The Christmas Wassail (11 page)

After a moment or two, Briant said abruptly, ‘He was taken and hanged.'

For some unaccountable reason, I was shocked. ‘When was this? I don't remember anything of it.' But then, I probably wouldn't. I was absent from the city so long and so often, and no one would think the incident important enough to tell me of it on my return. A thought struck me. ‘Was Sir George Marvell concerned in the affair?'

The Irishman drank his ale, emptying the pot in almost one go before slamming it down hard on the table. ‘He was,' he said. ‘But he didn't live in the town in those days. He had a house on the heights above Bristol.'

‘In Clifton Manor,' I agreed. ‘He still owns the place, but today it stands empty.' There was another pause. ‘Go on.'

Briant chewed a thumbnail that was already bitten down almost to the quick. ‘Know the family, do you?'

‘I've only made their acquaintance very recently, but yes, I think I've managed to work out who each one is.'

Another couple of drinkers, anxious to secure a seat at our table, were glared away, just like the first man. I reflected that Briant seemed to be of some importance. No one argued with him or even uttered a word of protest.

‘There's a son from the first marriage –'

I nodded. ‘Cyprian Marvell. Stocky. Middle-aged.'

My companion bit his thumbnail some more. ‘This happened five, maybe six years ago. He was younger then. He was married and his wife had a much younger sister. Constance Trenchard, she was called. Very pretty by all accounts, but for some reason still unmarried.' He shouted for more ale and then sat waiting, tapping his fingers on the table.

‘And?' I said, growing impatient.

‘Sir George coveted her. Old enough to be her father. Nearly old enough to be her grandfather, the old ram. Somehow or other, he persuaded her into becoming his paramour. Mind you,' Briant added fair-mindedly, ‘I suppose he isn't bad-looking even now and this, as I say, was five, six years back. Some women like 'em old and I daresay it wasn't his face she was interested in.' He gave a sudden loud guffaw. ‘Looks like a man who might have plenty tucked away in his codpiece.'

His ale arrived and he downed it without pausing for breath, then wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. I waited resignedly for him to resume.

After a while, he leant forward again, his chin propped between his fists. ‘I don't know how long this love affair, or whatever you want to call it, was carried on between this pair, but in the end, as you could guess, the old man's wife began to get suspicious. His second wife, that is, and a great deal younger than he is.'

‘I know,' I said. ‘I've met her.' I didn't add, ‘And so have you.' I was saving that revelation until later.

Briant grunted. ‘He seems to like 'em young.' He scratched his cheek. ‘Well, as I was saying, Sir George's wife was growing suspicious and he needed to get rid of Constance in a hurry. He had no intention of soiling his whiter than white reputation, so he told the girl it was all over between them. That's when the trouble started. She wouldn't accept that it was finished and threatened to make the affair known to her sister.'

‘How do you know all this?'

‘Padraic told me. George Marvell had offered him a very large sum of money not just to abduct the girl, but to kill her. I begged him to have nothing to do with it. I warned him over and over that it was too dangerous; that if the English law officers didn't get him, our own people would. I reminded him that you can't trust any Englishman farther than you can see him. That you're a treacherous race. That if anything went wrong, Sir George wouldn't hesitate to throw him to the wolves.'

‘Your friend didn't agree with you?'

‘Oh, he agreed with me all right. Any Irishman would. But Padraic's trouble was thinking he was cleverer than he really was. And the amount of money he was being offered would have tempted a saint. Furthermore, he said he thought he could screw some more out of the old man. He could retire. Buy that farm near Waterford he'd always wanted. Settle down and get married.'

‘But it didn't turn out like that?'

‘Of course it didn't turn out like that! I told him it wouldn't, but he refused to listen to me.'

‘So? What happened?'

‘That old devil wheedled all Padraic's plans out of him. Where, when and how he was going to meet this Constance and kill her. I don't know how he managed it because Padraic wasn't a stupid man. I think more money must have been promised. I don't know the details, but the result was that the law officers arrived just in time to find Padraic with the body, but not in time to save the girl.'

