'You be talkin' 'bout William Woodward and them Herepaths,' he accused us. 'My ears are sharp. I 'eard what you was saying.'
'No law 'gainst it that I knows of,' Miles Huckbody retorted. He jerked his head. 'This here's Henry Dando,' he informed me.
I nodded at the old man whose rheumy, pale blue eyes were regarding me so intently. Taking this as a sign of encouragement, he settled down again beside Miles on the bench and prepared to discuss the events of the previous year which had shocked all Bristol.
'Terrible thing to 'ave 'appened,' he said, "angin' an innercent man.'
'Not so innocent,' Miles Huckbody protested. 'Stole his brother's money, rents and suchlike. Robert Herepath were always a nuisance, judging by all people do say of 'im.'
'Did you ever meet him?' I asked, interested.
Miles shook his head, but Henry Dando nodded eagerly. "E were always around the city, kicking up 'is 'eels, even when 'e were younger, in trouble with the law, bein' bailed out o' the Bridewell by 'is brother. Once, 'e were in the Newgate lock-up fer three days fer knocking down an old woman in the street. And another time, 'e were in the castle cells a while after 'e and some of 'is friends went on the rampage.' Henry sniffed. 'But 'is brother got 'im off each time. Knew the right people to bribe among the city fathers or in the sheriff's office. And it's no good you tut-tutting, Miles 'Uckbody, and trying to shush me, 'cause I knows what I know.' He sucked his few remaining teeth, probing with his tongue for lingering particles of dinner. 'I shouldn't think,' he added judiciously, 'that 'twere any great loss to Master Edward Herepath to be rid of 'im.'
Miles immediately sprang to his benefactor's defence.
'You mustn't say such things. They were blood-kin when all's said, whatever Robert may have done. Besides,' he went on, as though obscurely feeling that some kind of guilt were being attached to Edward Herepath, 'he were in Gloucester when it all happened.'
Henry Dando looked resigned. "E were, that's true enough. I saw 'im meself on the Friday morning as 'e were setting out. 'E were some way distant, but I recognized that bay of 'is that 'e were ridin'.'
At this point, both men lapsed into silence, interest switching to me as two pairs of eyes looked me up and down. Their scrutiny rendered me uneasy. I thanked them for their help and swiftly took my leave before they could begin to ask questions. I also said my farewells to the porter at the gate before making my way back across the Frome Bridge and re-entering the city. I had learned nothing that I did not already know, but at least I was satisfied that Miles Huckbody could have had nothing to do with William Woodward's disappearance. I turned again to my belief that Irish slave traders could indeed have been involved, and decided that I would have to pay a second visit to Alderman Weaver. He appeared to know people who could advise me how to make contact with these elusive men, but it would have to wait now until the morrow. I was feeling suddenly very fired, with a curious lightness of the head and trembling in the limbs. Once again, I was forcibly reminded that I had not long risen from my sick-bed and, strong though my constitution was, I could not afford to overtax that strength. So instead of pausing outside the house in Broad Street, I continued past the High Cross, down High Street and across the bridge to the Redcliffe Ward and the homes of the weavers.
I ached in every joint, and could hardly wait for Mistress Walker to douse the rushlights and pull the curtain, which divided the room in two before flinging off all clothes except my shirt, and tumbling between the blankets on my truckle bed. But once at ease, I found it unexpectedly difficult to sleep. To begin with there were small, rustling noises from the other side of the curtain as the women undressed, the subdued murmur of their voices as they said their prayers and bade one another good-night. Then, as silence filled the little room, the fire gave a dying spurt, sending shadows racing up the walls, to cling and then recede, merging into an all-enveloping blackness. Finally, as I thankfully closed my eyes, prepared for instant oblivion, a picture of Cicely Ford rose before me to set me tossing and turning restlessly, in the grip of unrequited passion.
I was astonished at the intensity of my feelings, of my desire for this girl I barely knew, of my longing to hold her in my arms and love her. The knowledge that I had no hope of ever possessing her in no way cooled my ardour; rather it made my lustful imaginings worse.
These, no doubt, were further inflamed by the fact that I had not lain with a woman for several months; a celibacy enforced by the rough winter weather and my failing health. Now, however, in spite of recurrent bouts of weakness, I was on the road to recovery, and I had moreover met a woman who appealed to my senses as no other had in a very long time.
I had just decided that sleep would never come, when my eyelids began to grow heavy and my mind blurred at the edges, thoughts running together like melting ice. If I was conscious of the slender shadow which emerged from behind the curtain and tiptoed across the floor towards me, it was an awareness which failed to rouse me from the near-slumber into which I had fallen. It was only when I felt the chill of Lillis's naked body snuggling close to mine that I awoke to the full realization of what was happening. And by then it was too late. I was already on top of her, impelled by my craving for Cicely Ford.
It was over all too soon, and to my shame, I doubt if Lillis derived much satisfaction from our copulation — for to dignify it by any other name would be to lie — except that of having managed to seduce me in the face of my obvious determination to ignore her advances of the past few weeks. For if looks could have stripped me naked and put her in my bed, she would have been there long ago, in spite of my sickness.
I lifted myself off her and sat up, gasping, trying to keep the nausea from rising in my throat. I started to shiver, and only controlled it with an effort, clamping a hand across my mouth. She said nothing, but slender fingers, feather-light, stroked my back.
'Lillis,' I mumbled, turning towards her, but she hushed me, also sitting up and then sliding from the bed.
'It's all right,' she whispered. 'I know you were wishing I was Cicely Ford.'
Once again, she astonished me by her percipience, by the swiftness with which she could change from a greedy, grasping child into a woman of maturity and understanding. She made no further comment, but slipped away behind the curtain to resume her place beside her mother, who was snoring gently and sleeping the sleep of blessed ignorance. As for me, I was left to toss and turn upon my truckle bed for what seemed like hours, weighed down by a guilt which was not mine alone, but which felt, in the small hours of the morning, like a solitary burden.
Resentment that I should feel solely responsible was intermingled with the knowledge that I had betrayed Margaret Walker's trust; that I had allowed my craving for another woman to overwhelm my senses. And my shame was compounded by the fact that Lillis had been a virgin; something, had I stopped to think about it, I should not have expected.
Eventually I fell into an uneasy sleep, and it was already daylight when Margaret woke me. She had been up an hour or more, moving silently in and out of the cottage in order not to wake me. The fire was lit and an iron pot, filled with lentil porridge, was warming over it.
Lillis, pale and withdrawn, was cutting slices from a loaf of black bread.
'Why didn't you wake me sooner?' I demanded ungraciously, stumbling out of bed and pulling my shirt down around my knees. I saw a faint smile lift Lillis's lips and hurriedly looked away again.
'I thought you could do with the rest,' Margaret Walker answered briskly. 'You looked tired last night. Take your clothes behind the curtain and dress.' She indicated a smaller iron pot. 'There's hot water if you want to shave before breakfast.'