Baldwin Lightfoot had lied to me about the length of time since he had last been in London. According to Dame Janet, he had visited his kinsman near Saint Paul’s churchyard sometime the previous November, and at the beginning of January, Irwin Peto had turned up in Broad Street claiming to be Clement Weaver. Was there a connection here, or was it simply a coincidence? But if the latter, why should Baldwin have tried to conceal his visits? Why had he not been open with me? It seemed suspicious, but I decided, nevertheless, to reserve judgement on him until I had seen and talked to the rest of the Weaver family.
Mistress Burnett was of the same opinion when I went to see her in Small Street a few hours after my return home.
‘This visit of Baldwin’s may be of some significance,’ she conceded, ‘but my instincts tell me that the real instigator of this wicked plot is either my uncle or one of my cousins. Or maybe all of them are in it together. Indeed, I should have preferred you to go straight to London, once the good weather was upon us, rather than waste your time going to Keyford.’
We were seated in the same parlour where she had received me on that earlier occasion, and in spite of the warmth of the April day, a fire had been lit, a great pile of logs, the flames leaping and curling up the chimney. The heat was searing, and I had to move my stool back a foot or two from the hearth to escape being scorched. Alison, however, did not seem to be affected by it; so little, in fact, that she wore a woollen wrap over her gown. She looked even thinner than when I had seen her last, and it was obvious that the quarrel with her father continued to take its toll on her health.
‘When will you go to London?’ she asked.
I hesitated. ‘In a week or so. I have responsibilities here, in Bristol, which I cannot ignore. I must set my own affairs in order first.’ The words rang hollowly in my ears: when had I ever worried about my responsibilities? And why did they weigh so heavily upon me now?
The truth was that for these past few days I had been moving in a kind of dream, where nothing was real except my own emotions. I had temporarily lost interest in the mystery of Clement Weaver, although I understood myself well enough to know that this feeling would not last. I could never resist a challenge nor the lure of London, particularly if someone else was paying for my sojourn there. In the meanwhile, some time was necessary to allow me to pull myself together and accept the situation as it was.
Alison Burnett shrugged. ‘I suppose another week or so will make little difference in the end, but I need your solemn assurance that it will be no longer than that. I want this man proved an impostor as quickly as possible, and it is already well over three months since his arrival. Every day sees him more firmly entrenched in my father’s affections. Dame Pernelle, when I saw her yesterday, told me that the creature feels confident enough now to override the Alderman’s orders where he deems it necessary, and substitute his own. Ned Stoner and Rob Short in particular deeply resent this, and are talking of looking for work at other houses within the town.’
Even this worrying piece of news did not immediately spur me into action. ‘I shall be off as soon as I can,’ I promised. It was time to go and I rose to my feet, anxious to be away. ‘But I shall come again to see you before I leave.’
As I moved towards the parlour door, it opened and William Burnett came in, wearing a very short satin doublet in what seemed to be his favourite colours, black and red. I could smell the highly scented pomade on his long auburn hair and the faint scent of musk that hung about his clothes. I knew that he did not altogether approve of his wife’s decision to employ me in this matter of determining Clement Weaver’s true identity, and was expecting no more than a bare acknowledgement of my presence. Instead, he shot out a hand and gripped my arm.
‘You’ve been in Keyford recently, haven’t you?’ he demanded. ‘Alison told me you’d gone to visit her cousin, Baldwin Lightfoot. So did you hear anything of any trouble there? A woman, they say, was arrested. A woman who had once been in the employ of the late Duchess of Clarence.’
‘I not only heard of it, I saw it happen,’ I answered, and immediately captured both his and Mistress Burnett’s undivided attention. ‘The lady was the Widow Twynyho, formerly attendant upon Duchess Isabel. A number of the Duke of Clarence’s bravos hacked down the door of her house, arrested her and carried her off in the most brutal fashion. Why, and what has since become of her, I’ve no idea, although I’ve wondered many times in the past nine or ten days.’
‘Then I can tell you,’ William said, pleased to be as well informed as myself. ‘She was taken to Warwick, where it seems Clarence was in residence, and summarily hanged, along with another erstwhile retainer of Duke George. There was a trial of sorts, but it would appear that the Duke had both the Justice of the Peace and the jurors in his pocket. These worthies are now saying that they feared for their own lives if they failed to deliver a guilty verdict.’
While I was struggling to come to terms with this hideous sequel to the events that I had witnessed, Mistress Burnett demanded of her husband, ‘How do you know all this?’
‘A party of travellers arrived at the Green Lattis shortly before I left. They were full of the story, and presumed that we would wish to hear all about it, this — this what did you call her? — this Widow Twynyho being a Somerset woman.’
‘But what was the charge against her?’ I asked. ‘Did your travellers happen to mention that?’
‘Oh, yes!’ William Burnett laughed shortly. ‘That’s the crux of the matter. Both of the accused were said to have poisoned the Duchess of Clarence at the instigation of the Queen’s family.’
Alison echoed my gasp of astonishment and horror. ‘The Woodvilles will be up in arms,’ I said. ‘This could lead to civil war if King Edward isn’t careful.’
William nodded. ‘That’s the opinion of these Warwick men. They’re predicting trouble. No one, they say, can take the King’s justice into his own hands like that. Not even the King’s own brother.’
I grimaced. ‘He might if that brother is George of Clarence. King Edward seems to have an infinite capacity for pardoning him.’
Master Burnett shook his head. ‘These men are unanimous in insisting that, this time, the Duke has gone too far. Well, Chapman,’ he added, with an abrupt change of subject, ‘when are you off to London?’
‘In a week or so,’ I answered absently and took a hurried leave of husband and wife, eager to get into the fresh air and cool my head, which was throbbing from the heat. In addition, my mind was reeling from the news of Ankaret Twynyho’s vicious and brutal end. Although I had only glimpsed her that once, I felt a personal anger at her death, and also a terrible guilt. I should have tried at least to stop Clarence’s men abducting her, but, instead, I had played the coward’s part, and it was no consolation to remember that so had every other man in Keyford.
Outside the house, I hesitated, knowing full well that I ought to visit Adela to thank her for all that she had done for my mother-in-law and daughter during my absence. The former had been lavish in her praise almost before I had crossed the cottage threshold.
‘How Elizabeth and I would have managed without my cousin’s attentions, I really don’t know, for I haven’t properly recovered from my illness,’ Margaret had proclaimed, standing there, hands on hips, and looking the very picture of health and strength.