I decided, reluctantly, that I must take my leave. There was nothing more that I could do, and I was beginning to feel like an intruder. Besides, it was high time that I returned home. I had been absent for some hours and should no doubt be greeted with reproaches. And as neither Mistress Burnett nor her husband uttered a word to hinder my departure, I murmured my farewells and went downstairs and out into the street.
* * *
I can’t pretend that my return was rapturously received by either my mother-in-law or my daughter, but I was used to Margaret’s disapproving silences, and was growing accustomed to Elizabeth’s indifference to me now that she had a playmate of her own age. Not, it appeared, that Nicholas Juett would be her companion for very much longer, a fact which explained his mother’s smiling countenance.
‘We’ve had a visit from one of the Lay Brothers of Saint James’s Priory,’ Adela said, almost before I had closed the door on the bleak scene outside. She rose from her stool, where she had been doing some mending, and took my wet cloak, shaking it so vigorously that the drops of melting snow hissed among the logs and sea-coal burning on the hearth. ‘I can have temporary use of Imelda Bracegirdle’s cottage, and maybe permanent tenancy if all goes well.’
‘That is good news,’ I said, a shade too heartily to please my mother-in-law, who looked sourly at me.
But I suspected that Margaret was not too unhappy at the prospect of her cousin’s leaving. Two days had been ample time to prove to her that she did not care for sharing her home with another woman.
‘When do you go?’ I asked Adela.
She began shepherding the two children towards the bed and making preparations to wash them. ‘Tomorrow. I wondered if I might count on you to help me with my things?’
‘Of course you may,’ my mother-in-law answered for me. ‘You’ll be happy to do anything you can, won’t you, Roger?’
‘Of course.’ I sat on Adela’s vacated stool to pull off my boots. ‘And to lend Mistress Juett any money she may need until she finds employment.’
‘Thank you, but that won’t be necessary.’ Adela poured hot water into a bowl, then added cold from the barrel in the corner. ‘I have a little of my savings left, and tomorrow, Margaret has promised to speak to Alderman Weaver about me.’
‘You’d do well to visit him early then,’ I advised my mother-in-law, ‘before his daughter has time to get to him.’ And I related the events of my day whilst helping myself to some bread and cheese from the various food crocks that had been placed ready on the table against my return.
And later, when the two children were safely in bed — although not anywhere near asleep, judging by the chattering and giggling which reached our ears from behind the drawn curtain — I was forced to go over it all again as we ate our supper of dried salt beef and such stewed root vegetables as were obtainable at this season of the year.
‘And you think Master Burnett knows who set upon him?’ queried my mother-in-law, adding with a shrug, ‘Well, he must have made plenty of enemies in his time. He’s never been as popular as his father. He gives himself too many airs and graces. Thinks himself superior to his workmen. People resent that. But he’s foolish if he drives a bigger wedge between his wife and father-in-law than exists already. According to what you say, that seems to have been your fault, Roger. Opening your mouth too wide as usual. If you hadn’t mentioned seeing this Irwin Peto, or whatever his real name is, entering the Lattis…’
The subject occupied us comfortably until bedtime, smoothing over any little awkwardness which might otherwise have arisen from Adela Juett’s determination to quit her cousin’s roof after less than three days. And I could still hear the two women discussing this latest piece of gossip long after they had retired for the night, their voices muted for fear of waking the now-sleeping children at the other end of the bed. I laid my own pallet as close to the dying fire as it was safe to do, took another blanket from the press, and hoped that not too much snow would drift through the smoke-hole in the roof. And the next thing I knew, it was morning.
It had stopped snowing, but was freezing hard, making conditions underfoot extremely treacherous. On inspection, the handle of the local pump was found to be immovable and the well water inches deep in ice. As soon as it was light, therefore, the men of the surrounding houses, including myself, were set to shovelling frozen snow into iron pots, which the women of the household then heated over the fire. I was thrown into the company of Jack Nym and Nick Brimble, both of whom were already in possession of the story concerning yesterday’s assault on William Burnett.
‘You and Ned Stoner discovered him, so I’m told, Chapman,’ Nick Brimble said, pausing to wipe the moisture from his face, for, in spite of the cold, the exercise was making him sweat.
‘And went home with him,’ I agreed.
‘They’re saying — ’ this was Jack Nym — ‘that Mistress Burnett is laying blame for the attack on this fellow who claims to be her brother, and that Master Burnett also believes it might have been him.’
I wondered how, in the name of Saint Michael and all the angels, had he got hold of that piece of information? However dark the night, however appalling the weather, there must be constant communication between one household and the next, from one side of the bridge to the other. I hastened to set them straight on the matter.
‘Master Burnett, it’s true, did at first encourage her in that belief, but only for a moment. When he had had time to think about it properly, he denied it utterly and has forbidden her to spread the rumour. The misunderstanding was, according to my mother-in-law, in some respect my fault,’ I admitted, and explained what had happened. ‘My own feeling, for what it’s worth, is that William Burnett knows who his attacker is, but isn’t saying.’
Nick Brimble and Jack Nym glanced at one another and guffawed. ‘Daresay he does know,’ said the former.
‘One of Jasper Fairbrother’s men, no doubt,’ agreed Jack, stretching his arms with the air of a man who had done quite enough shovelling on an empty stomach.
I knew of this Jasper Fairbrother by repute, and he had been pointed out to me on several occasions. He was a master baker who constantly flouted the law — in particular a city ordinance made four years earlier, protecting the livelihoods of the women hucksters whose right it was to sell loaves and pastries — but who escaped punishment by threatening his victims with condign retribution if they laid a complaint against him. He employed three or four hefty young bravos solely for this purpose, and had once, in a very roundabout fashion, tried to recruit me, but I had given his messenger extremely short shrift.
‘What would Jasper Fairbrother have to do with William Burnett?’ I asked, puzzled.
Nick Brimble grinned. ‘They both like games of chance, dicing and suchlike. And they also share the shortcoming that afflicts a lot of rich men: they resent parting with their money when they lose. Word at the Lattis is that William Burnett has had a run of bad luck in recent months and owes Jasper Fairbrother a goodly sum, so I reckon Jasper has at last lost patience and given him a warning. And if I’m right, it wouldn’t be surprising if William wanted to keep Mistress Burnett in ignorance of what really happened.’