I sucked in my breath. ‘But what a blackguard the man is,' I muttered, and Briant knew that I wasn't referring to his friend; although, when I thought about it, the description could just as easily have applied to both men. ‘I don't suppose it was any good Master Kinsale telling the truth?'

‘What would have been the point? No one would have believed him. Sir George would have utterly denied the accusation, and it would have been his word against that of an Irish slave trader. Who would have been listened to? Not Padraic.'

‘He might have sowed the seeds of doubt in one or two minds. Lady Marvell's, for instance. If she'd begun to have doubts about her husband's fidelity, some of them might have taken root.'

‘True. But Padraic probably didn't feel he could let himself come between man and wife. At least, that was my guess for I never spoke to, nor saw him again after he was arrested. The fraternity disowned him, and orders went out that we were to keep our heads down until people had forgotten the affair, which wasn't long. Folk have short memories. I went back to Ireland and stayed there for a month or two, and by the time I returned no one even remembered the incident. Padraic was just another felon whose body had been left to rot on some dunghill, but I didn't forget. I know Padraic did wrong, but he was tempted into it by that old devil, and I swore to get Sir George Marvell when I could.'

‘You waited a long time,' I commented.

‘It wasn't possible while he lived in Clifton. I'd have stuck out like a sore thumb on a woman's white hand if I'd been seen up there. Sir George would have been alerted within an hour and would most likely have guessed my intention. But then, a day or so ago, I learned he had moved down to the city. My chance had come.'

I nodded. ‘And you learned that from none other than Lady Marvell herself.'

He had been looking down at the table, but now his eyes flew up to meet mine. ‘Now how do you know that, Chapman?' he asked softly.

So I told him about recognizing him in the Green Lattis and seeing Patience Marvell go into the ale-house just as I was leaving. ‘And on Christmas morning, I followed her out of All Saints' Church during the Shepherds' Mass and witnessed your second meeting with her. I saw money change hands and then you push it back at her, refusing to accept it. I didn't understand why at the time, but now I do. She'd mentioned her name and you'd realized who she was. You couldn't do business with someone whose husband you intended to kill.'

‘One of these days,' Briant said, leaning across the table and bringing his face close to mine, ‘that long nose of yours is going to be the death of you, Master Chapman.' He breathed heavily for several moments, his ale-laden breath hot on my cheeks, and I saw an angry glint in the dark brown eyes. My belly felt queasy and I could almost feel the cold steel of a knife gliding between my ribs. But then he withdrew and sat back again on his bench. ‘You're right, of course. I hadn't known who she was until that moment. Humility Dyson had simply informed me that a respectable woman – a lady, he said – needed my services.' He laughed. ‘That was nothing new. It's only the respectable and those with well-lined pockets that can afford our services. This woman wouldn't come to Marsh Street; was afraid to be seen anywhere near it. Again, that was normal, so I made arrangements to meet her elsewhere. That night in the Green Lattis people were too drunk to take notice of what their neighbours were doing. Except you, of course. We arranged to meet again on Christmas Day, at dawn, during the Shepherds' Mass, when she was to give me details of the man she wanted abducted, and also pay me. As you guessed, that was when I learned who she was. I told her I was no longer willing to go through with it, but I didn't tell her why. I just left her to think what she would.'

‘And who did she want removed?' I asked.

Now Briant really was angry. His hand went to the knife in his belt and his eyes seemed to have turned red. ‘Do you think I'm going to tell you that?' he snarled.

‘No, I don't,' I replied calmly, although my heart had started to thump a little. ‘But I'll make a guess. It was her step-grandson, James Marvell. With him out of the way, her own precious boy, Master Bartholomew, stands a better chance of inheriting not only his father's wealth – for I doubt if Cyprian Marvell can father another child – but old Drusilla Marvell's fortune as well.'

The Irishman regarded me thoughtfully, the anger slowly draining out of his face. ‘I've heard rumours about you,' he said after a while. ‘You've a reputation in this city. And of course, four years back when you persuaded me to take that Scottish nobleman, or duke, or whatever he was, over to Ireland, I knew you were dabbling in treason. I suppose that's why I like you. You're not afraid to step outside the law when it suits you.'

