I felt like a condemned man who has suddenly been given the hope of a reprieve. I lifted Cicely’s hand to my lips. She saw the answer in my eyes long before I breathed an ecstatic, ‘Yes, please.’
She smiled, looking happier than I had seen her in a long time. ‘That’s settled then. Now, go home and make things up with your wife. You don’t deserve her.’
‘Oh, I know that,’ I grinned. ‘So does she.’
As I was leaving the cottage, I met Marion Baldock coming in. We nodded politely to one another and I stood aside to let her pass. I heard Cicely’s voice, raised in pleasure. ‘Sister Jerome, you’re very welcome.’
I went on my way.
Adela and I made up our quarrel so satisfactorily that, after the children were all asleep that night, we made love for the first time since Adam’s birth. She still found it somewhat of an ordeal, but, as I told her, thanks to my manly skills it was not as uncomfortable as it might otherwise have been. She was forced to stifle her derisive laughter in the pillows, while trying to hug and kiss me at the same time. It wasn’t easy.
‘Oh, I do so hate fighting with you,’ she said. ‘Sweetheart, if Mistress Ford keeps her promise, and we eventually do get the house in Small Street, we shall need more furniture. Those gold pieces are going to come in very handy.’ I groaned and she laughed, giving me yet another squeeze. ‘When will you tell John Overbecks?’
‘What shall I tell John Overbecks?’ I countered gloomily. ‘That’s more to the point. I can hardly tell him the truth.’
‘You’ll think of something,’ my wife murmured sleepily. ‘You always do.’ Her confidence in my powers of persuasion was amazing. I just hoped it wasn’t misplaced. ‘Shush now! We’re both tired. What we need is a good night’s rest.’
She shouldn’t have said that. Fate found it too great a temptation to resist. Adam promptly woke up and screamed the place down.
The following morning, with a splitting headache and feeling far from my best, I visited the baker. Somewhat to my surprise, he was more upset by my refusal of his offer than I had expected. After all, I thought, he could now sell the High Street property, simply and without fuss, to the highest bidder. He had made Adela and me a generous offer, which, after talking it over, we had politely and regretfully declined on the grounds that it was too risky an undertaking. As an excuse, it could have sounded a little feeble, and may have had a false ring to it, but it certainly did not warrant his bad temper and abuse.
‘I never took you for a fool, Chapman, but that’s what you are! You’ve allowed that wife of yours to talk you out of the best offer of domestic comfort you’ll ever receive. You’re henpecked! And a man who can’t control his womenfolk is no man in my judgement. Nor in that of anyone worthy of the name! Well, get along with you! I haven’t the time to stand here talking all morning. I’ll make your Lammas loaves this time, because I’ve promised, but don’t come begging favours of me ever again.’
I left the bakery still dazed and a little battered by his unlooked-for ill will, but the more I turned it over in my mind, the more I began to feel there was something sinister about his anger. It seemed to confirm that Adela’s fears had been justified: that John Overbecks had wanted us close to him so that Jane might have a surrogate baby. Which just went to show that Adela was more astute in her understanding of other people’s motives than I was. But then, she could have told me that.
In order to recover from this unpleasant encounter, I went to the Green Lattis and sat at my favourite table. While I drank my stoup of ale, I considered what to do next. Should I pursue my investigation into the three deaths of the past three days, or should I let the matter rest? I really knew the answer before I asked myself the question, but I also realized that the enquiry had, for the moment, ground to a halt. I needed to talk to Goody Godsmark, but that would be an intrusion just at present. Until Walter was buried and she had had sufficient time to mourn him, there was nothing I could do. Another, even more important consideration was that I must get back to work. I had sold nothing for almost two days, and with Saint James’s Fair starting the following day, I could not afford to let myself be distracted any longer. As everyone was so fond of reminding me, I was now a family man.
Saint James’s Fair got bigger and rowdier with every passing year. Beginning on the twenty-fifth of July, Saint James’s Day itself, the original charter had been for just over a week, but nowadays it invariably lasted for more than a fortnight. It was, and probably still is for all I know, one of the biggest fairs in England, and people came from all over the country, as well as from Wales, Ireland and even as far afield as Scotland, to buy and sell. Cattle traders, sheep dealers, drapers, skinners, upholsterers, basket makers, weavers, ironsmiths, you think of a trade and name it, they were all there, touting their wares. There were purveyors of woollen goods from Yorkshire, silk merchants and goldsmiths from London, wood carvers from the valleys of south Wales. And, of course, the sellers of food and wine made money hand over fist, while the city’s many whorehouses never closed their doors except on Sundays; and even then there were ways of getting in if a desperate client crossed the brothel keeper’s palm with silver. (This was simply hearsay, not first-hand knowledge, you understand!)
Unfortunately, it goes almost without saying that a second army of cutpurses, cut-throats, pickpockets and thieves in general arrived in the wake of the genuine traders, with every intention of returning home richer than they came. And undoubtedly amongst their number were more sinister characters who preyed on children, seizing them and carrying them off, never to be seen by parents and family again. As a result, Adela was afraid to let either Nicholas or Elizabeth out of her sight; and, because they were both now at an active age, they grew daily more fractious at being confined within the cottage’s four walls.
Margaret, who ate her dinner with us on the first day of the fair, anticipated the problem, and on Monday, sent word by Jack Nym that she was willing for the two older children to stay with her in Redcliffe for the duration of the fair. After some discussion, Adela and I agreed that we would let them go until the end of the week, but that I would fetch them home on Friday, the day before the Lammas Feast. I duly informed Jack Nym that I would myself take Elizabeth and Nicholas to Redcliffe after dinner, later that same morning, and he promised to pass on my message.
Consequently, when we had finished our meal, Adela packed a basket with a change of clothing for each child, their night shifts and a couple of toys — a ball for Nicholas and Elizabeth’s favourite doll — and I set off with them through the town, both too excited to speak. In a few years’ time, when they were older, they would probably object roundly to being removed to safety and missing all the fun of the fair. But at present, the milling crowds frightened them; they felt threatened by the hordes of unfamiliar faces, and were only too happy to spend a few days being thoroughly spoilt and pampered by Margaret, the centre of attraction for once, instead of Adam. Whatever Adela might say to the contrary, I knew they still resented him.
Earlier that morning, between sunrise and dinnertime, at ten o’clock, I had spent a profitable few hours at the fair, selling the goods I had bought from the Spanish ship some five days before. I had sold the leather gloves for twice their purchasing price; one pair to a very fine gentleman who had claimed to be secretary to the Dean of Wells Cathedral, and who was intending to give them as a birthday gift to his master; the other to a wealthy Yorkshire merchant, whose way of speaking was so strange that I couldn’t understand him any more than he could understand me, and we were forced to conduct the entire transaction in sign language. The tooled leather belt tags were just as quickly snapped up, while the silver and coral rosary was bought for his wife by a Welshman, who offered me in exchange three exquisitely carved wooden loving spoons. I kept one as a present for Adela and sold the other two. The length of black lace, which I had planned to sell for three times what I had paid for it, went for four times as much to another rich north-countryman, under much the same conditions as I had sold the second pair of gloves. (I reflected that if my travels ever took me to the northern shires, I must remember to take an interpreter along with me.) As for the fake jewellery, I got rid of that faster than all the rest, and there must have been many a young man that evening trying to persuade his sweetheart that he had spent a small fortune on her, and that the chain around her neck, or the ring on her finger, was genuine gold.