. God had His finger in the pie again, interfering in my life and manipulating me like one of those wooden puppets on strings that you see at fairs. Of course, as I’ve said so often before, I had a choice. I always had a choice. I could gather up Hercules and leave the alehouse now and not look back, for I’ve never felt that God would punish me if I did so: he would leave it up to my conscience. I had abandoned the religious life all those years ago and against my dead mother’s wishes, and the Almighty had offered me the chance to serve Him in another capacity, by using my deductive powers to bring the guilty to book. But in this particular instance, He had added an even greater inducement: He had brought me face to face with a brother I hadn’t even known I had. I was trapped. I acknowledged it. I was angry and resentful, but already committed. I was intrigued. I couldn’t walk away if I tried.

I took a deep breath of acceptance and immediately felt better. The landlord’s wife had meanwhile lighted a couple of tapers, and by their frail radiance I studied the stranger more closely. I saw a pleasant, roundish face under a thatch of curly dark hair (the young man had removed his hat) and a mouth with a full, if somewhat pouting underlip. It broke now into a broad grin and the stranger started to chuckle deep in his throat.

‘You look just the same, Damien, even after eight years. A little thinner and greyer, perhaps, but otherwise not very much altered. I trust Ursula is in equal good health?’

The knight ignored the question. ‘Where have you been all this time?’ he demanded furiously, but was interrupted by the landlord asking, ‘Master Anthony, is it really you?’

The young man clapped him on the shoulder. ‘It’s me, Master Litton. Back like a bad penny, as you can see. And your goodwife! As beautiful as ever!’ And he planted a smacking kiss on the blushing Mistress Litton’s cheek.

‘Oh, get on with you! You haven’t changed a bit. You always did know how to wind a woman round your little finger. That poor Jenny Applegarth never stood a chance where you were concerned.’

‘Ah, my dearest Jenny! How I’m looking forward to seeing her again! How is she?’

There was a moment’s silence, then the landlord hurriedly placed an arm about Anthony Bellknapp’s shoulders and urged him farther into the aleroom.

‘My dear sir, come in! Come in! You need a bed for the night and food. Janet’ — he turned to his wife — ‘rekindle the fire in the kitchen. There’s broth in the pot. I’ll tell your man to stable your horse, Master Anthony. Our only spare bedchamber, I’m afraid, is occupied by Sir Damien.’ He glanced hopefully at the knight. ‘If your worship would care to share your bed …?’

‘No I would not,’ snapped the older man angrily. ‘What I want is an explanation of where that man’s been all these years and what’s brought him home at last.’

Sir Damien’s squire and page had, by this time, tactfully withdrawn to a corner of the room, where they presumably hoped to remain unnoticed, as fascinated by the turn events had taken as I was. I remained in full view of everyone, my own man and answerable to no one. Not that I think Sir Damien was even aware of my presence, so incensed was he by this sudden and unlooked-for return of the prodigal.

The prodigal himself, having once recovered from the shock of meeting his brother-in-law so unexpectedly, seemed to be enjoying the situation. He drew up a stool to the damped-down fire and straddled it.

‘What’s brought me home, my dear Damien? Why, the news of my father’s death, of course, I understand that this — er — unhappy event occurred two years ago, but I was only told of it a month since, and that by pure chance. I’ve been living in the eastern counties for some considerable time now, and during a recent visit to Cambridge, fell into conversation with a man who also happens to be a native of these parts, although he’s not lived here since his boyhood. He corresponds with his sister, however, and knew that my father had died the year before last. He was even able to tell me the terms of the will.’ (The sister was plainly the sort of informant every brother would wish to have.) ‘Naturally, I settled my affairs in the east and started out for home the very next day. And so here I am, come to claim my inheritance. I can only hope that my mother and brother will be better pleased to see me than you are.’ But even as he voiced this pious wish, Anthony Bellknapp glanced at me and pulled a comical grimace.

‘Then you’re more of a fool than I took you for,’ Sir Damien snapped, ‘and all I can say is that I’m glad I shan’t be present to witness the meeting between you and young Simon. He’ll be in a state to cut your throat, so I’d watch out if I were you.’

