Run away to sea! Of course! John Jericho would surely have made for the nearest port and made his escape … to where? To Ireland was the most probable answer. And that meant Bristol, with its undercover slave trade that was supposed to have been wiped out centuries ago, but still throve with the connivance of both Bristolians and Dubliners.
I was in the wrong place. I should be at home making my enquiries. And yet it was highly unlikely that anyone would remember anything after six years. And there were always so many other ships from all parts of the trading world anchored along the Backs or the banks of the Frome that John Jericho could be anywhere. I had to face it. There was as much hope of finding him now as there was of man learning to fly (although some mad fools had tried even that).
I suddenly felt deeply depressed as I realized I was up against an almost insoluble problem. And yet I had to try to find an answer to it. If I could avoid it, I wouldn’t let any innocent man go to the gallows, let alone my own flesh and blood, and as I skirted Wells and rode towards Croxcombe, I debated what was the best course to take next. Should I return to Bristol on the offchance that I might pick up a clue to the missing page’s whereabouts? Or should I remain where I was as long as I could in the hope of persuading Dame Audrea that she was mistaken in her identification? Perhaps, after all, persuading the steward to persuade her might be the better way. Maybe it was time to declare my interest and tell George Applegarth the truth. He was my natural ally. I nodded to myself. I had made up my mind.
‘Gee up, Ned,’ I adjured the donkey. He rightly ignored me and proceeded at his own stately pace.
As we ambled across the bridge spanning the moat, it was apparent that something was amiss. I could hear a woman crying, loud, noisy sobs bordering on hysteria. Someone else was shouting and there was a flurry of activity that had nothing to do with domestic matters like the laying and serving of supper. (And I was starving.)
Hercules made straight for the kitchens with all the ease and assurance of one certain of his welcome. (That dog had a talent for ingratiating himself with almost anyone.) I conducted Neddy back to the stables and handed him over to a groom, who intimated that it was not his job to look after donkeys and suggested I take the animal to the paddock. I did my idiot’s smile and ignored him.
‘What’s the fuss about?’ I asked, jerking my head in the direction of the house.
The man shrugged. ‘It’s been going on all afternoon. So far as I can gather, it started with a right old set-to between Master Anthony and the receiver. Word has it that Master Micheldever as good as accused our new master of having designs on Rose’s virtue.’ He snorted derisively. ‘That wouldn’t be hard. She even gives me the glad eye, and as you can see, I’m no beauty. Not that I’m saying there’s any malice in the girl. There ain’t. She’s just one of those who can’t help herself. Anyway, where was I?’
‘A set-to between the receiver and Master Bellknapp.’
‘Oh, ah! Came to blows apparently. Dame Audrea and Chaplain tried to separate them and got a mouthful of abuse from Master Anthony for their pains. Especially Sir Henry. Cook told me it was pitiful to see the poor old fellow lashed by Master’s tongue. Stammering idiot, something about not worth his bed and board, limping old fool who could barely climb the pulpit stairs and so on and so on. All this time, Rose — Mistress Micheldever, I suppose I should say — was having hysterics, and eventually Master turns on her and yells at her to hold her noise. Says he can’t stand snivelling women. Mind you, Cook says Rose was so shocked, because no one had ever spoken to her that way before, she couldn’t make a sound for about ten minutes or more. Then Master Simon arrives on the scene with Bailiff and that leads to more fisticuffs between the brothers, while Master Kilsby, he’s patting Dame Audrea’s hand like he’s Saint George and she’s the maid being threatened by the dragon. So Master Anthony, he just knocks Simon aside and lands a hefty punch on Bailiff’s nose and the man starts to bleed all down the front of Dame Audrea’s gown. She lets out a squawk and clips his ear, telling him to be more careful.’ The groom began to laugh immoderately, rocking to and fro on his heels and holding his side. ‘Lord! Lord! I wish I’d seen it all! But I’d taken Mistress’s horse to the blacksmith to be reshod. Just my luck to miss a scene like that. It’s quietened down a lot now.’
Just my luck, too, it seemed. I made my way towards the house and entered the hall, where a couple of servants were righting a trestle table and a bench before hauling them and others into the middle of the floor ready for the evening meal. The housekeeper, Mistress Wychbold, was passing through, hurrying towards the stairs and carrying a bowl of steaming, herb-scented water, several clean cloths draped over one arm, presumably on her way to administer to the afflicted. Rose was still crying somewhere, but the noisy sobs had diminished to a wail and had now almost ceased. The main combatants had vanished, but would no doubt reappear at suppertime, trying, as people do in those circumstances, to look unconcerned or as if they had got the best of the argument.
I decided to go in search of the steward.
He was in his room, and bade me enter when I knocked.
‘Ah, Master Chapman!’ he exclaimed. ‘Come in, come in. I understand from Master Anthony that you rode over to Wedmore in search of some old friends. Were you successful? Did you find them?’
‘I did. And have missed some excitement here, so I’ve been told.’
George Applegarth frowned, his long, thin face puckered in a look of distaste.
‘If you think physical violence and the unnecessary abuse of an old man exciting, yes, I suppose you have.’
It was the nearest I had heard him come to expressing disapproval of Anthony Bellknapp’s behaviour.
I raised my eyebrows. ‘You regret that the prodigal has returned?’
‘No, no! I didn’t say that. In many ways I’m very pleased to see him. It’s only right that if he’s alive, he should get what’s due to him. But there’s little doubt that his homecoming has had disastrous consequences. He was always …’ The steward broke off abruptly, suddenly recollecting to whom he was speaking. I was the stranger within the gates; a common pedlar. He should not be discussing the Bellknapps with me. ‘Do you wish to see me? What can I do for you?’ He added drily, ‘You appear to be walking far more easily than you were doing this morning.’
I smiled and admitted, ‘My ankle was never as badly injured as I’ve been making out.’ It was obvious from his slight look of contempt that he had already guessed as much. I hurried on, ‘I’d like to talk to you, if you’re willing to listen, but only if you’ll promise to keep my confidence.’
He hesitated for a moment, running one hand through his thinning grey hair. Then, coming to a decision, he nodded and waved me to the window seat, turning the armchair to face me and sitting down.
‘Well?’ he asked.
‘It’s about the young man accused by Dame Audrea of being John Jericho. The man at present held in the Bristol bridewell.’
The steward looked startled. Whatever he had expected me to say, it plainly hadn’t been that.
‘What about him?’
‘Do you think he’s the missing page? You don’t, do you?’ George Applegarth hesitated in a way that made me suddenly uneasy, and I added urgently, ‘Sergeant Manifold told me that you didn’t.’
The steward, elbows resting on the arms of his chair, put his hands together and looked at me over the tips of his steepled fingers.