I was intrigued by this Baldwin Lightfoot. ‘Where does he live?’ I asked. ‘Here, in Bristol?’
Alison shook her head. ‘No, in Keyford, near Frome.’
My heart lurched in my chest, and immediately a face swam before my eyes; the most beautiful face in the world. Eyes the colour of periwinkles, hair the shade of ripe corn, skin as flawless as a peach, lips as red as cherries … I pulled myself up short. Surely no woman in the world was as perfect as that! What in heaven’s name was the matter with me? Rowena Honeyman had me bewitched. I turned back to my companion.
‘Is anything wrong?’ she asked. ‘You look so strange.’
I managed a smile. ‘It’s just that I know someone who lives in Keyford,’ I answered lamely. ‘Tell me more about this Baldwin Lightfoot.’
Alison grimaced. ‘There’s little to tell. He’s a bachelor, some fifty and more years of age. He has property in Keyford, inherited from his father.’
‘Does he ever go to London? Would he have had the opportunity to meet this man who calls himself your brother? Would he have recognized a likeness to Clement?’
Alison bit her lip. Her tone of voice when speaking of Baldwin made it obvious to me that she disliked her mother’s cousin. All the same, she wished to be fair.
‘In answer to your last question, probably not,’ she admitted at length. ‘It’s a number of years now since he last set eyes on Clement, although in our youth, we saw Baldwin often. As for your other queries, I can only say that he used to visit a kinsman of his father who lived close by Saint Paul’s churchyard, but whether or not he still does so, I have no notion. If he does, however, then he might have had the opportunity. But that is for you to find out. It is, after all, what you will be paid for.’
‘This Baldwin Lightfoot,’ I persisted, ‘would he know enough about you, your brother and parents to be able to prime a complete stranger with all those little customs and rituals which are peculiar to every family, but known only to its members?’
The hazel eyes, with their strange green flecks, again met mine, and Alison laughed scornfully. ‘He’d know enough. But you still don’t understand, do you, Chapman? But then why should you? You haven’t yet met the creature claiming to be my brother! Whenever he’s challenged with some awkward question to which he doesn’t know the answer, whenever he makes an error, he blames it on his loss of memory. “The past six years have taken their toll of me,” he says. “I’ve been ill, and I’m still not completely well yet.” And he clutches his brow and complains of pains in his head and looks piteously at my father, who roars at everyone to leave the boy alone. So you see, the gaps in Baldwin Lightfoot’s knowledge, were he the instigator of this plot, wouldn’t really matter.’
‘I see.’ I stared thoughtfully at her. ‘Mistress Burnett,’ I said at last, ‘I’ll try to find out as much as I can within the next few days. But if I am to discover all the truth, I must travel not only to Keyford, but to London, also, and such journeys will now have to wait until spring. The worst of the winter weather is yet to come, and will soon be upon us. There are obligations which must keep me at home, for a while at least; obligations to my mother-in-law and her kinswoman, Mistress Juett, whom you met yesterday, to Mistress Juett’s son and also to my little daughter. In which case, it might possibly be high summer before I am able to offer a solution to your troubles. Even then, I may fail. I can’t promise you an answer. In these circumstances, do you still wish me to pursue my investigations?’
She frowned. ‘Must they take so long?’
‘It’s probable. Will the state of the Alderman’s health allow him to survive the colder months, do you think?’
Alison continued to look worried, but after a little consideration, she nodded. ‘I think it more than likely. My father seems to have been given a new lease of life since the arrival of this impostor. At Christmas, I was convinced he could not be long for this world, although William thought I was being unduly pessimistic. He considers my father good for several years yet, and now I am inclined to agree with him.’
‘Are you then not afraid,’ I suggested, ‘that it might hasten your father’s end should it be proved that this young man, in whom he places so much trust and who seems to be so necessary to his well-being, is really a villain?’
Something akin to eagerness leapt into my companion’s eyes, before they were veiled by decorously lowered lids. ‘I don’t think that’s likely to happen,’ she said, now arguing against herself. ‘My father is tougher than you think. He’s had to be, to weather the tragedies and disappointments of his life, and also to make himself one of the richest men in Bristol.’ She stood up rather abruptly, indicating that our meeting was at an end. ‘You’ll let me know how you go on, Master Chapman. I wish to be kept informed of anything you may discover. Are you in need of money?’
I had risen with Alison, and bowed over her proffered hand. ‘I shall render my account when I have an answer to this riddle, and only so long as I am able to reach a firm conclusion. If I am unable to do so, I shall waive my fee. But if I do have the answer, you will pay me regardless of the outcome. That is our bargain.’
‘Very well,’ she agreed, after the briefest of hesitations, adding, ‘what will you do now?’
I had not given the matter much thought, but inspiration struck even while Alison was speaking. ‘I shall return to my mother-in-law’s cottage to fetch my pack, and then I shall call on Dame Pernelle in Broad Street. There must be something she, or one of the maids perhaps, could usefully buy from a chapman. And while there, I shall try to discover the general feelings of the household with regard to this man calling himself Clement Weaver. I might also, if luck favours me, manage to have a word with Ned Stoner and Rob Short, both of whom are old acquaintances.’
Alison nodded her approval and rang the little silver bell which stood on a table beside her chair. A servant answered the summons and, two minutes later, I was standing outside the house, thankful that William Burnett had not reappeared.
Chapter Seven
I approached Alderman Weaver’s house in Broad Street from the back, through the garden gate that opened into Tower Lane.
The garden itself, after I had lifted the latch and entered, was much as I remembered it, except that the apple and pear trees were at present leafless, the bed of herbs and the border of flowers along one wall locked in their winter sleep. A thin layer of frost, untouched by the feeble midday sun, still coated the pathway and the roof of the lean-to privy, a sure indication that the bad weather was tightening its grip; and a sudden sharp intake of breath made me sneeze, as the cold irritated the back of my nose and throat. I knocked on the outer door of the kitchen.
It was opened by one of the maids. ‘Yes?’ she queried. ‘What do you want?’
I pointed to my pack. ‘Is there anything you or the housekeeper might be needing?’
The girl looked dubious, but her eyes had brightened at the prospect of some relief in the monotonous routine of a dull afternoon. ‘Wait there! I’ll ask Dame Pernelle,’ she said, and withdrew indoors.
While I stamped my feet and blew on my fingers to try to keep warm, I could not help but recall the first time I had visited this house in the company of Marjorie Dyer, a distant kinswoman of the widowed Alderman, who had then been in charge of his domestic comforts. Three years later, when I again had cause to contact Alfred Weaver, Marjorie had been replaced by a veritable dragon of a woman, and I could only hope that her successor was of a sweeter disposition.