From somewhere in the house a child wailed. Juliette, in the act of pouring wine into one of the mazers, glanced up sharply, then paused, listening. But there were no further cries and she nodded to herself as though satisfied.
‘That was my son, Luke,’ she said. ‘Jane must have settled him.’
‘You once told me that you couldn’t have children,’ I accused her.
She handed me the mazer and offered me the plate of doucettes, which I refused, then sat down opposite me in another carved armchair, taking a great gulp of her own wine as if it were a restorative, as perhaps it was.
‘It wasn’t a lie,’ she pleaded. ‘Not a deliberate one. I truly believed I couldn’t. My husband and I tried often enough, but I never conceived. And’ — a faint tinge of colour crept into her emaciated cheeks — ‘there were other men before you. Never was there any sign of a child. Nor did you, with all your virility, father one on me.’
It was my turn to feel uncomfortable. I could feel the hot blood creeping up my neck. I took refuge in anger. ‘But that didn’t prevent you trying to foist your bastard on me, though, did it?’ When she didn’t answer immediately, I went on loudly, ‘My wife left me because of your lies.’ I slammed the by now half-full mazer down on the table, making her jump. ‘Oh, yes, she left me and took two of our children with her.’ No need to explain that Nicholas wasn’t mine. ‘I had to go after her, to London. Fortunately, for the greater part of last year, I was out of England, first in Scotland, then in France. And it was the spring of the year before that that you and I. .’ I broke off, floundering, resuming lamely, ‘. . that I was in Gloucester. Fortunately, although no thanks to you, Adela believed me.’
‘I’m glad,’ Juliette said simply.
I stared at her. ‘Is that all you’ve got to say? You’re glad! No explanation as to why you tried to wreck my marriage? Nothing?’
I could barely speak, I was so choked with rage. I pushed the mazer away from me, slopping the wine. I felt I couldn’t take another drop to drink beneath her roof and, without realizing it, I was on my feet, towering over her. It was only when I saw the flicker of fear in her eyes that I took a grip on myself and my emotions. I sat down again abruptly.
‘So?’ I said coldly, viciously. ‘Who is the father of your little bastard? Or don’t you know? Was he someone you pleasured in that casual way of yours? Did you even know his name?’
The words were barely out before I was feeling ashamed of myself. I saw the tears well up in her eyes, and she looked for a moment as though she might faint. I had to remind myself that this woman had done me a great wrong in order to prevent myself going to her assistance.
Juliette took a deep, steadying breath, then nodded. ‘You are quite right, Roger. You are owed an explanation.’
‘Well?’ My tone was softer, more reasonable. Nevertheless, I felt that the explanation had better be good, but I was unable to imagine what it could be.
Juliette took another sip of wine. She was breathing calmly now, but her pallor was more alarming than ever. I half rose from my chair, wondering if I should summon Jane Spicer but, guessing my intention, she waved me back into my seat.
‘I shall be all right,’ she said. ‘Just sit still and listen.’
In the spring — ‘probably March’ — of the preceding year, the year of the invasion of Scotland, she had met a young Irishman who told her he was seeking temporary lodgings. Juliette smiled wryly. ‘He didn’t tell me what he was doing in Gloucester, and I didn’t ask.’
That, I thought, was typical of the woman: large-hearted, generous and fond of younger men. ‘Go on,’ I said resignedly. My anger had evaporated.
She gave something like a grin, but it was a feeble attempt and slid without difficulty into a grimace of pain. ‘Jane had come to live with me after my uncle died. She was a cousin of his on his mother’s side of the family, and I’d always known her, if only at a distance. She didn’t like the thought of me being here on my own, so she shut up her own house and moved into Uncle Robert’s chamber. But there was still a small attic room standing empty.’
‘So you offered it to the young Irishman,’ I said, not even bothering to make it a question.
‘Yes. It was only for a week or so, and I persuaded Jane that we could do with the extra money.’
‘But you didn’t really charge him. You intended him to pay in kind.’
Again, hot colour touched the almost transparent skin. But she made no effort to refute my accusation.
‘Of course,’ she retorted defiantly. ‘And he was only too eager to oblige. I was still strong and healthy then. Not as you see me now.’
‘He couldn’t believe his luck, I daresay. Free lodgings and an attractive woman anxious for his company in bed. What was he doing in Gloucester?’
‘I’ve already told you, he didn’t tell me and I didn’t ask.’ She passed a hand across her brow and when it came away, I could see that it was damp with sweat. She didn’t seem to notice and went on, ‘But I don’t think it was anything legal. There was a furtiveness about his comings and goings. If I had to make a guess, it would be smuggling. . He came to my bed three times in all during the week or so that he was with us. It was quite easy: Jane sleeps like a log and snores as well. We always knew as soon as she was asleep.’
She started to cough, a harsh, hacking sound, and I rose and poured her more wine. She thanked me and seemed better for it.
‘Go on,’ I said inexorably, ignoring the look of exhaustion in her face.
Juliette nodded and made a visible effort to concentrate. ‘When he left, he was genuinely concerned what might happen to me should I find that I was pregnant. I assured him his fears were groundless. I was unable to conceive, I told him. I was barren. He said, quite rightly as it turned out, that nothing in this world was certain, but I just laughed at his fears. All the same, I said, if he felt so strongly, he must tell me where to find him in Ireland, but for all his solicitude, that was the one thing he refused to do — which convinced me even more that he was engaged in some criminal activity. However, he did say that if I were to find myself in serious difficulties. .’
Here she paused, giving me a long, hard look of such significance that I wondered uneasily what was coming. And if I’d thought for a week, I don’t think I could have guessed the answer.
Juliette continued: ‘He said that if I were to find myself in serious difficulties, I could do no better than to go to his brother — his half-brother — in Small Street in Bristol, whose name was Roger Chapman, and beg his aid.’ She ignored my gasp of incredulity and went on, ‘I asked him to describe you and when he had done so, I told him you and I were already acquainted. I said you had called here on some business with my uncle the year before and that our acquaintance had. had blossomed into something more.’
I was hardly listening to her. ‘John,’ I said. ‘John Wedmore, that’s his name. He’s my father’s bastard son, but I never knew of his existence until three years ago, when I cleared him of a charge of murder that was brought against him. He went back to Ireland afterwards — although he’s no more Irish by birth than I am — and I’ve neither heard from nor seen him since. And he had the. . the audacity to suggest that you should pass his bastard child off as mine?’
‘No, no!’ Juliette exclaimed, distressed. ‘He only suggested that if I were in difficulties or any sort of trouble I should seek your help. Naturally, I dismissed the idea as absurd — even after I discovered that I was indeed carrying his child.’
‘So what changed your mind?’ I demanded savagely.
‘My sickness,’ she answered simply. ‘Luke was born in January, on St Agnes’s Day and by that time, I knew that I hadn’t long to live. I first began to feel ill last summer, but thought it just the natural malaise of women in my condition. By Christmas, I feared I was wrong and by the time Luke was two months old, I knew my days were numbered. It’s no good hoping that Jane will care for him when I’m gone. She doesn’t really like children, and he’s of no kin to her. But he is your nephew.’