Adela’s voice broke in on my thoughts. ‘I hope you don’t think, Roger, that I encouraged them to pick those things.’ She knew their value as well as I did. ‘In fact, I washed up the dirty dishes so that I didn’t even see what they chose.’
‘Sweetheart, such a thought never so much as crossed my mind,’ I lied. I wouldn’t have put it past her as a punishment for behaviour of which she strongly disapproved. But if she said she didn’t, then she didn’t. Adela was the most truthful person I had ever known.
‘And now,’ she went on, ‘it’s time for lessons. Your knowledge of the alphabet, Adam, leaves much to be desired, while as for you two, your inability to do the simplest sums is very worrying. A little more concentration and a little less whispering and giggling would do neither of you any harm.’ (For the affection between Elizabeth and her stepbrother had been instant and lasting, making them almost inseparable.)
But as my wife rose to fetch their slates from the cupboard, I stopped her. ‘Couldn’t you let them off lessons just for this once? There’s something I need to talk to you about.’
Adela was immediately suspicious. ‘Can’t it wait?’
‘It could,’ I acknowledged, ‘but I’d rather it didn’t.’ Which was true. I knew what a coward I could be.
‘Very well then,’ she said slowly.
The children whooped with joy and vanished upstairs before she changed her mind. A few moments later it sounded as if the whole of Caesar’s Gallic wars was being re-enacted above our heads.
‘Let’s go into the parlour,’ I suggested.
Some little time later, I finished the stumbling account of my visit to Juliette Gerrish and, leaning forward uncomfortably in my chair, waited for the storm to break.
There was a long silence, then, much to my astonishment and confusion, Adela said quietly, ‘The poor creature. Why ever didn’t she tell me the truth at the time? It would have saved so much. . misunderstanding between us.’
‘You’re sorry for her?’
‘I’m sorry for any woman placed as she is. But are you certain she’s telling the truth? That the father is indeed your half-brother?’
‘How else could she have known about him? Very few, if any, people, even in Bristol, knew about John Wedmore’s relationship to me. I doubt, after three years, if anyone even remembers him. And she called him an Irishman, even though, like the blessed Saint Patrick himself, he’s Somerset born and bred.’
There was another silence before Adela’s initial suspicions were suddenly reawakened. ‘You’re not suggesting that we should take this child in when. . when. .?’
‘No, of course not,’ I disclaimed, a shade too hurriedly. ‘In fact. .’
‘Roger, we have three children of our own! And another boy! This house is too full of males as it is.’
‘And so I told Mistress Gerrish. But I did promise I would try to speak to this Walter Gurney who’s head groom to Sir Lionel Despenser.’
‘A fool’s errand,’ Adela told me bluntly. ‘You’d do better to save your shoe leather.’
‘I know it,’ I agreed. ‘But a promise is a promise. It will mean a walk to Keynsham, but I can sell some of my goods on the way. I’ll pay a visit to Goldsmith Foliot’s shop tomorrow and ask him for Sir Lionel’s exact direction. I know they’re friends. Which reminds me,’ I added, relieved that my confession was over, ‘I haven’t yet told you about the rest of my adventures. What happened at Tintern Abbey. A most remarkable series of coincidences, if indeed it was that.’
And I proceeded to tell the tale.
Adela was intrigued by the story, as I had known she would be, but she had no solution to offer to the mystery. ‘But,’ she said, ‘it does account for some gossip that I overheard in the market the day before yesterday to the effect that Anthony Roper’s nephew is dead. There didn’t seem to be much information as to how the boy had died, more speculation as to how Master Roper had received the news. The general opinion was that he would have shed no tears over a scapegrace and a ne’er-do-well for whom he had never had much affection in the first place.’ Adela broke off for a moment, thinking, then nodded briskly to herself. ‘It accounts, too, for the fact that when I passed Ursula Foliot in St Mary le Port Street a day or so back, her eyes were all red and swollen as if she had been crying. You say Master Foliot claims the lad had been hanging around his daughter and wanted to marry her. I must admit that both Goody Watkins and Bess Simnel had hinted as much a while ago, but you know how full of talk they are and at the time I didn’t take much notice. But what could he possibly have been after at Tintern Abbey?’
‘I’ve told you, we found nothing on his body, so perhaps there was nothing to find. But he was certainly looking for something even if he failed to discover it. And I could have sworn that he was holding something in his left hand when he rushed past us and out into the night.’
I had hoped that Adela might be in the mood to discuss the subject further, but I knew her well enough to see that her attention had wandered and that she was now struggling with some confession of her own.
‘Roger — ’ she began, then stopped.
I raised my eyebrows and gave her an encouraging smile.
She took a deep breath and began again. ‘Roger, I’ve invited Richard to supper this evening.’ Richard Manifold, sheriff’s officer and one-time aspirant to Adela’s hand in the long-ago days before she had married Owen Juett and gone to live in Hereford, was a constant, if infrequent, presence in our lives and a perpetual thorn in my side. Adela liked him, not only for old times’ sake, but also for himself, and while I had no doubt that her heart was entirely mine, I was uneasy when he was around. I felt certain, not without past reason, that he would do me a mischief if he could. And be happy to do it. But he was always smooth and pleasant on the surface so, unless I were to appear unnecessarily churlish, what could I do except treat him with complaisance? Nevertheless, Adela knew that I disliked him and was always tentative when mentioning his name.
‘I wasn’t to know that you’d be home today.’
‘Of course not.’ I smiled, but couldn’t prevent myself from asking, ‘Has he kept you company often while I’ve been away?’
‘No! No!’ Her answer was a little too emphatic for comfort. ‘Only once or twice. It gets lonely when you’re not here.’
‘The children?’
‘Oh, Roger!’ She gave me an exasperated smile. ‘Only a man could think that small children are adequate company. Have you ever tried talking in words of one syllable all day?’
‘I’m sorry,’ I said and, rising from my seat, went over and gently drew her to her feet. I kissed her, but couldn’t help adding, ‘It was you who sent me away this time, you know. And all for nothing as it turned out.’
She smiled wryly. ‘I suppose I shall never hear the last of that.’
I hotly refuted the allegation, kissed her once again and spent the rest of the morning cleaning my boots and washing myself from head to foot in order to wipe away the grime of the past few weeks. Then I donned a fresh shirt and hose preparatory to visiting my favourite inn, the Green Lattis, to discover how the world had been turning in my absence.