Anthony laughed openly. ‘What you mean, dear brother-in-law, is that you’d like to see him try. No, no! You’d like to see him succeed. Then I’d be dead, he’d be hanged and Ursula would become my father’s sole heir.’

‘Nothing of the sort,’ the knight answered austerely. ‘Ursula’s dowry was more than adequate.’

The younger man straightened his back and stretched. ‘Oh, I know that. But enough is never quite enough, my dear Damien, now is it?’

‘I’m returning to bed,’ the knight replied. ‘I trust you’ll have the good manners to be gone before I get up in the morning.’ And he mounted the short flight of stairs to the spare bedchamber over the aleroom with a stateliness and outraged dignity it was a joy to behold. At least, I thought so, and, judging by the grin on his face, so did Master Bellknapp.

‘What a piece of work he is!’ he exclaimed. ‘He hasn’t changed at all in eight years.’

The landlord followed his wife out to the kitchen, and while they were absent, we were joined by Anthony Bellknapp’s servant, who announced that he had watered and fed their two horses and seen them settled for the night. He was a tow-headed lad, whose eastern counties speech fell oddly on my ears, and who smelled powerfully of sweat and bad breath. Nobody else seemed to notice, however, and Sir Damien’s squire and page came creeping back to the fire where they were soon in conversation with the young man, whose name, we learned, was Humphrey Attleborough. Anthony Bellknapp leaned forward on his stool, hands dangling between his knees, apparently listening to their idle chatter, but in reality, as I could see by his glazed expression, miles away in his thoughts.

I wondered what he was thinking about, although it took little imagination to guess. He had to be speculating on the nature of his reception at Croxcombe Manor when he arrived there the following day. If he had been entertaining a wild hope that he might be welcomed by mother and brother after his long absence, Sir Damien’s attitude must have warned him to expect the worst. And there was yet more grief to come when he discovered that his beloved Jenny Applegarth was dead, brutally murdered. Master Litton’s quickness of mind had prevented him learning the truth tonight, but it had only postponed the evil day.

The landlord reappeared, as though summoned by my thoughts, carrying two bowls of broth and the heel of a loaf which he handed to the new arrivals. Then he bade us goodnight and withdrew. I once again wrapped myself in my cloak and lay down beside Hercules, suddenly realizing how very tired I was after the exertions of the day, and hoped that the other four would soon follow suit. But I need not have worried. I had been up before dawn and covered, by my reckoning, a good eight miles before being rattled and jolted another eight in the turf carrier’s cart over rutted tracks baked hard in the summer heat. The voices of squire and page, master and manservant gradually faded until they were nothing but the echo of my dreams. Hercules snorted and wheezed; then he, too, became part of the distant chorus as I fell deeply and soundlessly asleep.

It might have been the sun streaming in through the open alehouse door that woke me; but I rather fancy it was Master Litton, who ‘accidentally’ tripped over my long legs as I sprawled beside the cold ashes of yesterday’s fire. I sat up with a snort to find that, apart from Hercules and the landlord, I was alone, my companions of the previous evening having all disappeared.

‘Where is everyone?’ I asked, still drugged with sleep.

‘You were tired, my lad,’ the landlord marvelled. ‘There have been comings and goings through here since daybreak, what with five breakfasts to see to, Sir Damien’s saddlebags to be packed and hauled downstairs and no one bothering to lower his voice. But you slept through it all like one dead. And that ill-favoured hound of yours.’ The intelligent animal lifted his lip and farted loudly just to show his contempt. Master Litton roared with laughter and continued, ‘Yes, they’ve all gone on their way, if not exactly rejoicing, then at least anxious to reach journey’s end before nightfall. You’re the only one left.’

I scrambled to my feet, noting that the sun was already halfway up the sky and climbing steadily, then staggered outside and held my head under the stable pump until I felt fit enough to face the new day. I combed my hair with one of the combs from my pack, cleaned my teeth with the piece of willow bark I always carried and went back indoors to a meal of oatcakes and (it being Friday) poached fish, which Master Litton assured me was no more than forty-eight hours old, having been purchased fresh from the Abbot of Glastonbury’s fishpond the day before yesterday.

