'Master Avenel,' she said quietly, making the slightest of curtseys and not offering her hand.
This, then, must be the son of the man who had bought the soap-works from Edward Herepath, and who, according to Margaret Walker, was sweet on Cicely Ford and probably hopeful of marrying her. I thought to myself that he hoped in vain.
I decided it was time to take my leave, and did so with as little fuss as possible. Muttering my farewells to Mistress Ford, I slipped back to the kitchen, where the housekeeper was still occupied with her cooking and too busy to give me more than a nod, and let myself out of the back door into the garden.
The stormy morning showed patches of radiance between the clouds, but it was still very cold, and I paused to wrap my frieze cloak about me and consider what I had learned. As far as the facts concerning William Woodward's disappearance went, I knew little more than what I had already gleaned from Margaret Walker. I was, however, now aware that Edward Herepath was in love with Cicely Ford, and perhaps had been for several years, as was young Robin Avenel. I was also aware that Dame Freda greatly favoured Master Robin's suit, which suggested to me that she had been hostile to Robert Herepath; but then who, with Cicely's welfare at heart, would not have been? As for Robin Avenel himself, a man blessed — or cursed — with as much self-esteem as he seemed to possess, must have found it well-nigh impossible to understand Cicely's love for such a reprobate. He might have toyed with the notion that she was bewitched; that Robert Herepath had used a love potion or, worse, employed black magic to entrap her affection…
I caught my breath as I realized the direction in which my thoughts were leading me. I moved slowly along the garden path to the gate in the wall, where I paused yet again, one hand on the latch. I was beginning to see William Woodward's disappearance and Robert Herepath's execution not as two separate events linked only by the latter's cupidity, but as a diabolically cunning scheme to get rid of the younger man. And for what better reason than the love of a girl like Cicely Ford who, in one brief hour of acquaintance, had stamped her image so indelibly upon my own heart that I had desire for no other woman.? Or, if not for her love, for her good, for the happiness which marriage to Robert Herepath would surely have denied her.
Once again, I brought myself up short. The deliberate abduction of William Woodward would have involved at least two other people, for it was impossible that William would have been a party to it himself; and a big, strong man as he was described as being, despite his advanced years, would not easily have been overpowered by a single person. Perhaps, after all, his story of being captured by Irish slavers was true, but instead of being paid to sell him into slavery, his captors had been bribed to murder him once he was set ashore in Ireland. Although he had been left for dead, the attempt on his life had been botched. He had been attacked in his house to leave plenty of blood and his hat thrown into the Frome in order to implicate Robert Herepath…
I lifted the gate-latch and stepped into the alleyway like a man sleepwalking, my thoughts in a turmoil. If any of these ideas had substance, then my clever schemer must have known of the money held in the cottage in Bell Lane, which brought Edward Herepath immediately to mind. Yet he surely could not have been the only person aware of his intention to be absent from Bristol on Lady Day and for the following night. A very little judicious questioning could have elicited the information, perhaps quite unconsciously given, that William Woodward had been instructed to hold the money until his master's return. It would be both foolish and perilous to jump to conclusions concerning the identity of the murderer, just as it would be equally foolhardy to presume my assumptions correct until I had more certain inebriation to go on. In the meantime, after dinner, I would visit the Gaunts' Hospital and seek out Miles Huckbody, that sworn enemy of William Woodward.
I had just reached the end of the alleyway and was about to turn into Bell Lane, when I heard the rattle of a latch and then footsteps pounding the cobbles behind me. A second or two later, a hand roughly seized my shoulder, spinning me round with surprising force. I found myself face to face with Robin Avenel, his cheeks an even brighter shade of crimson after his effort to catch up with me. He had not bothered to put on his cloak, but he hardly seemed to feel the cold, such was his agitation.
'I've just been talking to Master Herepath,' he said, bringing his angry face close to mine, 'and I would advise you, chapman, to keep your nose out of what does not concern you!' His grip on my shoulder tightened. 'Robert Herepath was a wastrel and a scoundrel, and deserved a rope about his neck, even if he didn't murder the old man. I'm warning you! Don't dare to show your face round here a second time, harassing Master Herepath and above all upsetting Mistress Ford by raking over that unhappy business. What's done is done, and what happened was for the best.' He gave me a sudden shove which, because the cobbles were wet and slippery with filth, almost threw me to the ground.
Recovering my balance, I looked him straight in the eyes, my right hand clenched firmly at my side as I resisted the temptation to teach this conceited puppy a lesson he would not easily forget. Instead, controlling myself, I smiled and answered as courteously as I was able. 'I can give no such undertaking. I have Master Herepath's blessing to try to discover what happened to William Woodward, and the protection of Alderman Weaver. I bid you good-day.'
I swung on my heel and walked away, leaving him staring after me and, I hoped, discomfited, but also uneasily conscious that I could have made an enemy. It was as I was making my way up Broad Street towards the High Cross, that I recollected William Woodward had returned home wearing the clothes of a gentleman in place of his own homespun; a fact which seemed to render void my theory that perhaps, after all, he had been abducted across the water. I comforted myself with the thought that my inquiries had only just begun, and that the fragments of picture at present in my possession might yet come together to make a whole and reveal the solution to the fiddle.
The midday meal was delayed somewhat, Mistress Walker having returned late from the dyer's with her basket of wool and, as a consequence, been late finishing her morning's spinning. When the wheel and spindle finally stopped turning, it was past noon, and as she ladled broth from the pot over the fire into the three wooden bowls on the table, I was aware that Lillis was covertly watching me.
'Did you visit Master Herepath, then?' she asked as her mother took her place alongside us. When I nodded, she continued, 'Did you learn anything new?' I had my mouth full of bread, so was able to gather my thoughts before replying. 'No more than Mistress Walker had already told me.'
Margaret sighed, but without regret. 'I guessed it to be a fool's errand when you said that you were going.'
'Not completely.' I cleared my mouth with a draught of rough red wine, which Lillis had brought me from the vintner's. 'I learned your father had an enemy called Miles Huckbody, a pensioner now of the Gaunts' Hospital.'