But another memory was jostling for position. Only yesterday, Marianne Avenel had told me that her sister-in-law’s companion was a Mistress Hollyns. It would be too great a coincidence to have two women of that name take up residence in the city together. They had to be one and the same person.
It might mean nothing at all, of course. I had yet to clap eyes on Mistress Alefounder, and until I did, there was little to connect her to the murder at Rownham Passage. I found myself hoping that Adela was wrong; that there was no similarity between the woman in the brown sarcenet and Robin Avenel’s sister.
‘Allow me to escort you home, Mistress Hon — er, Mistress Hollyns,’ I offered.
She was as beautiful as ever, with soft, rose-petal skin, eyes as blue as cornflowers and a full, gently curving mouth. And she disliked me as much as ever; I could see it in the hard, set lines of her face. She still held me responsible for her father’s death.
‘No, thank you,’ she replied coldly. ‘I am quite capable of looking after myself. I’ve had to since my husband died.’
‘You weren’t married long, I think? Indeed, I know you could not have been.’
She refused to rise to my bait and ask how I knew.
‘Ten months. Ralph died of the plague last summer.’
‘You … You didn’t catch it too?’ I asked anxiously.
‘He was away from home when it happened.’ She did not enlarge on the subject, but added, ‘Mistress Alefounder has been very kind to me and given me employment as her companion. We are here, in Bristol, on a visit to her brother.’
I nodded. ‘Yes, I know … You decided against returning to live with your aunt, then?’
She gave a mirthless smile. ‘Dear me! What a lot you seem to know about me, Master Chapman. But why are you so interested? Does your conscience bother you?’
‘About your father? I’ve never lost a moment’s sleep on his account, I do assure you.’ I was angry at the mere suggestion.
For a few seconds, she gave me back stare for stare, then dropped her eyes and turned away, indicating that our conversation was at an end. I looked around for Richard Manifold but he had disappeared. The life of the quayside was back to normal; the momentary excitement had passed like the shadow that it was, the dead stranger already half forgotten. By tonight, he would not even be deemed worthy of a mention in the alehouses. I hoisted my pack higher on my shoulder.
‘Mistress Hollyns! Rowena!’
Someone was calling to my erstwhile companion who, meantime, had set off towards the bottom of High Street. I saw her pause and scan the crowds. Then Robin Avenel appeared, pushing his way through the workmen and sailors who were impeding his progress. I gained on him and Mistress Hollyns rapidly, and was soon close enough to overhear their conversation.
‘What’s happened?’ Robin demanded, hurrying to meet her. ‘Someone told me that a body’s been dragged out of the Avon. A man! Murdered! Is it true? Is it … Is it anyone I know?’
Rowena smiled and my heart gave an uncomfortable lurch. She was even lovelier when she wasn’t frowning.
‘My dear sir, how can I tell? Our acquaintance has been so short.’ She laid a hand on his sleeve. ‘I heard it said that the poor fellow was a sea captain. An Irishman … Master Avenel, you’re looking very unwell. But it’s hardly surprising, the sun is so hot. Please take my arm. I’m returning to Broad Street now that I’ve finished my errand for Mistress Alefounder.’
Robin Avenel may have been suffering from the heat, or from anxiety, perhaps — as yet I wasn’t sure which — but it didn’t prevent him from taking full advantage of Rowena’s invitation. He leaned against her so heavily that she had to support him with an arm about his waist. Keeping a few yards behind them, I eyed him malevolently and recalled that I had always disliked him, ever since the days when he and I had both fancied ourselves in love with Cicely Ford.
He was about a year younger than I was, with auburn hair cut in a fringe and curling to his shoulders. He had a cherubic, florid face, was a dandy who adopted every passing fashion, regardless of whether or not it suited him, believed himself to be irresistible to women, and, above all, oozed the sort of self-confidence that came from being the son and heir of one of Bristol’s richest citizens. I loathed him, and was greatly cheered by the thought that his wife of a mere eighteen months was playing him false with her father’s brewery assistant.
I was hoping, as we entered Broad Street, that I might be rewarded by a sight of the elusive Mistress Alefounder, but I was to be disappointed yet again. As they reached Alderman Weaver’s old house, Robin Avenel produced a key, letting both himself and his companion in without having to knock for admittance. I was unable to loiter and so proceeded on my way, knowing that if I were to visit Rownham Passage that day, I was already pressed for time.
Adela had not been expecting me, but was pleased to see me nevertheless. She professed herself suitably impressed by my (almost) full pack and by much of the merchandise I had bought from the ships along the Backs. It was now ten o’clock and dinnertime, so I was able to sit down at the kitchen table with her and the children and share their rabbit stew.
While we ate, I told her of the man pulled from the Avon, and who he was.
‘Did … Did Richard believe you?’ she asked uncertainly, her spoon arrested halfway to her mouth.
‘He said he didn’t, but I was none too sure it was the truth. Do you believe me?’
‘Yes, I think I do. I think I have to. I don’t suppose you’d invent a thing like that.’
‘Thank you,’ I said and meant it, although my tone may have sounded a little caustic. I looked steadily across the table at Adela, engaging her eyes with mine. For once, the children were quiet, intent on emptying their bowls. ‘I also met Elizabeth Alefounder’s maid down on the Backs. The Widow Hollyns.’ I took a deep breath. ‘When I knew her, she was still Rowena Honeyman. I told you about her.’
I had indeed told Adela about my unrequited passion, and it had been her sympathy and understanding that had led to the completely unexpected revelation that I was not really in love with Rowena at all, but with herself. And I was still in love with her, which she knew. Unfortunately, she also knew that I would always be a little in thrall to those ladies who had once engaged my affections. She had had the experience of Cicely Ford the previous year. Now here was Rowena come out of the past to haunt us. But she gave no sign of any unease.
‘Of course,’ was all she said, ‘if Mistress Honeyman — or Mistress Hollyns as I suppose I must now learn to call her — lives in Keyford, she must know Elizabeth Alefounder well. Two widows drawn together by loneliness, one rich, one poor, what could be more natural than that the former should offer the other employment?’ She placidly resumed eating, leaving me to my own self-reproaches, until she was struck by a sudden thought. ‘Roger! Does this mean that Mistress Hollyns could be the woman in the blue brocade dress? The one who killed the Irishman?’
The idea had already crossed my mind, but I wasn’t about to admit as much.
‘Firstly, I haven’t yet established that Mistress Alefounder is the woman in the brown sarcenet,’ I pointed out. ‘Secondly, Rowena Hollyns gave no indication that she recognized Eamonn Malahide.’ I added slowly, ‘Though Robin Avenel, now … He did seem perturbed, even though he hadn’t seen the body.’
‘You think he might be the man whose voice you heard?’
I smiled at her. ‘Why are you suddenly so certain that my story’s true, and not the result of delirium?’