‘How do I get to Croxcombe Manor from here?’ I asked as he placed a beaker of small beer before me and gave Hercules another bone to gnaw on.

‘Croxcombe Manor, eh? Well there! If you’d woken betimes, you could have accompanied Master Anthony. But on second thoughts, I’d give the manor a wide berth today, if I were you. Things are going to be pretty lively there, I reckon, when the prodigal turns up. I don’t suppose anyone but George Applegarth will be pleased to see him.’

I swallowed a mouthful of oatcake and asked, ‘Why not?’

The landlord cast a quick glance over his shoulder to make certain that Mistress Litton was nowhere about, then sat down opposite me at the table.

‘The Bellknapps aren’t near neighbours of ours, you understand. On foot it’ll take you the best part of the day to get there, especially as you’re already late setting out. On horseback, now, and with an early start, I daresay Master Anthony will arrive by midday. So, as I say, we’re not near neighbours, but not so far distant that one doesn’t hear things. And the Bellknapp family has been good for gossip in and around Wells these many years, what with Cornelius’s feud with the elder boy, Anthony’s disappearance and then, of course, the robbery and murder of Jenny Applegarth. And now’ — the landlord chuckled — ‘just as matters seem to have settled down, here’s the renegade marching back to claim his inheritance and put young Simon’s nose well and truly out of joint.’ He sighed. ‘I’d give my last groat to witness that encounter.’

I said, ‘I know a little of the Bellknapps’ affairs. A cousin of Dame Audrea is a neighbour of mine, in Bristol.’ I saw the landlord’s look of startled disbelief and hurried on, ‘I assure you it is so, unlikely as it may seem. And to prove I’m telling the truth, I know that Cornelius Bellknapp left everything to his wife until the younger son reaches his eighteenth birthday, when he inherits, but only if the elder brother hasn’t returned by then, when everything goes to him. And now he has.’

Master Litton nodded, eyeing me with a new and wary respect, as though he wasn’t quite sure what to make of me. A pedlar who lived in the same street as a kinsman of Dame Bellknapp was something of a phenomenon, and I could tell he was half inclined to say no more. But curiosity got the better of him and instead of going about his business, he fetched himself a beaker of ale and sat down again.

‘So you can understand as well as I do why Master Simon won’t be pleased to see his brother, and why I’d like to be a fly on the wall at that meeting.’

‘Yes. But you also implied that others in the household won’t exactly welcome Anthony with open arms. What about his mother?’

The landlord shrugged. ‘Gossip says Dame Bellknapp never had much affection for him, not even when he was small. That’s as maybe, and more than I know, but it’s certain he didn’t get on with his father, and his mother holds his behaviour as partly responsible for her husband’s death. Although Master Bellknapp must have felt some remorse for his treatment of Anthony, or he wouldn’t have left things as he did when he was dying.’

‘You say this George Applegarth is fond of him?’

‘Oh, aye! He’s Dame Bellknapp’s steward and his wife, Jenny, was nurse to both the boys in turn. They’ve no children of their own and Anthony was like a son to them, the more so because he was neglected by his parents. Yes, George Applegarth, at least, will be delighted by his return.’

I reflected that for a distant neighbour, Master Litton knew a great deal about the Bellknapps, their history and their household. I was not, however, surprised. I had grown up in Wells and knew as well as anyone how far and how swiftly gossip travelled. And what better place than an alehouse — or inn, as I felt sure the landlord would have preferred me to call it — for the telling and hearing of such local tittle-tattle?

‘And the rest of Dame Bellknapp’s retainers?’ I enquired. ‘Surely they have nothing against Master Anthony? His return can make no difference to them.’

Again the landlord shrugged and waved his free hand while sipping his ale. ‘We-ell, the old chaplain, now, Henry Rokewood, nearing sixty I should guess, he and the older boy never got on. Poor old Sir Henry has a limp and a stammer — had ’em for years — and boys being boys, and a bit cruel sometimes, Master Anthony used to make fun of him. I’ve seen him do it in the street with everyone looking on and sniggering behind their hands. I’ve laughed myself, I have to confess, for he was a good mimic. But being the butt of a joke’s a different thing altogether, and the chaplain was often near to tears. No, I don’t reckon Sir Henry’ll be pleased at Master Anthony’s return.

