‘What could we have done?’ someone else demanded angrily.
But it was becoming obvious by the way in which people suddenly avoided one another’s eyes, that a feeling of guilt was beginning to plague them. Yet it was sadly true that there really had been nothing that any of us could have done against armed men, not even if we had all banded together and acted in unison; and the element of surprise had robbed us of even that forlorn hope. Who, in any case, would dare to brave the wrath of the mighty Duke of Clarence, when his retribution was so terrible and swift? Whatever it was that Ankaret Twynyho had done to offend Brother George, nothing, surely, merited the sort of treatment meted out to her.
Brother George … The slightly derogatory title brought Timothy to mind, and I realized that I had, for the last fifteen minutes or so, completely forgotten his presence here. I glanced around, hoping to catch a glimpse of him, and was rewarded by seeing him skulking on the fringes of the crowd. I left Baldwin Lightfoot, still talking in low, incredulous tones to his neighbours, and made my way to his side. Timothy, however, saw me coming and withdrew even further apart, as though hoping to deter me. But I was not to be put off.
‘Well, is this what you were waiting for?’ I asked. Taking his silence for assent, I went on, ‘What can it mean? I understand that the poor creature arrested, the Widow Twynyho, was lady-in-waiting to Duchess Isabel, and therefore presumably trusted by both her and the Duke. And why use her with such violence? Why does it need God knows how many armed men to arrest one defenceless woman?’
Timothy shrugged. ‘To impress the incident on people’s minds, maybe. To make sure it’s talked about, that it’s heard of well beyond the confines of Keyford and Frome. To publish the fact that this woman is a dangerous criminal. To make the world aware that George of Clarence is a very important person and that no one lightly invites his displeasure. Your guess is as good as mine at the moment, Chapman, but time will very quickly tell. In a week or two, probably less, we shall have the answer to this riddle. And now I have to return to my inn and collect my horse. I must be on my way to London within the hour. Duke Richard has come down from the north again to try to keep the peace between his brother, and I was ordered to report to him there as soon as possible should anything happen.’
He moved off briskly, not even pausing to say goodbye, and I stared after him for a moment or two before rejoining Baldwin Lightfoot. The latter seemed not to have noticed my absence, so engrossed had he and his neighbours been in a discussion of the last hour’s events. An air of unreality still hung over them like a pall; their eyes and movements were those of sleepwalkers, but sleepwalkers who were afraid to wake up. Their small, cosy world had been shattered by a terror they did not understand, and it would never be the same again.
I had been looking for another face in the little knots of people that had gathered, but could not see it, although I fancied that one of the elderly dames was Rowena’s aunt. I could not be sure, however, my memory of her being unclear; and in any case, I had promised myself to complete my business with Baldwin Lightfoot before seeking her out. I touched him on the arm and he jumped as though I had pricked him with a knife.
‘Good God, man, don’t do that!’ He was white and shaken, his face the colour of uncooked dough. He added defensively, ‘I didn’t see you there. You startled me.’
‘I’m sorry, but I have to be leaving soon, and I still have to deliver the letter from your cousin.’
For a moment Baldwin looked bemused, recent events having driven everything else from his mind, but then he recollected and nodded. ‘Come inside,’ he said. ‘We need some wine to settle our stomachs.’ He glanced towards his housekeeper, but she was so deep in conversation with two other women that he shrugged and obviously decided not to disturb her.
The house struck chill after the warmth of the April sun outside, and we both shivered. My host ushered me into a parlour hung with tapestries, all of which had seen better days. One, depicting the Judgement of Paris, had a great rent in it, while another was so faded that it was almost impossible to determine its subject matter without closer scrutiny. The room’s one armchair had a broken leg that was propped up by a block of wood, and a carved chest, ranged along one wall, was badly splintered around the lock. An air of poverty and decay was all-pervasive.
Baldwin, who had briefly disappeared into the back of the house, returned with two beakers of wine, one of which he handed to me with the loud-voiced assurance that it was a good Bordeaux. I knew as little then about wines as I do now, but I had sufficient knowledge to recognize an English verjuice when I tasted it, and to be certain that its grapes had never been ripened by the hot southern sun. I took one unwary sip, almost choked and put the beaker down on the window seat beside me. Baldwin, happily, was still too bewildered by recent events to take much notice.
‘Too potent for you, eh?’ he asked. ‘I thought it might be.’ He sat down in the rickety armchair, passed a hand across his sweating forehead and took a gulp of wine. ‘Ah!’ he breathed. ‘That’s better.’ He looked at me. ‘Now, where’s this letter?’
I took it from the pouch at my belt and handed it to him, observing him closely while he broke the seal and began to read. But if he was already aware of what it might contain, he gave no sign, and his amazement when he had finished it seemed genuine enough.
‘Mother in Heaven!’ he muttered, taking yet another swig at his cup, like a parched soul desperate for water. He got up and started pacing up and down the room. ‘What a day this is turning out to be! First Widow Twynyho arrested and now my cousin writes to tell me that Clement has reappeared.’ He sat down again abruptly and referred once more to the letter. ‘No, that isn’t exactly what she says … She says it is someone pretending to be Clement, and that Alfred has cut her out completely from his will … I’m at a loss. I don’t understand it … Ah! But she does write that you will explain everything to me.’ And he glanced up expectantly.
I did my best to satisfy his curiosity, and to do him justice, he was a good listener, such questions as he asked being both pertinent and necessary. Nor did I need to repeat myself, for he had a ready grasp of all the details, surprisingly so, perhaps, for one who had just suffered a severe shock and was now consoling himself with an ample draught of wine. When I had finished, he drained the dregs from his beaker, stared regretfully for a moment into its depths and then sat back in his chair, folding his hands over his paunch.
‘A sorry affair! A sorry affair, indeed, and I don’t wonder that my cousin is suspicious of this — what did you say his name is? — this Irwin Peto! But what help she thinks I can be to her in the matter is beyond my comprehension. My interference would only make things worse. Alfred never liked me, nor I him. I always thought the man a fool, and his present actions only serve to confirm my opinion. No one but an idiot would have accepted this young man at face value, simply because he bears a passing resemblance to Clement.’
I took another sip of verjuice, but its sharpness set my teeth on edge and I hurriedly put it down again. ‘You think then,’ I suggested, ‘that Mistress Burnett might be right in considering it a plot to rob her of her inheritance?’
‘I should say it’s more than likely, wouldn’t you? But what a couple of crass blunderers Alison and that husband of hers must be to make bad worse! Between them, they seem to have ensured that she’ll get nothing at all, when she might at least have hung on to half of Alfred’s money. Half a loaf is better than none. But there!’ he added bitterly. ‘I’ve no doubt that William Burnett really has no need even of that, being the sole inheritor of his father’s fortune. “To those that hath shall be given…’” His voice tailed away, and he sat, staring before him, wrapped in thoughts of his own.