‘And how did your master know I was here, in Master Golightly’s cottage?’
There was another silence, then Jack said softly, but in a voice charged with menace, ‘I, too, would wish to hear the answer to that question.’
‘My master didn’t trust you,’ the groom told him savagely. ‘He set me to watch you and see what happened when the chapman did turn up. Well, it was plain, when you let him inside the cottage, that you hadn’t sent him away with a dusty answer, so I went home and told Master Bartholomew what you’d done. He rode back here with me, and just as we arrived, you both came to the door. It was raining steadily by then, and you went back inside. When you — ’ he nodded at Jack — ‘began closing the shutters, Master guessed that the chapman had been invited to stay for the night. That’s when he had the idea that I should force my way in while you were both asleep and — and-’
‘And murder me,’ I finished scornfully. ‘Did he really believe that you could do it? Do you really believe you could have done it? Killing a man in cold blood is more difficult than you and your master might think.’
The man tried to spit at me, but when you are flat on the ground, spitting isn’t easy and the saliva merely dribbled down his chin. I laughed and released his arms, but Jack Golightly was not amused. He advanced his face to within an inch of the groom’s face, his lips drawn back from his teeth in a snarl of rage.
‘You can go back to your master and tell him this. If he comes so much as within half a mile of this cottage, he’ll be a dead man. No one violates the sanctity of my hospitality and gets away with it! Especially not a Champernowne!’ Once again, he succeeded in making the name sound like the vilest of imprecations. He stood up, releasing his prisoner, but also delivering a swift, hard kick to the man’s groin. The groom doubled up in agony.
Taking the lantern, we left him to hobble back to where his horse was tethered as best he could, and returned to the cottage once again, locking the door behind us. We also shuttered and barred the open window.
‘Did we ought to make certain that he’s gone?’ asked Jack.
I shook my head. ‘He won’t hang around. He’s too frightened. You’ve put the fear of God into him if it wasn’t there already. I can almost feel pity for the poor oaf, for it was plain he didn’t relish what he’d been ordered to do. I don’t suppose he’s ever killed a man in his life. I’d guess that petty thieving is the most his talents have ever run to.’
We were both shivering with cold now that the excitement was past, and with the bellows Jack tried to blow a spark of life back into the fire. After a while, a flame caught some of the unburnt wood, and he put a pan of ale to mull over the heat. Meanwhile, I found our two dirty beakers from yesterday’s supper and within half an hour, we were able to sit on the mattress, the blanket pulled over our knees, and feel the warmth creep back into our bones.
‘Well, all’s well that ends well,’ I said lightly. ‘At least I’m still here.’
But my host refused to be mollified. When he spoke, his voice was harsh with unsuppressed hatred.
‘I swear to you, chapman, that if ever Bartholomew Champernowne comes near this place again, I’ll have his life and count my own well lost in ridding the world of such a worm!’
‘That’s foolish talk,’ I said, draining my cup. ‘It’s wrong to take life, be it your own or another’s. You’re tired and upset. Lie down and get some sleep. You’ll feel differently in the morning.’
I reached across and put out the lantern that I had left near us on the floor. Darkness muffled us once again. I stretched my length on the palliasse and, a moment or so later Jack did the same. He hadn’t answered me, but I was too sleepy to press the matter. Besides, within minutes, he was snoring.
Chapter Ten
I awoke the following morning with aching limbs that felt as heavy as lead and an incipient headache that nagged behind my eyes.
It was as much as I could do to sit upright on the mattress, and my first thought was that I was suffering from an ague, contracted since coming into Devon. Then the truth dawned on me: I had had three disturbed nights, one after the other. Last night, Bartholomew Champernowne’s groom had tried to break into Jack Golightly’s cottage in order to kill me; the previous night, I had witnessed the nocturnal meeting between Katherine Glover and Beric Gifford at the Bird of Passage Inn; and the night before that again, I had paid a visit to Oliver Capstick’s house in Bilbury Street. Lack of rest was no good for either my wits or my strength, and I decided that when I said my morning prayers I should have to have a word with God about it. It was all very well for Him to give me these signs and show me the path that I must follow, but if I were to be of any use in doing His will, He really would have to allow me to get some sleep.
Jack was already up, frying thick, fatty slabs of bacon in a pan over the now brightly burning fire and, at the same time, stirring porridge which was bubbling away merrily in an iron pot.
‘You’ve slept a fair while,’ he remarked, as I yawned and stretched my arms until the bones cracked. ‘But you were so dead to the world that I didn’t like to wake you. Not that you look much better now, with those dark circles under your eyes. Go and stick your head in a bucket of water; it might revive you. There’s a stream that runs close to the animals’ pen. Breakfast’ll be ready when you get back.’
He was as good as his word, and by the time that I had washed and cleaned ny teeth with my willow bark, a bowl of gruel and a plate of bacon collops awaited me on the table. My host, seated opposite, had already started on his meal and greeted my return with a grunt, too busy eating to talk yet awhile. At last, however, he had cleared both plate and bowl, and patted his stomach with a sigh of repletion.
‘Are you still of the same mind today as you were yesterday?’ he asked. ‘Do you intend calling upon Master Sherford?’
I nodded. ‘And you? I can only hope you’re not of the same mind as you were yesterday as regards Bartholomew Champernowne. You’ve been kind to me and I like you. I’d hate to see you dangling at the end of a rope.’
‘That’s up to him,’ Jack replied grimly. ‘Don’t worry! I shan’t go searching him out, but if either he or that groom of his comes bothering me again, I might not be answerable for my actions.’
‘I doubt if he will come bothering you again,’ I said. ‘He’ll guess that I’ve gone on my way this morning, and I’m the one he’s after, not you.’
‘Take care, then,’ Jack warned. ‘Watch your back. Live by this maxim: never trust a Champernowne.’
‘Will he warn this Stephen Sherford, do you think, of my probable arrival? For he seems to know the name of everyone hereabouts who gave evidence to the Sheriff’s officers after Oliver Capstick’s murder. But even if he does, I fancy he’ll hardly try to buy Sherford’s silence, as he did yours and Gueda Beeman’s.’
Jack grimaced and picked his teeth with a rusty nail that he kept handy for the purpose. ‘He might go to see Master Sherford,’ he conceded, ‘but as you say, it’s unlikely he’d attempt to bribe him. That might be regarded as too insulting. But it’s likely he’d try to persuade young Sherford to have nothing to do with you for the sake of Mistress Gifford. Champernowne would appeal to his sense of chivalry in protecting a lady’s name from further calumny.’ Jack hesitated before adding, ‘If Master Sherford is the man you’re looking for, of course. We don’t know for certain that he’s the one. It could possibly be some other.’
I finished my bacon and swallowed a mouthful or two of ale. ‘But according to you there’s no one else in these parts who could have been a friend of Beric’s, so, in those circumstances, it’s worth paying Stephen Sherford a visit. And even if he proves not to be my man, it’s possible he can tell me who is.’ I stood up, wiping my mouth on the back of my hand, and gathered up my pack and cudgel. ‘I have to be on my way now. Many thanks for your hospitality. I shan’t forget you.’