I was not disappointed. Dame Pernelle was a plump, motherly-looking creature, somewhere, I guessed, in her early or middle forties, with large, soft blue eyes and a double chin. The young maid’s attitude towards her appeared to be familiar but respectful, suggesting that the housekeeper ruled her little kingdom by persuasion rather than force, by kindness rather than fear. She peered shortsightedly at me, seemed reassured by what she saw, and indicated that I should step inside.
The kitchen, too, was much as I remembered it, with its stone-flagged, rush-strewn floor, its water-butt and ale-vat standing in separate corners, sides of salted beef and mutton and bunches of herbs hanging from hooks in the ceiling. A delicious smell of baking bread came from the ovens.
A second maid joined us at the table as I started to set out my wares. ‘I know you,’ she grinned. ‘You’re Margaret Walker’s son-in-law. You live with her in Redcliffe. I’ve seen you when I’ve been visiting my aunt.’
Dame Pernelle, who had drawn up a stool, regarded me with sudden keenness. ‘Aha! You’re that chapman, are you?’ The blue eyes, so guileless a moment before, now twinkled knowingly, as she fingered a carved ivory needlecase. ‘This is very pretty — if, that is, you’re really interested in selling us anything.’
‘Why shouldn’t I be?’ I asked, all innocence. ‘For what other purpose would I be here?’
The housekeeper chuckled. ‘It’s no good trying to pull the wool over my eyes, lad. I’ve heard talk of you from some of Mistress Walker’s neighbours.’
‘And what do they say of me?’ I wanted to know.
‘Oh, some say that you’re far too nosy, always poking and prying into people’s business. Others, that you’re very clever at solving riddles, and that thanks to you, some evil men and women, who might otherwise have escaped punishment, have been brought to justice. There have also been whispers of friends in high places … But I can see by the look on your face that you’d rather I didn’t talk about that.’
‘The gossip’s bound to be exaggerated, anyway,’ I answered curtly. ‘Such rumours usually are. Let me recommend to you this length of blue silk ribbon. Florentine,’ I added coaxingly. ‘It arrived in Bristol on a merchantman only yesterday morning.’
Dame Pernelle once again gave her rich, throaty chuckle. ‘And what would I do with it, pray? When would I have a chance to wear it? Or either of these silly girls, here, for that matter? No, no! Save it for someone young and pretty who can afford it, and tell me why you’ve really come.’ She lowered her voice and asked confidentially, ‘Have you been sent by Mistress Burnett to see if you can make head or tail of this strange business that’s so perplexing to us all?’
The housekeeper’s appearance was deceptive. Beneath her plumply soft exterior, and behind the rather vacuous features, a shrewd mind was at work. It was no use pretending, so I gave her what I hoped was my most disarming grin. ‘You’re right, there is no pulling the wool over your eyes. Although to say that I was sent by Mistress Burnett is perhaps somewhat misleading. Let’s just say that I have agreed to find out what I can.’
Dame Pernelle looked pleased with herself and her own percipience. She was about to make some further remark, when she recollected the maids who, their interest in the contents of my pack temporarily forgotten, were staring at us with a fascinated, if not entirely comprehending, gaze. ‘You’re good girls,’ she said, rising to her feet and patting them both on the head. ‘You’ve worked hard this morning and deserve a treat. Later on, I’ll buy each of you something from Roger’s pack, but for now, I must speak privately with him.’ And she gave a slight jerk of the head, indicating that I should follow her.
Dame Pernelle led the way to a small, tapestry-hung closet on the opposite side of the hall, that evidently served as her hideaway. The air struck chill as there was no hearth and therefore no fire; but as there was only one small window, through which the draughts could seep, it was not as cold as it might otherwise have been. She lit a couple of candles before closing the door and waving me to a seat. When I had lowered my bulk on to a bench which ran along one wall, the dame plumped herself down in the room’s only chair. ‘Now,’ she said, ‘we can talk without the girls overhearing everything we say. What do you want to know?’
I shrugged. ‘That’s easy. Do you believe this young man to be Clement Weaver or do you think him an impostor? No, wait! I may be putting the cart before the horse. First of all, were you previously acquainted with Clement?’
‘Oh yes! I knew him well. My elder sister and I grew up in the city, and our father, Robin Dando, was a vintner with a shop in Wine Street, close by the castle foregate. When Clement and Alison were young, they used sometimes to accompany the Alderman when he came to the shop to buy wine. You see, my father imported several excellent wines from Bordeaux to which Alfred Weaver was extremely partial. And then, when I was eighteen, my sister Alice married the Alderman’s younger brother, John.’
This revelation was entirely unexpected and I exclaimed in astonishment. ‘You’re Alice Weaver’s sister? I had no notion!’ I scrutinized her more closely. ‘But now that you say, yes, I can see a likeness.’
‘You’ve met Alice?’ It was Dame Pernelle’s turn to be surprised.
‘Six years ago, in Faringdon Without, when I was searching for Clement.’
The housekeeper nodded. ‘She and John went to London to live almost as soon as they were married. He had an idea he could make his fortune if he set up his looms there instead of in Redcliffe. Myself, I think it was a mistake; and I fancy Alice does, too, only she’s too loyal to say so.’ She echoed Alison Burnett’s words. ‘John’s comfortably off, I don’t deny that, but he hasn’t made the money that his brother has. He should have stayed in Bristol.’
‘And what happened to you?’ I asked.
‘I married my father’s apprentice,’ she said apologetically. ‘It wasn’t the match my parents had hoped for me, but we were in love and it worked out very well in the end. My father left us the business when he died, and Henry ran it at a profit for over quarter of a century until he also died, in January last year. After that, I’d no heart for it. We’d no children, so I sold up; and by great good fortune, the Alderman was looking for a new housekeeper as his old one had just been given notice to quit. He and Dame Judith never really got on.’
It occurred to me that not only was my companion sister-in-law to one of the chief suspects in this affair, but also that she had not been long in the Alderman’s employ — a matter of months, no more — before the arrival of this man who claimed to be his son. But for the moment, I suppressed the thought: I would take it out and consider it at my leisure, later on. ‘Very well then,’ I said. ‘You are a kinswoman by marriage of the Alderman and his children. You knew Clement Weaver. So, is this man who he says he is? You must have an opinion one way or the other.’
Dame Pernelle shook her head. ‘I’m afraid I don’t. Yes, there is a look of Clement about him, but six years of hardship and privation can change a man. An impostor would bank on that fact to explain any alteration in his appearance. Yes, he knows a great deal about the family, the weaving business, his childhood with Alison; but, again, his long loss of memory is held accountable for any of the many slips he makes, or for the frequent lapses of recall from which he suffers.’ She sighed. ‘It’s impossible for someone as impartial as myself to judge the truth of the matter, let alone one as blind and besotted as the Alderman.’
The housekeeper was apparently being very frank, and I realized why she had not wished the maids to hear what she had to say; so I decided to take advantage of this privacy to probe further. ‘What were the circumstances,’ I asked, ‘of this young man’s arrival? Exactly when and how did it happen?’