'Well?' he prompted, after a moment of tongue-tied silence on my part. 'You wish to talk to me about my brother. You are lodging, so Alderman Weaver informs me, with Mistress Walker and her daughter, Lillis.'
'Yes. I was taken ill some weeks ago, on my arrival in Bristol, and these women were good enough to take me in and nurse me back to health. In due time they told me their story. It distresses them that people look at them askance, as though they were privy to whatever happened to Master Woodward. I have therefore promised that, insofar as it is possible, I will try to discover the truth.'
Edward Herepath raised strongly marked eyebrows. 'And you desire my blessing?' His voice grew harsh. 'What is done is done, and nothing you or anyone can find out now will give my brother back his life. It is a tragedy which Mistress Ford and I must learn to live with, but at least time may reconcile us in some small degree to the dreadful consequences. If, however, you rake over the dead ashes of our grief, then you risk inflaming them anew:'
Before I could make reply, Cicely Ford slid off the window-seat and came forward to stand behind her guardian's chair, one delicate, blue-veined hand pressing his shoulder.
'Edward,' she said quietly, 'I understand how you feel. Indeed, who better? But the truth can harm no one. Perhaps we ourselves would benefit from knowing exactly what happened. And we cannot let the innocent suffer unjustly. If, as Master Chapman says, Mistress Walker and her daughter are being held responsible for Master Woodward's actions by some members of the weavers' brotherhood, then that is unfair, for I would stake my life that they knew no more than he did, poor man. I only wish you had felt able to visit him with me, for you would have seen for yourself that he had been so greatly abused that he retained no knowledge of what had befallen him. And the women were equally bewildered.'
Edward Herepath raised one of his hands and covered hers, but did not speak for several moments. It was plain to me that he was in a dilemma. His natural instinct was to let sleeping dogs lie, or, as he himself had put it, not to rake over old ashes. At the same time he wanted to please Cicely. If she had the courage to face renewed suffering in order to alleviate that of other people, then he had no wish to appear a coward in her eyes. To refuse my request would make him seem callous, indifferent to Margaret Walker's situation.
He twisted round and looked at her. 'Sweetheart, are you sure of this? Is it what you really want? Consider! Just by coming here this afternoon, Master Chapman has already caused us both great pain, and will probably grieve us more before he has finished. And for what? There is no certainty that he will be able to discover anything. Indeed, I consider it highly unlikely. I made what inquiries I could at the time, as did Alderman Weaver on behalf of Mistress Walker and her daughter. But to no avail.' He gently squeezed Cicely's hand. 'Will you not be guided by me, and let the matter rest?' Cicely stooped, kissing him lightly on the forehead, and as she did so, I noticed how convulsively his other hand gripped his chair arm. It came to me that Edward Herepath, too, had fallen under the spell of this lovely girl; that he felt more for her than just the protective affection of a guardian. My heart went out to him, for it was not simply that he was so much older than she, nor that the love she felt for him was so obviously filial, but that even if he were able, eventually, to overcome both these obstacles, he could never hope to rival a dead man. And not just a dead man, but one who commanded Cicely's eternal devotion and penance. For whatever Robert Herepath's shortcomings in life, however much misery he had caused, the nature and circumstances of his death ensured him the status of a martyr in her eyes. Her fragile shoulders were bowed down by a weight of guilt almost too great for her to bear. And against all that, how could Edward Herepath possibly compete?
Cicely came round the side of his chair and knelt down, looking up at him earnestly. 'Dear Edward, I do understand your misgivings, but please let me have my way in this. I feel a great need to find out as much as I can about the reasons for Robert's death. There is so much unexplained, not least the sense that some evil was abroad which set every man's hand against him. Oh, I know what you would say! That Robert himself was the cause, but I refuse to accept that. In part it was true. He was wild, he didn't care who he offended. But that doesn't explain why we all turned on him and believed him guilty of murder, even though there was no body. You and Alderman Weaver have done your best to discover the truth, and failed. So give this young man a chance. The alderman speaks of him in his letter as the person responsible for finding out what happened to his son. If that is so, then maybe he can unravel this mystery for us.' She gripped Edward's sleeve until her knuckles showed white against the russet. 'Please. For my sake, give him leave to try.' I don't know who could have resisted her pleading, the blinding tears in those cornflower-blue eyes. Certainly I could not, and neither it appeared could Edward Herepath, for he heaved a resigned sigh and patted her cheek. 'Dry your eyes, my dear child. If it means so much to you, I'll grant the chapman my blessing, albeit reluctantly.' Cicely gave him a watery smile and rose to her feet, dabbing her eyes with a fragment of embroidered linen.
It was the first time I had ever seen anyone use a handkerchief although they had been a commonplace among the nobility since their introduction almost a hundred years before by King Richard. I had a sudden, vivid picture of how Lillis would look if she cried, red-nosed and sniffing loudly, and could not help contrasting it with the restrained emotion of the girl in front of me. Cicely Ford had completely bewitched me.
Edward Herepath straightened his back, placed the tips of his fingers together and regarded me straitly. 'Very well, young man, as Mistress Ford is so insistent you should try, you have my permission to inquire into Master Woodward's disappearance and find out what you can. Is there anything you would wish to ask me?' Cicely retired once more to the window-seat, out of my line of vision, and I regretfully tore my eyes away to refocus them on her guardian.
'I was wondering, sir, if you could explain how it was that William Woodward came to work for you as your debt collector when he had spent all his life in weaving and, moreover, at an age when his daughter thought him too old to work much longer.'
Edward Herepath frowned. 'Is such questioning strictly necessary? Very well! Very well! I gave my word.' This at a slight stirring behind him from Cicely. He continued testily, 'I cannot recollect all the circumstances. It is almost five years ago. He had never been more than an indifferent weaver. His masterpiece was never accepted by the Guild and he remained a journeyman all his life. The man I employed to collect my rents had recently married a Keynsham girl and had quit my service to live in her home village. He had given me very little prior warning and I needed someone quickly to take his place.'
'But why William Woodward?' I persisted.
Edward shrugged irritably. 'I believe, if memory serves me aright, that he asked himself if he might enter my employ. He was tired of living with his daughter. There were disagreements between them, and he knew that the cottage in Bell Lane was my property and always let, rent free, to my debt collector. He fancied his independence and considered himself capable of doing the job.'