I nodded. ‘Sir George was first missed when his servant went to wake him this morning. His bed had not been slept in.’ I was careful to enunciate as clearly as possible.
The dame pursed her thin lips. ‘So my brother must have let himself out of the house sometime during the hours of darkness.’ She turned her head and stared out of the window. ‘He might,’ she mused, ‘have gone in answer to a summons.’
‘That’s possible,’ I agreed, and waited.
My patience was rewarded. After a few moments, she went on: ‘There was a man stood over there, opposite George’s house, yesterday afternoon. He stood there quite a long time, just staring.’
My pulse beat quickened. ‘What was he like?’ I asked eagerly.
Drusilla turned back to look at me and gave a cackle of laughter. ‘Can’t tell you that. He was wearing one of those masks young idiots adopt at this time of year. A bird mask with a great beak. Going about frightening old ladies like me,’ she added viciously.
I thought to myself that it would take more than a bird mask to frighten Drusilla Marvell, but merely said, ‘From what you could see of this man, did you get the impression he was young or old?’
Having watched my face intently while I spoke, she answered at once. ‘Young. Well, it wasn’t an old man’s body. More like yours.’
‘Did he enter the house?’ I asked.
She shrugged. ‘Don’t know for sure. I watched him for a while, but then I had to use the chamber pot. Your bladder gets weak at my age and if you don’t go when you need to, there could be a nasty accident. When I came back to the window he’d gone.’
‘What was he wearing? Apart, that is, from the mask.’
She stared. ‘What men usually wear. Boots, hose …’
‘A cloak, perhaps? It was very cold yesterday afternoon.’
The old lady considered this suggestion. ‘I don’t remember a cloak,’ she said at last. ‘But then, I don’t remember anything much except the mask. Maybe one of those thick coats that workmen wear. Not that I’d be sure about that.’
I could see that I should get little more out of her in the way of a description, so I changed the subject.
‘Dame Marvell,’ I said, ‘do you know about the murder of Alderman Trefusis on Christmas Day?’
‘Of course I know about it,’ she snapped. ‘I’m not that deaf! No one’s talked of anything else since it happened.’
‘Do you also know that the last word he uttered before he died was the name Dee? Does that mean anything to you?’
If I had not been watching her so intently, to make sure that she was reading my lips, I might not have noticed the slight tell-tale flicker of her eyelids. As it was, it was so brief that I almost missed it.
‘No, the name means nothing to me,’ she said sharply and with a shake of her head. ‘I know of no one called Dee.’
A sudden inspiration came to me, and I wondered that the thought had not occurred to me before. ‘It might, of course, have been just the beginning of a longer name; one merely starting with the letters D-E-E,’ I suggested.
This time, she shook her head even more vigorously. ‘No!’ she exclaimed, banging on the carpet with her stick. ‘I’ve told you! Now, go away! You’re upsetting me!’
She reached for a little handbell that stood on a table beside her chair, but before she could ring it I heard the bedchamber door behind me open and someone tread heavily across the floor.
‘Aunt Drusilla,’ said Cyprian Marvell, bending to kiss her cheek. ‘I’ve come to give you some disturbing news.’
‘I know it already,’ she snapped, ‘thanks to this man.’ She again stabbed at me with her stick. ‘None of my family thought it necessary to inform me that my brother is missing. Oh, no! It takes a stranger to do that.’
Cyprian Marvell turned and, somewhat hesitantly, held out his hand. ‘Master Chapman, is it? Yes, I thought so. You’ve been pointed out to me.’
I explained hastily that I was supposed to be a member of the search party looking for Sir George. ‘I called on you first, sir, but everyone being out, it occurred to me that Dame Drusilla might have some information that could be useful.’
He smiled pleasantly. ‘I don’t suppose she has.’
‘You would be wrong.’ I returned the smile. ‘Dame Drusilla did see something yesterday afternoon. But I’ll leave her to tell you all about it. I’ve trespassed enough on her time already. Now I must go and join in the search. I assume Sir George has not been found yet?’
Cyprian shook his head. ‘I’m afraid not.’
He didn’t strike me like a man who was very worried by his father’s mysterious absence, but then, I reflected, appearances can be deceptive.
The steward was summoned to show me out and, once in the street, I stood for several moments deep in thought. Then, instead of hastening to rejoin the search party, I turned my feet in the direction of Margaret Walker’s cottage.
NINE
My knock was answered almost immediately.
‘Oh, it’s you,’ my former mother-in-law grunted, and with this unenthusiastic greeting turned back into the cottage. She added over her shoulder, ‘Come in then and close the door. You’re letting in all the cold air.’
I did as she bade me. ‘You don’t sound very pleased to see me. Are you expecting someone?’
‘I thought it might be Bess or Maria with some news.’ She picked up a sharp knife from the table and went on with her task of splitting the skins of a dozen or so apples which she was preparing for the evening’s wassailing. ‘I’m taking these round to the baker’s in High Street in a moment or two and he’ll bake them in his oven for me. You can’t get a really good baked apple over an open fire. What does Adela do with hers?’
‘I don’t know,’ I admitted. ‘I’ve never thought about it.’ She snorted and muttered something under her breath about ‘men never do’. ‘Margaret,’ I went on, ignoring the provocation, ‘can you remember the name of the man you told me came courting Dame Drusilla a few years back?’
Her head jerked up at that and she paused in her work to look hard at me. After a long moment’s consideration, she slowly shook her head. ‘No, I can’t. I don’t think I ever heard it. Why? Is it important?’
‘I don’t rightly know. It might be,’ I said cautiously.
‘To do with Alderman Trefusis’s murder and now with Sir George’s disappearance?’
‘Perhaps.’
She handed me her knife and indicated the remaining fruit. ‘Finish slitting these apple skins for me.’ She twitched her cloak from its peg. ‘I’ll be back in a few minutes.’
‘Where are you going?’
‘To fetch Bess and Maria, if I can find them.’ The door banged to behind her and the latch clicked into place of its own accord.
Margaret was as good as her word and, before I had time to add the last apple to the basket waiting to be taken to the baker’s, the latch clicked again as she and her two friends entered the cottage.
‘What’s this all about?’ Goody Watkins asked peevishly, while Bess Simnel’s beady eyes darted around the room in search of sustenance. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve interrupted my after-dinner nap to talk to him.’ She gave a scornful jerk of her head in my direction. ‘He doesn’t know any more’n we do. Less, I expect.’
‘Got ’nything to eat, Margaret?’ Bess whined. Her small, bird-like frame seemed to need constant nourishment.
Impatiently, Margaret handed her a stale oatcake, left over from her breakfast, then turned to address Maria. ‘Roger wants some information,’ she said, ‘and I can’t give it to him. He says it could be important. I thought one or the other of you might know.’
At these words, both women came to attention, quivering like a couple of dogs scenting a bone. The challenge was a clarion call to arms. Their very honour was at stake.
‘What information?’ Maria and Bess demanded in chorus. (At least, it would have been in chorus if the latter’s mouth had been empty. As it was, she made a kind of champing, gurgling noise, but its meaning was obvious.)