Sybilla burst into tears.
FIFTEEN
That night, in bed, snuggled within the shelter of my arm, Adela expressed a strong desire to go home.
‘This house is becoming no place for children. Nor, indeed, for dogs,’ she added with a little catch of laughter in her voice, as Hercules, who had made our bed his own, snuffled and grunted and wheezed as though in the midst of an uneasy dream. She went on, ‘I’m sorry for my cousins, that goes without saying, but the wheel of fortune has spun so low for them, I’m beginning to be afraid that some of their ill-luck will rub off on us.’ She shivered. ‘After all the other things which have happened, I don’t know why losing my ring and this story of the robberies has upset me so much. But it has. The thought that someone, some stranger, has been roaming at will around this house, fingering our belongings, makes me feel that I can’t possibly stay here another day.’ And to my great consternation, she started to cry. She made no sound, but I could feel the shaking of her body as it pressed closer to mine.
I tightened my hold. She was right; the wheel of fortune, of fate, of life, whatever you want to call it, had spun so low for the Godslove family that the good luck sign must almost have reached its nadir. I had no wish for my wife and children (and, of course, dog) to be touched by such misfortune. Moreover, the resultant gloomy, despondent atmosphere was depressing us alclass="underline" it could do no other. Since Celia’s disappearance, the house was like a tomb, and Adela felt it increasingly necessary to suppress Elizabeth’s and Nicholas’s high spirits and to keep Hercules from barking at any stray rat or cat that ventured into the house or garden.
I kissed her gently on the forehead.
‘I’ll visit Blossom’s Inn tomorrow,’ I promised, ‘and try to find a carter going to Bristol. It may take a day or two, but I’ll pay the landlord to send me word as soon as he knows of one.’
Adela propped herself on one elbow. ‘Oh, Roger, we can’t. We can’t just run away and leave Oswald and Clemency and Sybilla in such distress. You know they’re counting on you to solve the mystery for them.’
I snorted. ‘That’s in God’s hands. But no! I wasn’t intending to come with you. I feel I owe it to your cousins to make a further effort to discover what lies at the root of this mystery. Would you be willing to go without me? You’ll have Hercules for protection.’
The dog suddenly sat up, gave a little bark and then lay down again. I always have an uneasy feeling that, even in his sleep, he understands exactly what I’m saying. Ridiculous though it may seem, I often find myself guarding my tongue in front of him.
Adela clung to me. ‘I don’t want to go and leave you here.’
I was tempted to point out that no such scruples had weighed with her when she quit the Small Street house on the flimsiest evidence of my infidelity — I felt a glow of totally unmerited and unjustified self-righteousness — but decided it was foolishness to rake over dead ashes. Besides, I loved her.
‘It’s for the children’s sake,’ I urged. ‘You said yourself that this is becoming no fit place for them. And it may not be for a day or two — maybe even a week or two — because we must wait for a carter going all the way home. I won’t have you stranded in some strange town looking for another carter to take you the remainder of the journey. Now, will you promise me that you’ll go if I can arrange it?’
After a pause, she finally nodded, her long dark hair tickling my bare chest. ‘Yes, if you wish it,’ she agreed. ‘I’ll tell Clemency in the morning. Somehow, I don’t think she’ll mind. Indeed, I think she might even be relieved. I’m sure Oswald and Sybilla will be. When will you go to Blossom’s Inn?’
‘Sometime tomorrow. I’m going into the city to keep a further watch on Roderick Jeavons’s house. But first, I must ask for the name and direction of this man who was robbed of all his money and then visit Father Berowne at St Botolph’s.’
Adela raised her head. ‘You think these robberies have some bearing on what’s been happening to Oswald and the others? But how can they?’
‘I don’t know,’ I answered. ‘I just have a feeling in my bones that they could. I’ve no idea why.’ But I did. It was God putting it into my mind. I had no doubt by now that He was behind my coming to London. He could never keep His fingers out of my sauce dish: He was constantly stirring. It was His revenge for my having abandoned the religious life. ‘Go to sleep now,’ I added. ‘Perhaps I can prevent the wheel of fortune turning any further for Oswald and Clemency and Sybilla before they all drop off the bottom.’
Next morning, I left Adela and the children (and, needless to say, the dog) sleeping the sleep of the just and went downstairs to break my fast with Oswald who, looking like Death at a wake, was forcing himself to eat prior to setting out for his chambers near the Strand.
‘I’m glad you’re up early,’ he said. ‘I was hoping for a word with you before I left. Today, you’re to go back to Old Dean’s Lane and keep an eye on the house.’
It was more a command than a request, and he had no need to specify which house was meant. I had no difficulty in giving my promise as that was already my intention; but before reassuring him on that head, I told him of my plan to return Adela and my family to Bristol, forestalling his angry protest by revealing that I would stay on. After that, he was all compliance, even going so far as to say he thought it for the best, as he believed the children were growing homesick. And Arbella, coming into the parlour at that moment with a plate of freshly baked oatcakes, agreed wholeheartedly with the scheme as soon as she was made aware of it.
‘You really ought to go with them, Roger,’ she said. ‘You can do no good here. I think we’re all cursed.’
This remark not only drew a very strong refutation from Oswald, but also a spiteful rider to the effect that the family misfortunes were nothing to do with her.
‘You’re not a Godslove,’ he snapped, ‘and never will be!’
The housekeeper’s face flushed crimson with hurt and embarrassment, and I tried to distract her attention by asking for the name and direction of the man who had been robbed of all his life’s savings.
‘Why would you want to know that?’ she demanded ungraciously. ‘In any case, it was some years ago. It has nothing to do with us.’
‘If Master Chapman wants to know, tell him!’ Oswald shouted. Then, moderating his tone and turning to me, he said, ‘The man’s name is Peter Coleman and he lives two doors away from the Bedlam. He’s a woman’s tailor, and to the best of my recollection, the robbery took place at the beginning of last year.’
‘And when was the pyx stolen from the church?’
Oswald wrinkled his brow. ‘Not long before, I think.’ He raised his eyebrows at Arbella. ‘Isn’t that right?’
The housekeeper’s only reply was to dump the plate of oatcakes on the table and withdraw without a word. A spot of colour burned in Oswald’s cheeks, but he made no comment on her behaviour other than to pull down his mouth at the corners. He rose from the table, shrugging on his lawyer’s striped robe which had been draped over the back of his chair.
‘I must go. You are, of course, free to borrow Old Diggory whenever you wish. I shall see you this evening, probably sometime after supper as I shall be working late on a case with my clerk in chambers.’ He held out his hand in a sudden gesture of friendship that he had not displayed hitherto. ‘Find out what you can, Roger,’ he added on a note of desperation at variance with his usual frigid manner.
‘I’ll do my best,’ I promised, ‘but I can’t work miracles, Oswald, and sooner or later I, too, must go home. I have a living to earn.’
He waved a dismissive hand as though such a triviality were unimportant and hurried from the room. I went upstairs again to where my loved ones were still soundly asleep, thrust my knife into my belt and put on my cloak, for the early May morning had turned cold and showery. Today I had thankfully abandoned my smart new clothes for the old familiar hose and jerkin which fitted me in all the accustomed places and were as comfortable as a second skin. Moreover I should be far less conspicuous, just one of the crowd.