‘Then there’s the chamberlain, Jonathan Slye. His sister has a bastard child, a son. A handsome young fellow, about nine years old. The girl could never be persuaded to name the father, but Jonathan Slye swears it’s Anthony.’

And people think that they see life in the towns! ‘Go on,’ I invited, highly diverted.

‘Not much more to tell, really. Rumour has it that Reginald Kilsby — he’s the bailiff — has high hopes of marrying Audrea Bellknapp someday. People do say they’re already lovers, but that may be just malicious gossip. Dame Bellknapp don’t strike me as the sort of woman to marry her bailiff. Bit of fun between the sheets, yes. Marriage, no. But the point is that Reginald Kilsby thinks she might. Simon probably wouldn’t raise any objections: his mother can persuade him to almost anything. But Anthony, he could quite well forbid all thought of any such nonsense.’

I grimaced. ‘If all you say is true, then you’re right. It doesn’t seem likely that Anthony Bellknapp is in for the warmest of welcomes when he reaches Croxcombe.’

‘No. And furthermore, Edward Micheldever — that’s the receiver, a man somewhere about your own age — has not long married a pretty young wife. Anthony’s reputation where women were concerned left much to be desired before he disappeared eight years ago. He may have improved with age, of course, but I doubt it. And he didn’t mention anything of a wife and family to me during our conversation at breakfast this morning. Didn’t talk like a married man either, so I don’t reckon he’s settled down and got wed.’

‘So his arrival really will put the cat among the pigeons?’

‘Bound to. Can’t but do aught else that I can see. Lord! Lord! There’ll be ructions as sure as God’s in His heaven and Old Scratch is down below. Here!’ The landlord caught up my beaker and his own. ‘Let’s have another stoup of ale.’ He noticed my expression and grinned. ‘It’s all right. No charge, but don’t tell my wife.’

He filled the cups from one of the barrels ranged against one wall, and then, rendered mellow more by the gossip than the beer, resumed his seat. Hercules had abandoned his bone and was stretched out contentedly in front of the cold hearth.

‘Do you know anything about the page, this John Jericho?’ I asked. ‘The lad who was accused of the robbery and the murder of Mistress Applegarth?’

Master Litton rubbed his forehead. ‘Nothing much more than that, really. It’s a long time ago now. Six years gone. Quite a stir it caused at the time. I remember the family were away when it happened. Master Bellknapp, Dame Audrea and young Simon, they’d gone on a visit to Sir Damien and Lady Chauntermerle at Kewstoke Hall. Took most of the household with them except for the lower servants, but for some reason, Jenny and George Applegarth must have stayed behind. And the page, of course. Don’t know why he didn’t go. Must’ve pretended to be ill. Anyway, he decamped with all the family silver and some of Dame Audrea’s jewels that she hadn’t packed. Poor Jenny must have disturbed him, so he killed her. Stabbed her through the heart as cool as you please. Disappeared and has never been seen again from that day to this.’

‘Did you ever encounter him?’

‘Once or twice, when I was in Wells. He was dancing attendance on his mistress.’

‘Can you recall what he looked like?’

The landlord screwed up his face. ‘Not very well. Small, dark, young. Someone told me later that he claimed he was turned sixteen, but he seemed younger’n that. As I said, it’s a long time ago.’

I nodded. ‘Was he very long in Dame Audrea’s service?’

‘Now you’re asking me what I’ve not the smallest notion of. I don’t see the Bellknapps all that often; just now and again when I travel to Wells. I just hear the gossip, and I don’t suppose anyone would have thought Dame Audrea’s getting a new page worthy of mention. It was only when he proved himself such a villain that I even knew his name.’

‘A strange name, Jericho,’ I commented.

‘So we all thought. General opinion was that it wasn’t his own. Took it from the story of Joshua, we reckoned.’

‘I noticed last night that you avoided telling Anthony Bellknapp that Jenny Applegarth was dead.’

