She gave me a squeeze, dried her eyes on her apron and wiped her nose on the back of her hand. ‘I did go to the bakery afterwards and tell Master Overbecks what had happened. He blamed Jenny Hodge, who he said was supposed to be keeping an eye on Jane. But he apologized profusely and then asked me if I knew what had happened to the Breton who was set upon last night, and was it true that he was one of Henry Tudor’s spies. Apparently everyone in Bristol knows the story. Heaven knows how these things get about so fast. And, of course, he mentioned Walter. That’s common knowledge, too, by now.’
She dished up the remains of yesterday’s stew, which, because I was late, had stuck to the bottom of the saucepan. The fresh meat she had bought was, presumably, for our supper, which meant that there was only a little of it and it would need some eking out. The children grumbled, as they always did, about having the same food two days running, especially as it now had a slightly sour, as well as a burnt, taste, as though it had gone off in the heat. I sent them both a stern, warning look, which they returned with interest. I gave up. Other fathers inspired terror in their young. Why couldn’t I?
Talking with my mouth full, I told Adela of the morning’s events, but I waited until the meal was finished, and until Nicholas and Elizabeth had gone out to play, before I made free with my and Timothy Plummer’s opinion that the spy had been murdered. I saw consternation flare in her beautiful brown eyes. One definite and two possible murders in as many days frightened her. She got up and looked outside the cottage door to reassure herself that the children were safe. I heard her tell them not to stray very far.
‘There’s no need to worry like that, sweetheart,’ I said when she had resumed her seat at the table. ‘I’m not even sure that Walter Godsmark’s death wasn’t an accident. But if it was murder, then it would be too much of a coincidence if it weren’t somehow linked with Jasper’s. But at present, there’s no way of proving the spy was murdered, let alone Walter, not unless it can definitely be shown that someone is lying.’
‘You don’t seem to think Richard will pursue the investigation into Jasper Fairbrother’s killing?’ Adela folded her arms on the table and tilted her head to one side.
‘I very much doubt it. The incentive has gone and he’s left with too many suspects. As for the man who may or may not be a Tudor agent, Richard and the sheriff will want to forget that unfortunate episode as quickly as possible. If they can persuade the doctor to say the death was from natural causes, the man will be hustled into a pauper’s grave at civic expense, and that will be the end of that.’
‘Maybe for them,’ Adela observed astutely. ‘But not for you, not if I know anything about it.’
I assumed an innocent expression, but my wife wasn’t fooled for an instant. To avoid further questioning on the subject, I rose and began shouldering my pack, trying to look like a man who was eager to earn some money. Adela laughed.
‘By the way,’ she said as she kissed me goodbye, ‘I almost forgot. John Overbecks was very desirous to talk to you in person, so I promised I’d ask you to call on him. If you go right away, he will have finished his dinner, but not yet be so busy with his afternoon customers that he’ll have to ask you to call back again.’
‘Surely he’s said all he has to say to you. Why does he want to see me?’
Adela shrugged. ‘I don’t know. He didn’t say. But he did seem very anxious to do so.’
I sighed. ‘In that case, I’ll go now, as you suggest.’
‘And take the dog with you!’ She was intent on imposing the new regime immediately.
I hunted out a piece of rope and tied it around Hercules’s neck, making sure that it was neither tight enough to choke him nor loose enough for him to slip his head through and run amok. Then I set out for High Street.
‘Come in! Come in!’
John Overbecks was in the bakery behind the shop, but as soon as I appeared, he was ready to usher me through the door that led to the stairs, instructing Dick Hodge to deal with any customers who might present themselves. First, however, Hercules’s presence had to be explained and exclaimed over, then the apprentice further burdened with the task of looking after him and giving him a drink.
‘Luckily,’ my host informed me, ‘our own dog is with Jane in her bedchamber. They both like a sleep after dinner. Which is just as well. The pup doesn’t care for other animals invading his territory. Now, shall we go up?’
Once we had mounted to the living quarters, I was shown into a pleasant chamber that overlooked High Street, the casement being firmly closed against the stench, noise and heat. A stout oaken table stood in the centre of the room, the walls were hung with woollen tapestries depicting various biblical scenes, and, facing the — at present — empty fireplace, was a high-backed wooden settle that would provide substantial protection against winter draughts. A couple of beautifully carved armchairs, each with its own footstool, a corner cupboard with the usual display of pewter and silver gleaming in its depths, three or four stools ranged around the table and a scattering of cushions covered in rich brown velvet completed a picture of comfort and prosperity that formed a sharp contrast to what I had just left at home. I was intrigued, however, to note the complete absence of any feminine influence — no flowers, no bright colours, no embroidery frame flung carelesly down — and could well imagine that the room had not changed much, if at all, since the days of John Overbecks’s bachelorhood.
The baker relieved me of my pack and motioned me to take a stool and sit opposite him at the table.
‘It’s good of you to spare me the time, Roger,’ he said. ‘First of all, let me apologize again for what happened this morning. I am particularly upset as this is now the second time that such an incident has occurred. Young Adam seems to hold a particular fascination for Jane. I can only try to reassure you that she will do him no harm. She would probably have brought him straight back here.’
I mumbled the customary platitudes that politeness imposes on us all, and which satisfied my companion far more than they did me.
‘That’s all right then,’ he said, beaming affably. ‘Now, tell me, if you will, what’s been going on with this Breton spy. The whole town’s buzzing with rumours, but no one seems to know anything for certain. I hear you were in the thick of the action, though that doesn’t altogether surprise me. You’re a friend of one of the King’s officers, or so I was told. The chief man, too, by all accounts. You were drinking with him in the castle guardroom this morning.’ I laughed wryly and he joined in, guessing what I was thinking: that nothing was ever a secret for long in this city. He went on, ‘Is the Breton Jasper’s killer? I should like to know. I feel a strange sort of responsibility, as Jasper was my tenant.’
I told him all that I knew, even of my suspicion that the Breton himself had been the victim of foul play. He tut-tutted and was plainly intrigued, but he also appeared to be genuinely distressed.
‘Three deaths in three days,’ I concluded. ‘There must be some connection.’
‘Why do you say that?’ he asked sharply.
‘Because the three men themselves were connected. Doesn’t that fact seem suspicious to you?’
John Overbecks considered the proposition for a moment or two, before shaking his head. ‘Not necessarily. Young Godsmark’s death I would most certainly regard as an accident. He was drunk and fell into the Frome. In fact, I can myself testify to the fact that he was very much the worse for drink on Tuesday evening, when he left the Green Lattis. He could barely stand upright, let alone walk in a straight line. He was far from sober, even when I first arrived. I had to share a table with him, because the place was so full, so I know what I’m talking about.’