I was indignant and about to refute this accusation, when honesty compelled me to admit that it was true. I grinned in acknowledgement.

‘But,' I warned him, ‘if I wake up one morning to find that Sir George Marvell has been murdered, I shan't hesitate to tell everything I know.'

He shrugged. ‘Well, if someone does eventually kill that swivel-eyed piece of dirt, it won't be me. I've finished with him. If God had meant me to be the instrument of his destruction, he wouldn't have let you thwart me.' He crossed himself. ‘I've learned my lesson. I shall be going home to Ireland in a few days' time. The Clontarf's due to drop anchor along the Backs on Tuesday, if the weather holds and she can navigate the Avon safely. Even your fucking rivers lay snares for foreigners.' He held out his hand. ‘I'm glad we've had this conversation, Chapman.' He smiled, showing a chipped and blackened tooth. ‘I seem to recall that years ago, when we first met, either Padraic or myself gave you some good advice. Watch your back. One of these days you'll make an enemy too many.'

I gripped his proffered hand, for, in spite of what he was, I returned his liking. All the same, ‘I meant what I said,' I reminded him. ‘I'm law-abiding enough, whatever you may think, not to tolerate murder.'

‘I believe you,' was his answer. ‘But I also have enough faith in your sense of justice to know that you would want to bring the right man to book. And that man won't be me, I give you my word.'

I grinned. ‘And I might even believe you,' I said.

I
was just in the act of leaving when a thought struck me and I turned back. ‘I don't suppose,' I said, ‘you know anything about the death, on Christmas Day, of an alderman of this city by the name of Robert Trefusis?'

Briant's face immediately became suffused with blood and his right hand flew to the evil-looking dagger tucked in his belt. ‘Are you accusing me—?' he began.

‘No, no!' I exclaimed hastily. ‘I just wondered if there had been any talk along the Backs concerning it.'

Mollified, he shook his head. ‘Never heard of the man until yesterday when chat of a murder went round. I fancy someone did say that he'd been a deputy sheriff, but why he had been killed, nobody seemed to know. Nor was anyone very interested and there were certainly no rumours as to who might have wanted him dead. But if it matters to you, I can ask around, here and at the Wayfarer's. Someone could have heard a whisper.'

‘Nothing was said of a man named Dee? Or of a woman, I suppose, if it comes to that. Although throat-cutting isn't usually a woman's crime.'

Briant snorted. ‘I've known women who would cut a throat without a moment's hesitation. I grant you such creatures are rare, but they're to be found, nevertheless. I remember one. Dressed like a man, walked like a man, talked like a man. Swore like one, too. She was a member of the Fraternity. Best slaver on either side of the Irish Sea. So it's not impossible. Unlikely though, I agree. However, as I said, I can make enquiries for you if it's important.'

I hesitated a moment, then shook my head. ‘I won't put you to so much trouble. The death is nothing to me. I wasn't acquainted with the man. But if you should hear anything before you return to Ireland …'

Briant tapped his nose, ‘I'll let you know, of course. Humility will get word to you one way or another.'

We shook hands once again and I left the ale-house amid a positive flurry of goodwill. Rogues I had never seen in my life before saluted me or flashed a smile from the depths of their overgrown beards. From now on I would most probably be known in ‘Little Ireland' as ‘that friend of Briant's'. I could only trust that such a description did not extend beyond the confines of Marsh Street.

Adela, for some reason, did not appear to have noticed my delay in returning home. She had been too busy keeping an eye on Luke who, at eleven months old, was eagerly exploring everything within the orbit of his peculiarly crablike, sideways crawl. Finally, she had done what she used to do with Adam and tied him to the leg of the kitchen table with a length of old linen.

‘He doesn't like it, but he'll have to learn to,' she said firmly as the child raised an indignant, tear-stained face to mine. ‘Did you get all the things for the Twelfth Night cake?'

With a flourish I lined up my purchases along the centre of the table, taking a piece of the sugared lemon peel from its wrapping and handing it to Luke. His tears turned instantly to smiles as he started to suck it, and Hercules promptly bit my ankle to remind me that he, too, had a sweet tooth.