Richard Manifold had the grace to blush, but he answered steadily. ‘Then you’re an even bigger fool than I take you for. Remember, you’re a family man now. You can no longer afford to take the law into your own hands.’
‘And if I refuse to testify against Burl?’
‘You’ll find yourself in the bridewell on a charge of obstructing justice. You may also find yourself accused of being an accessory to murder. Don’t forget we have the beggar’s testimony.’ He appealed to Adela. ‘Make him see sense, my dear.’
‘Roger …’ she began, but I interrupted with a roar.
‘Who asked you to keep calling my wife your dear? Get out of my house before I lose control and give you the same treatment that your red-nosed friend here has suffered at some other hero’s hands. Whoever it was, he has my undying admiration.’
‘It was Luke Prettywood,’ Jack Gload snuffled, fingering the swollen member tenderly. ‘Well, he’s got his comeuppance.’ He tried to grin, but I was happy to note that it hurt his face, so he desisted.
Richard got to his feet with more dignity than I think I could have mustered in the circumstances. He nodded to Adela, then turned to look at me.
‘I shall expect you this afternoon, Roger, at the Councillors’ Meeting Hall to make your deposition. Don’t let me wait in vain.’
And on this warning note, he left, Peter Littleman and Jack Gload trailing in his wake.
I have been inattentive in God’s house many times in my life, but that Midsummer morning I don’t believe that I was aware of a single thing that went on around me. In my own defence, I have to say that I was not the only person paying scant attention. There was an undercurrent of unease, of feverish excitement, and a constant sibilance that suggested much whispering behind hands and an even greater disregard of the priest than usual. And, once released from our devotions, the babel of voices was worthy of the great tower itself. The names of Burl Hodge and Robin Avenel were on everybody’s lips.
There was no sign of any member of the Avenel household present, but that was hardly surprising. They must still be coming to terms with their recent bereavement. But I couldn’t help wondering how the smart young widow was bearing her loss. And what of Luke Prettywood? How was he taking the news? Where had he been when Robin Avenel was murdered?
The tidings that I was to be one of the Crown’s two chief witnesses against Burl Hodge had not yet reached a wider public. So Adela, the children and I were allowed to escape the crowds still milling around Saint Lawrence’s Church, not yet sated with gossip, and make our way home to Small Street unmolested. But we breathed a sigh of relief too soon. Dreams of a quiet family dinner while we took stock of the situation were shattered as soon as we saw Margaret Walker standing outside the house, impatiently awaiting our return.
‘Roger!’ She wasted no time on any other greeting. ‘Have you heard about Burl?’ When I nodded, she went on urgently, ‘You must come back with me to Redcliffe and speak to Jenny. She’s beside herself with anxiety. She thinks you might be able to prove Burl’s innocence. Don’t shake your head like that. You’ve solved other mysteries. You helped me and Lillis. Don’t worry about your dinner. I’ll feed you all. Just come!’ As I hesitated, she lost her temper. ‘Oh, by the Blessed Virgin! You’re not so petty as to hold Burl’s recent animosity against him, are you? Think of Jenny! Think of the boys! Adela! Persuade him!’
‘It’s all right, Mother-in-law,’ I said quietly. ‘Adela doesn’t need to persuade me. I’ll just fetch Hercules. I can’t let him remain mewed up all day on his own. You and Adela and the children go ahead. I’ll catch you up.’
Once indoors, I dealt with Hercules’s effusive welcome — he always greeted me as though I’d just returned from a three year voyage to the realms of Prester John — found his rope halter and leading string, then sat down at the kitchen table for a moment or two, savouring the tranquillity of the empty house and marshalling my thoughts.
Somehow or other, I had to find Timothy Plummer and discover what exactly he was up to. I entertained a faint hope that I might be able to convince him to disappear for a while without giving further evidence to the magistrates, forcing them to rely on my word alone. Then if I denied what had happened …
But that would do no good. There must have been other witnesses to Burl’s attack on Robin Avenel. There was the ship’s master to whom Robin had been talking for a start. But he was a foreigner. Maybe he spoke little English. I must try to see him as soon as possible … There was a lot to be done, and I recollected with a sigh that I also had to report to Richard Manifold at the Councillors’ Hall sometime that afternoon.
I glanced down at Hercules who, once in his harness, was anxious to be off and chafing at the delay. I cast a regretful eye over Adela’s preparations for dinner, which appeared to be one of her succulent rabbit pies, followed by junkets and stewed pippins. A Midsummer’s Day feast to remember. Ah well!
I wanted to visit Jewry Lane to see for myself the place where Robin Avenel’s body had been found. But I guessed that, by now, Adela and Margaret would be wondering why I hadn’t caught them up, so Hercules and I set off up Small Street without more ado.
At the top, we turned left into Corn Street and made for the High Cross. Immediately ahead of us was Wine Street, where I could see a small, angry crowd surrounding the pillory. Investigation revealed that two of the ringleaders of last night’s apprentices’ riot had been placed there and were being pelted with refuse from the central drain. I threw a few handfuls of rotting vegetables myself, just to let them know how I felt about my wife and children having been frightened by their antics, then walked down High Street to Bristol Bridge, where I eventually overtook my family.
By now, my stomach was rumbling and I was in urgent need of sustenance, so I was not best pleased to discover that we were going straight to the Hodges’ cottage to see Jenny. But in Temple Street I found a repetition of the scene I had left behind on the other side of the Avon. Set in the Redcliffe pillory, near Temple Church, were two more ringleaders of the riot and one who had been arrested for assault. Luke Prettywood!
He was being pelted with filth by a crowd of street urchins who were promptly shooed away by Margaret Walker. Luke, as he had informed me the night before, was a Redcliffe man, and Redcliffe people look after their own, no matter what they’ve done. Moreover, this was the hero who had set about Jack Gload. I patted his matted hair. He gave me a sheepish grin.
‘How long?’ I asked.
He knew what I meant. ‘Until curfew,’ he croaked, his neck restricted by the confining headboards. He looked awful, with an unshaven chin and bloodshot eyes, muck and ordure streaking his face. ‘Hit Jack Gload. Shouldn’t have done it. Too much cuckoo-foot ale. Y’know what that stuff’s like.’
I did indeed, but Adela always kept a careful eye on the amount that I consumed. Spiced with ginger, basil and dill, it was a refreshing drink for a hot night that seduced you into thinking it harmless until you swallowed one draught too many. Then it kicked like a mule, and within minutes you were ready to fight the rest of the world. And, as in Luke’s case, you probably did.
‘Cheer up,’ I said. ‘At least you have the consolation of having picked the right target. Jack Gload has a marvellously swollen nose and black eye.’