‘Aye, I did that. Let him hear it from someone else, not me. He’ll be heartbroken. I guess he loved her better than anyone else in the world.’

A silence fell between us, broken suddenly by a high-pitched, scolding voice.

‘What are you doing there, Josiah, sitting around, swilling ale, like the lazy great lump that you are?’ Mistress Litton had arrived, brandishing her broom.

My companion jumped to his feet, looking guilty. ‘Just answering a few questions of the chapman’s, my dear. He was enquiring about the Bellknapps and the murder.’

The goodwife sniffed, but as it seemed her policy was not to upset a paying customer, she held her temper in check.

‘Oh, that!’ she said. ‘Everyone remembers that.’ She nodded at her husband. ‘It was the year George Applegarth broke his arm when he fell down the undercroft stairs. It was why he and poor Jenny hadn’t accompanied Master and Mistress Bellknapp to Kewstoke Hall.’

‘There you are!’ the landlord exclaimed. ‘That’s your answer, Chapman. That’s why they’d remained behind.’ He regarded his goodwife fondly. ‘My Janet has a better memory than I have.’

‘Oh, get along with you,’ she answered, but her attitude softened towards him. Nevertheless, she glanced significantly at my pack and then at Hercules, indicating that it was high time we were on our way.

I took the hint. It was, in any case, necessary to stir myself if I were to reach Croxcombe Manor at a reasonable hour. I checked with the landlord the directions I had been given yesterday by various people I had met along the road, and he was able to correct some of the misinformation and set my feet on the right track across the Mendips.

‘If you follow the main path due south from here, it’ll bring you down east o’ Wells, which is where you want to be, but the foothills in those parts, around Dinder, are pretty thickly wooded. You might lose your way a bit, but there are plenty of charcoal burners who’ll direct you. Not a bad lot if you speak ’em fair, and their womenfolk may be glad of a trifle or two from your pack.’

I paid him and thanked him for all the gossip.

‘Well, you can repay me, lad,’ he said, ‘by calling in on your return journey and letting me know what’s happening at the manor, and how matters stand between Anthony and Simon. Will you do that?’

I promised most willingly, but did not add that it might be a few days, perhaps even a week or more, before I came back, depending on how quickly I was able to make any progress in my quest for information concerning the real John Jericho.

I stirred a somnolent Hercules with my toe. ‘Come on, boy! Time we were off.’

He was on his feet immediately, shaking himself free of whatever doggy paradise he had been inhabiting in his dreams and barking excitedly. The landlord took my hand warmly in both of his and, to my astonishment, his goodwife kissed me soundly on both cheeks, then blushed a fiery red.

‘We’ll look for you the day after tomorrow,’ she said, ‘or maybe the day after that.’

‘Maybe.’ It was possible, if I could find no excuse to remain longer at Croxcombe Manor. ‘God be with you both.’

Because of my late start and the fact that I had stopped at a charcoal burner’s cottage for food and drink when my stomach began to rumble, the sun, glimpsed now and then between the canopy of trees, was already westering as I plunged deeper into the woods cloaking the lower slopes of Mendip.

I still had not solved the problem of how I could extend my visit to Croxcombe without arousing Dame Audrea’s suspicions concerning my true intentions. She was the sort who wouldn’t thank a common pedlar for interfering in her affairs, and if she were convinced that my half-brother was indeed this long lost page of hers, then any attempt on my part to persuade her otherwise would be likely to make her even more pig-headed on the subject. Any slight doubt she might entertain would be banished immediately. Therefore, I needed to find a reason to delay my departure until I had ‘poked around’, as my nearest and dearest would call it, and made some enquiries of my own.

I stopped and looked cautiously all round me. There was no one about. The distant grunting of a wild pig, rooting for truffles, and the twittering of the birds overhead were the only sounds disturbing the afternoon peace.

‘All right, Lord,’ I said, speaking out loud. ‘If You want my assistance in this matter, perhaps You could give me a helping hand.’

Naturally, there was no reply, but I was used to that and proceeded on my way.

Five minutes later, I caught my left foot in a rabbit hole and sprawled my length on the ground. When I tried to get up, I let out a yelp of pain. I had badly twisted my left ankle.