The Christmas Wassail (31 page)

He repeated the words again. ‘Dick Hodge's body has been found in the castle orchard amongst the long grasses at the far end. His throat has been cut.'

‘But … But who would do such a thing?' Margaret asked. ‘Everyone liked him. I wouldn't have said he had an enemy in the world.'

Adela thrust Luke into my arms. ‘I must go to Jenny,' she said in a shaking voice. ‘That poor woman! That poor, poor woman!' And she began sobbing wildly.

Margaret put her arms about her cousin, tears coursing down her wrinkled cheeks, and rocked her to and fro.

‘Hush, my dear, hush,' was all she could think of to say. Elizabeth and Adam, not quite sure what was happening, began to cry in sympathy, while Luke, normally so cheerful, suddenly became aware of the overcharged atmosphere and started to yell. I sat him down on the floor, with instructions to Nicholas not to let him crawl anywhere near the Yule log, and pushed Richard Manifold into the kitchen where I poured us both a beaker of ale from the breakfast jug still standing on the table. My hand was unsteady and I spilled some.

I asked, ‘There's no mistake, I suppose?' A stupid question to which he did not even bother to reply. ‘But Dick Hodge!' I went on, dazed. ‘Why? He never hurt anyone. Everyone liked him. I've never heard a soul say so much as an unkind word against him. It doesn't make sense.'

Richard gulped his ale as though in desperate need of it and shook his head. ‘You're right. No one can understand it. If asked, I should say he was one of the best-liked people in this city.'

‘Burl and Jenny know?'

He nodded. ‘The sheriff went himself to tell them. Took his lady with him. They're beside themselves with grief, as you can imagine.'

‘And Jack?'

‘Not saying much by all accounts, but grim-faced and ripe for vengeance. Ready to act on the slightest suspicion and ask for proof afterwards. We'll have to keep our eyes on him to prevent him doing something foolish.'

It had been in my mind to flout James Marvell's wishes and tell the sergeant of our thoughts concerning Miles Deakin, but at these words, I held my peace.

‘Have you no idea at all who might have done it?'

‘No.' Richard drained his beaker and set it down on the table with a snap. ‘How do you begin looking for the killer of someone everyone liked? The only suggestion so far is Sergeant Merryweather's, and that is that Dick has been mistaken for somebody else.'

My beaker was halfway to my lips, and there it remained, poised in mid-air. ‘Oh, sweet Jesu and all the saints in heaven,' I breathed.

Richard, turning to speak to Adela, who had just appeared in the doorway, swung back towards me. ‘What?' he demanded eagerly. ‘What do you know?'

‘Dick Hodge was wearing my old grey cloak,' I said, and proceeded to tell him the story.

Adela stood as though turned to stone, one hand, childlike, covering her mouth. Richard Manifold, too, stood looking at me for several long moments before taking a deep, shuddering breath.

‘It seems as though Tom Merryweather might be right,' he said slowly. His gaze narrowed. ‘What have you been up to, Roger? What have you discovered that might put you in that sort of danger? You've been in the thick of this affair since the very beginning but, knowing you, I doubt you've shared all your knowledge with either me or anyone else in authority. So what is it? And who would want to kill you?'

‘How would I know?' I asked feebly. I, too, drained my beaker. My one thought now was to get to Redcliffe and the Marvell house as soon as possible, but without arousing suspicion. I had to consult with James on what was best to do.

I became aware of Adela shaking my arm. ‘Roger,' she implored, ‘if you know anything that might account for this terrible deed, you must tell Richard at once.'

‘I know nothing of any consequence,' I lied. And, to deflect further questioning, asked, as if it were of some importance, ‘When was the body found?'

‘Early this morning,' Richard answered impatiently. ‘One of the castle reeves was making his usual rounds to make sure that no irreparable damage had been caused by last night's revellers or the mummers—'

‘They've gone, then?'

‘At first light, apparently. As I was saying, one of the reeves found the body in the long grass by the outer wall.' He pulled himself up short, suddenly conscious that he was wasting valuable time. He added severely, ‘Roger! I charge you straitly that if you have any information you think the law should know you must tell me on pain of imprisonment.'

