Oswald flung off her hand and turned on her, his features contorted with fury. He was a desperately frightened man and, as before, his fear was transformed into rage. If I hadn’t begun to dislike him so much, I could have found it in my heart to be sorry for him.
‘Don’t call me your dear man,’ he hissed, ‘and don’t ever lay a hand, unbidden, on me, again. You can throw supper out for the pigs for all I care. Get Old Diggory saddled. Master Chapman and I are riding to Dr Jeavon’s house and demand that he tell us what he’s done with Celia.’
Arbella Rokeswood’s face had turned as red as his was white, and she was breathing short and fast. Her whole body was rigid with humiliation and suppressed rage. I saw her hands clench into fists, but she said nothing, swinging abruptly on her heel and going out of the hall, walking blindly as though unaware of what she was doing or where she was going.
‘You shouldn’t have spoken to her like that, my dear,’ Clemency said unhappily. ‘You’ve hurt her feelings. Besides,’ she added tentatively, ‘Adela’s right. It would be foolish for you or Roger to neglect yourselves and become ill. What good would either of you be to Celia then?’
I could see that Oswald was more than tempted to brush this good advice aside; his impatience to be gone was palpable. But he was a lawyer, with a lawyer’s logical mind, and he knew that what Clemency said made sense.
‘Very well,’ he breathed at last. ‘One of you run and tell Arbella that we’ll come at once, but there’s to be no delay in serving the food.’ As Sybilla hurried from the room, Oswald rounded on Adela. ‘And keep those children quiet. I’m in no mood for their chatter.’
At that moment I was very close to rounding up my wife, my children and my dog and quitting the Arbour altogether, leaving this unpleasant family to wallow in their misery and sort matters out for themselves. Moreover, if what my little friend, the kitchen maid, had told me were true, then their troubles might well be of their own making. According to her, Clemency had referred to a ‘terrible secret’ which the Godsloves all shared, and which Oswald had not denied. Had she heard aright? Was there the slightest possibility that she could have mistaken what was said? I didn’t think it likely. And then there was Oswald’s reply. ‘After all, they didn’t know themselves, did they?’ I longed to demand an explanation, but without betraying the girl’s confidence and probably getting her dismissed, my hands — or, at least, my tongue — was tied.
Supper was eaten in almost complete silence. Adela had no need to keep the children quiet, the atmosphere alone was sufficient to dampen their usual high spirits. Hercules was not present, nor was Arbella Rokeswood. She made the excuse of having the horses to saddle, and although my wife would again have protested against my accompanying Oswald, I gave a little shake of the head. My natural curiosity, now thoroughly aroused, would not allow me to abandon the investigation at this juncture, and the excellent food and wine were sufficient to reinvigorate me. It had been a very long day, it was true, and one full, if not over-full, of incident, but I knew I could summon up from somewhere enough energy to see it through.
Oswald and I rode back into the city, passing under the Bishop’s Gate arch where the workmen were still toiling away on this fine Mayday evening, an overseer from the Steelyard continuing to hover in the background, keeping a beady eye cocked for anyone who might feel like slacking.
‘Where does Dr Jeavons live?’ I enquired as we rode down Bishop’s Gate Street and approached the outer wall of Crosby’s Place, where the morning’s activity had slackened somewhat so that only a solitary cart, and an empty one at that, stood outside its gates. Of Timothy Plummer there was, of course, no sign.
‘Not far from Alder’s Gate, in Old Dean’s Lane. Near St Paul’s,’ my companion grunted, in between roundly cursing everyone and everything that impeded his progress. ‘I knew we shouldn’t have wasted time eating,’ he snarled, as we were again forced to pull the horses into one side of the road in order to let a troop of men, all wearing Lord Hastings’s livery, overtake us.
It seemed to me that the mood of the city was gloomier than that of the morning, when people had at least roused themselves to go out maying, and when news of the three arrests at Northampton had not really had time to sink in. Now, as we rode along Cheapside, through Paternoster Row and turned into Old Dean’s Lane, faces were even more solemn, the street cries of the vendors even more muted as if, I thought, people were bracing themselves — but for what?
‘Here we are!’ Oswald had reined in outside a three-storey house about halfway along the lane. He threw himself out of the saddle and, without bothering to tether his horse, hammered with both fists on its nail-studded, oaken front door.
THIRTEEN
It was answered by a tall woman, sharp-featured and thin to the point of emaciation. In spite of this, it was nevertheless possible to recognize an elusive resemblance to Roderick Jeavons — there was a similarity about the eyes — and I guessed her to be his sister. Oswald, however, noting only the bunch of keys at her waist and the gown of brown homespun beneath an apron as white and spotless as her coif, at once assumed her to be the doctor’s housekeeper. He would have pushed past her into the house had she not showed a surprising strength in barring his way.
‘Let me in, my good woman,’ he snapped. ‘I need to speak to your master.’
‘My brother,’ she replied firmly, ‘is not here. He was called away urgently this afternoon to attend the deathbed of an uncle of ours in Barnet. If you require a physician, there is one in-’
‘You’re lying!’ Oswald roared, causing several passers-by to turn and stare. One even fingered the dagger at his belt, as though wondering if he should come to the protection of a goodwife being harassed by a couple of ruffians.
I laid a restraining hand on my companion’s arm. ‘Calm down, man, calm down.’ I turned to the doctor’s sister. ‘Mistress. . Jeavons, is it?’
‘Ireby,’ she corrected with dignity. ‘I am a widow, sir, and have kept house for Roderick for a year now, ever since my husband died. May I know who you and this. . this gentleman are?’
‘For God’s sake, Roger,’ Oswald exclaimed, ‘stop wasting time!’ And without further ado, he forced his way past Mistress Ireby. ‘Where is she?’ he demanded. ‘What has your brother done with my sister?’
He began to yell the doctor’s name. Hurriedly, I closed the street door and, turning to a by now very frightened woman, attempted to explain the situation. And it said much for Mistress Ireby’s strength of character that she not only listened to what I had to say, but having grasped the gist of my story, exhibited a certain amount of sympathy and understanding. But she was highly indignant that her brother should be thought capable of such a dastardly act as abduction.
‘I know of this Celia Godslove, of course. Roderick has, naturally, talked of her to me. I know him to be in love with her. But that he would try to coerce her. . How can you suppose such a thing?’
To his credit, Oswald did momentarily look a little ashamed of himself, but the next minute he announced his intention of searching the premises and, without waiting for Mistress Ireby’s permission, stormed off to do so. He returned a little while later, frustrated and angered by his lack of success, but still unconvinced of Dr Jeavons’s innocence.
‘Is there a cellar to this house?’
‘No, there is not,’ our unwilling hostess retorted. She had by now recovered both her poise and her courage and would no longer allow herself to be intimidated. She drew herself up to her full height and turned on Oswald. ‘You fool!’ she upbraided him scornfully. ‘Do you think I wouldn’t know if my brother had returned home with an unwilling woman? Do you think she wouldn’t have set up a screech? Do you think the neighbours wouldn’t have heard? You’re at liberty to interrogate them if you wish. I’m sure they’ll tell you that they heard nothing.’