‘But where are they? Who are they?’ Clemency asked in trembling tones, her face as white as the broad collar protecting the shoulders of her gown. Then suddenly, like Oswald, she heaved herself to her feet, slamming both hands down on the table top and making her sister jump. ‘No! I don’t believe this is the answer! I won’t believe it! Lucy and Henry had no idea that we were behind their seizure by the Irish slavers. Charity and I had been most careful to go in disguise to that inn in Marsh Street when making the necessary arrangements, and we were careful to be nowhere near when they were taken.’
‘You don’t think the slavers themselves knew and revealed the truth?’
But even as I asked the question, I guessed it to be unlikely. The Irishmen who carried on their illegal trade with the help of Bristol’s respectable citizens, were men who knew how to keep their mouths shut. Nor were they interested in the whys and wherefores of their nefarious transactions or in exchanging small talk with their victims. It was a business like any other, though perhaps more lucrative than some, and as such, respect for the client was paramount. So when Clemency answered firmly that she thought it impossible, I was forced to agree with her.
We joined Oswald in the parlour and, by tacit consent, the rest of the evening passed without further discussion of the subject, even though it was the one uppermost in all our minds. We speculated where Adela and the children might be spending their first night on the road, I expressed my total confidence in Jack Nym, and we speculated in a desultory kind of way about Oswald’s news concerning the late king’s will. But eventually, and much earlier than usual, we parted company and went to bed. As I mounted the stairs, I could hear Arbella still clattering angrily around in the kitchen.
I woke suddenly in the middle of the night, my heart pounding and my hands groping for the comfort of Adela’s body, only to realize, of course, that I was alone. The door to the children’s room stood open, emitting a deafening silence, and there was no Hercules, snuffling and whining pitifully to be allowed on to our bed.
I sat up, pushing the hair out of my eyes and passing a hand across my damp forehead, trying to pinpoint what exactly had woken me. I had been dreaming, I was sure of that, but, most unusually, was unable immediately to recall my dream. I had been in the apothecary’s shop; I could still see the rows of bottles on the shelves, the bunches of dried herbs, the pestle and mortar on the counter, and I had been talking to someone. Julian Makepeace? No, he had not been present, I would swear to that. His housekeeper, young Naomi, then? Yes, that was it. I even recalled being able to smell the faint scent of rosemary that emanated from her gown. She had been saying something to me, but what? I shut my eyes against the shadows of the room, the empty beds, the feeling of loss, and concentrated hard. .
Her face, as I had seen it in my dream, flashed suddenly and vividly before me. She was holding up her left hand, a small, triumphant smile curling the sensuous mouth. ‘Do you like my ring?’ she had asked. ‘Do you like my ring?’
And it was at that moment that I had recognized it. It was Adela’s ring, the one I had bought for her from Master Jollifant’s silversmith’s shop. The one that had been stolen from the Arbour. It was the shock of that recognition that had wakened me, bringing me out in a sweat.
I opened my eyes again, accustomed now to the darkness and able to make out the lineaments of the furniture and the faint grey light around the shutters. What was it that Julian Makepeace had said when I had quizzed him about its purchase? ‘I bought it as a favour from an old friend of mine who was in need of ready money, that’s all.’ But who was the old friend? And what was he or she doing with a stolen ring? Was he or she the thief? Or had this person come by it in all innocence? Well, I had only to visit the apothecary’s shop again to find out, and I would most certainly do that first thing in the morning, after breakfast.
I found I was shaking with excitement, and tried to calm myself by eating a little of the bread and drinking some of the water which Arbella, ever mindful of her domestic duties, had placed beside my bed for my ‘all-night’. I had just reached for the water bottle a second time, when a slight noise made me push back the bed curtain and look towards the door. The latch was being very slowly and cautiously lifted, but it was stiff with age, like so many others in the house, and had to be dealt with firmly. It resisted all attempts to treat it gently.
I eased myself out of bed as silently as possible, intending to station myself behind the door when it opened and thus surprise the intruder. But as I returned the water bottle to the tray, my hand shook and I dropped it on the floor where it rolled a little way before fetching up against the clothes chest with an almighty thud. Cursing, I called out, ‘Who’s there? Who is it?’ and in getting out of bed, slipped in one of the puddles of water left by the bottle’s contents and sat down heavily, giving my spine a nasty jar in the process.
I forget which particular profanities issued from my lips; suffice it to say that they were not for repetition and would have provoked Adela’s censure had she been there. I wrenched open the door with a fury that almost broke the latch and stepped out into the passage.
Needless to say, it was empty. I glanced to right and left, but no sign of life disturbed the shadows. The house was as quiet as the grave, not even a faint snore breaking the silence. I went back to bed and, hopefully, to sleep, persuading myself that I had been mistaken. But I dragged the chest across the doorway, all the same.
Bucklersbury was its usual busy early morning self as I picked my way through the overflow from the common drain and entered Julian Makepeace’s shop for the second time in twenty-four hours. He was busy at the counter, selecting pills from a large tray in front of him, and counting them into little boxes. Absorbed in his task, he did not immediately look up as I entered.
‘. . six, seven, eight, nine, ten. And what can I do for you, s. .?’ His voice tailed away as he recognized me and he made a comical grimace. ‘Master Chapman!’ he exclaimed, but was too polite to utter the word ‘again’. Nevertheless, I could hear it in the inflection of his voice. He smiled resignedly. ‘Have you by any chance come to buy something this time?’
I regret that I didn’t even bother to reply to this soulful query, so anxious was I to get an answer to my own question. ‘Master Makepeace, who sold you that ring?’ He looked so affronted, angry almost, that I was forced to explain the circumstances and the reason for my enquiry. ‘So you see,’ I finished lamely, ‘why I need to know.’
‘If you are correct, yes,’ he said gravely, and going to the door at the back of the shop which opened into the living quarters, called, ‘Naomi, my dear, please come here and bring the ring I gave you.’ There was a moment’s pause before she appeared. ‘Show it to Master Chapman,’ he instructed.
The pretty face assumed a mulish expression. ‘Why should I?’
The apothecary sighed. ‘Just do as I say.’ And before the girl realized what he would be about, he had grabbed her left wrist and forced her hand towards me. ‘Is that your wife’s ring, Master Chapman?’ Naomi gasped in protest and tried to pull free, but Julian Makepeace’s grip remained firm. ‘Is it?’ he repeated.
I nodded, adding, ‘I’m sure the silversmith, Adrian Jollifant, will, if necessary, confirm that it’s the one he sold me.’