‘Never mind the law,' Adela said, clutching my arm even tighter. ‘Roger, for Jenny's and Burl's sake, you must help them find Dick's murderer.'

There was no church for any of us that morning, although it behoved us to go and pray for Dick Hodge's soul. Margaret offered to stay and take care of the children while Adela went to visit the grieving family. I also announced my intention of going out, a decision that was greeted with silent suspicion on my former mother-in-law's part, but before I could leave the house another knock at the door heralded the arrival of Baker Cleghorn.

He looked ill and his eyes were red-rimmed from weeping. His hand shook as it clasped mine. ‘Master Chapman,' he said urgently, ‘I must speak with you.'

I invited him into the parlour, to Margaret's great annoyance. She sniffed loudly and shepherded the children upstairs to change out of their better clothes which they had donned for the Epiphany service. They had all calmed down by now, and Luke waved a chubby fist in valediction as he was borne up the stairs in Margaret's arms.

I shut the parlour door. ‘Well, Master Cleghorn?'

‘This is a terrible business,' he moaned. ‘A terrible business!' He sat down limply on one of the chairs. ‘That dear, sweet boy! Murdered!' He glanced up. ‘Master Chapman, tell me honestly! Do you truly believe that Miles Deakin might have done this dreadful thing?'

I frowned. ‘Master Cleghorn, I can't give a positive answer to that question because I don't know. But it's possible.'

He gave another groan and twisted his hands together in his lap. I guessed what was coming, so held my tongue and waited for him to continue.

After a few more seconds, he raised his head to look into my face. ‘I was loth to say anything when you and young James Marvell came to visit me on Sunday, but the reason for my reluctance …' He paused.

‘Yes?' I asked, trying to curb my impatience.

He gave a dry cough and then went on: ‘The reason for my reluctance was because of where I thought I had seen Miles Deakin. You see, I thought I saw him – if it was him, that is – coming out of Dame Drusilla's house.' Having once made this admission, he proceeded with greater ease. ‘It was over three months back, towards evening when it was growing dark; that dusky, autumnal half-light that you get at that time of year. I was returning from visiting a friend in Redcliffe and was passing Dame Drusilla's on the opposite side of the street. As I did so, her door opened and a man came out. I have to admit that he was well muffled up in a cloak and hood, but the hood had fallen back on his head a little and a wall torch had been lit above the doorway. Its light fell directly on his face for a moment or two, and I recollect thinking to myself, “Miles Deakin, by all that's holy!” As I told you, the Deakins were related to my wife and at one time we visited them regularly, much against my will. I also knew, of course, about the scandal three years back when young Miles wormed his way into the old lady's affections.' The baker paused once again before adding, ‘But it was only a glimpse. The man adjusted his hood almost immediately to cover his face. I could well have been mistaken. I was, and still am, not at all certain that it was Miles.'

‘You were certain enough to tell his father that you'd seen him when you encountered Master Deakin in North Nibley. At least, so Agnes Littlewood told me.'

Baker Cleghorn was indignant. ‘I was surely not so positive as that. I said I might have seen him.' The tears filled his eyes again. ‘But that's no matter. All that matters now is to discover the murderer of that dear boy.'

‘And both the other murders,' I added grimly.

He looked startled. ‘Of course. One forgets … What will you do now?'

‘I shall consult with Master Marvell directly. In fact, I was on my way out to see him when you called.'

‘Then I won't detain you.' The baker got unsteadily to his feet and wiped his nose on his sleeve. ‘Whoever did it, may he rot in hell.'

I nodded. ‘You won't be the only person wishing that, Master Cleghorn. Dick Hodge was much liked in this town.'

This was very true, and there was a sombre atmosphere lying like a pall over the city as I made my way across the bridge into Redcliffe. More than one person stopped me to discuss the dreadful news, tears unashamedly running down their cheeks, and several expressed the wish to lay hands on Dick's killer.

‘He wouldn't even reach the scaffold, Master Chapman, I'll tell you that! The hangman wouldn't even be able to see where his head was to put it in the noose. It'd be screwed up between his legs.'

James and his family were at church when I arrived at the Marvell house, but I was given a seat in the hall to await his arrival. Fortunately, I was still wearing one of my decent suits which I had put on to attend St Giles's, so I looked less of a disgrace than usual. I also had with me my new blue cloak, which now I could hardly bear the sight of. If only I hadn't let Jenny persuade me into giving Dick my old one! For I felt quite sure that Sergeant Merryweather's suggestion was correct. In the general darkness and confusion of the wassail, and recognizing the grey cloak as mine, someone had mistaken Dick for me. It was not a comfortable thought, and I hoped Adela would not refine too much upon it.

It was less than half an hour later that the Marvell family returned from Mass, and as soon as the steward indicated my presence, James hurried to greet me.

‘Master Chapman, have you heard the terrible news?'

I lowered my voice. ‘That's why I've come. I've had a visit from Baker Cleghorn.'

He drew a sharp breath. ‘And?'

‘I can't tell you here.' I glanced over his shoulder to where the other family members were regarding us, openly curious. ‘We must be private.'

He took my arm and marched me out into the street, offering no explanation to his indignant relatives. It was very cold and trying to snow again. I shivered and pulled my hood well down about my ears.

I gave him my news, including Sergeant Merryweather's theory that someone other than Dick Hodge had been the intended victim.

‘With which I agree,' I said, and gave him the history of the two cloaks.

‘Dear sweet Jesus,' James breathed. ‘You mean you think the murderer thought young Hodge was you?'

‘Yes.'

‘But why?'

‘Because our killer thinks I'm getting too close to the truth.'

‘Miles Deakin?'

‘That is what we have to find out.'

James turned towards Drusilla's door, outside which we were standing. ‘Then there's no time like the present,' he said and, raising his hand, rapped smartly on the big iron knocker. And when his knock was not immediately answered, he rapped again, even louder.

An indignant porter opened the door. ‘Impatience! Impatience! Oh, it's you, Master James. You can't see the mistress now. She's just about to eat her dinner.'

My companion pushed the man aside and indicated that I should follow.

‘My aunt's dinner can wait,' he replied brusquely. ‘Where is she? In her usual room?'

He was heading for the stairs but the porter said tetchily, ‘Dame Drusilla's in the little solar at the back of the house. It's warmer there. But she won't want to see you, my young master, I'll tell you that. I'll be standing ready to show you out again.'

James ignored the man and brushed past him to open a door on his left. ‘This way, Master Chapman.'

The little solar was indeed warm. It was a small, cosy room, its walls hung with tapestries depicting the story of Esther and Mordecai, and a great fire blazing on the hearth. A table was drawn up close to this and spread with a fine white cloth, silver dishes winking in the firelight. Dame Drusilla was seated at the head of it, knife in hand, but no food had as yet been served.

She glanced towards the door expectantly as we entered, then frowned. Today, she had again abandoned her colourful garb and was dressed all in black, but with a great ruby cross hung about her neck on a golden chain, and with sapphires and emeralds studding her girdle.

She stared angrily at her great-nephew. ‘James, what is the meaning of this intrusion? Who let you in? Don't you know it's my dinnertime? Go away and come back later.' She noticed me and her frown deepened. ‘And take your friend with you.'

‘Where's Miles Deakin, Aunt?' James asked.

The old lady froze in her seat. Only her eyes seemed alive in the wrinkled face. ‘I don't know what you're talking about,' she said as soon as she could command her voice.

James strode up to the table and stood over her. ‘Don't lie. He's been seen coming out of this house by someone who knows him well.'

‘Who?'

‘Never mind that,' snapped her undutiful great-nephew. ‘He's here, isn't he? Living secretly under your roof.'

For a moment I thought she was going to continue denying it, but her temper got the better of her. ‘And what if he is? What's that got to do with you? Or with your father, if he's the person who's sent you? My dear brother's dead now, and good riddance! He can't interfere with my life any more. And neither can you or Cyprian.'

James lowered his head towards hers. ‘But the law can,' he hissed, ‘if your precious Miles is the man who's been committing these dreadful murders.'