The Prodigal Son (21 page)

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nfortuantely, although I pressed Master Bignell to say more, and although Anthony, overhearing our conversation, turned his head to add his entreaties to mine, the butcher was unable to say anything further, or to elucidate what exactly it was that he remembered. He could only repeat that, now he had been forced to recollect the incident, he could recall the faint sense of recognition he had experienced, but which, at the time, he had dismissed as nonsensical.

‘And still do,' he concluded robustly. ‘He was just a horseman riding by, on his way home after curfew. I'm a fool to have you believe otherwise.'

I was unable to get anything else from him; and as it became obvious that he wished me to drop the subject, I did so. I couldn't help wondering, though, why he had so suddenly shied away from the subject, but suspected that he might not want to upset his host with further talk of Jenny Applegarth's murder. Anthony's stricken look suggested that talking about it still had the power to distress him.

Once indoors, Edward Micheldever excused himself as having work to finish, and went off to the counting-house, not altogether happily, but plainly confident that Anthony would not dare to pay court to his wife with her parents and brother present. And to some extent, he was right; although Anthony's proposal that we should while away the hours until dinnertime by playing board games, meant that he could seat himself next to Rose, gradually edging his stool nearer to hers as each game progressed.

A servant was despatched to search for the various diversions Anthony remembered from his childhood and eventually returned weighed down with boards and dice and counters which, as bidden, he piled up on the dais table of the great hall, the remainder of the trestles having been cleared to one side while the floor was swept and fresh rushes laid. Master and Mistress Bignell declined taking part, content, they said, to watch the rest of us amusing ourselves, as befitted young people. So Ronan and I sat opposite Anthony and Rose and played ‘tables', a game involving as much luck as skill, the throw of the dice largely determining how quickly one couple could clear their opponents' counters from the board. Anthony and Rose won after a certain amount of cheating on the part of our host, a fact that enabled him to squeeze his partner's shoulders and give her a triumphal, but brotherly, peck on the cheek. (I saw Rose glance nervously at her parents, but they seemed to see nothing amiss with this gesture of disinterested affection.)

We then played merrills, a game variously known as three men's morris or, in its more complicated form, nine men's morris, and yet again Ronan and I were defeated. We did, however, manage to win at fox-and-geese, but when we all threw for ourselves at raffle, Anthony won hands down. But as he insisted on playing with his own dice, which he produced from his pocket, I couldn't help wondering if they were loaded. I noticed the same gleam of suspicion in Ronan's eyes, and I thought he was about to say something when a diversion was created by the sudden and breathless arrival of the chaplain.

‘M-Master An-Anthony! Playing g-games on th-the Sabbath! N-no! It w-won't d-do, you know!'

‘You p-p-p-prosy old f-f-f-fool!' Anthony mocked, looking furious. ‘I'm master here now, and I'll do just as I like. And don't you forget it!'

I could see that Sir Henry was trembling and that his knuckles had whitened where his hands were so tightly clasped together, but he bravely stood his ground.

‘I-it's n-not r-right,' he said, his stammer becoming more pronounced than ever. ‘You sh-should be r-reading the Scriptures.'

Anthony leapt to his feet. ‘You stupid old man! Go away and leave me alone!' He seized a heavy wooden box, full of chessmen, and heaved it with all his might at the chaplain. But it missed its target, felling instead the steward who, with two servants, had entered the hall unobserved in order to oversee the preparations for dinner. It caught George Applegarth on his right forearm, knocking him to the ground.

Immediately, Anthony was all contrition, vaulting over the table and jumping from the dais.

‘George!' he exclaimed in horror. ‘I haven't hurt you, have I? Holy Virgin! You haven't broken that arm again, have you? Can you move it? Tell me you're all right.'

‘I'm winded, that's all,' the steward gasped, struggling to sit up. ‘I daresay I'll have a bruise as big as a plate, but otherwise there's no harm done that I can tell.'

‘Th-that w-was meant for m-me,' the chaplain quavered. ‘Y-you m-might have k-killed me.'

Dame Audrea swept into the hall, attracted by the disturbance, demanding to know what was the matter and followed by Simon, still looking extremely pale.

She was promptly informed of the trouble by Sir Henry.

‘He won't be satisfied until he's crippled the lot of us!' Simon declared shrilly.

‘It certainly would appear so,' Dame Audrea agreed, her patrician features a mask of disdain. She turned on her elder son and said in a low, furious voice, ‘Haven't you more pride than to behave like a lout in front of guests? What Master and Mistress Bignell must think of you I shouldn't care to guess.' She glanced over her shoulder at George Applegarth. ‘Are you all right, Master Steward?'

He tenderly felt his right arm and then nodded. ‘All seems well, Mistress. No bones broken.'

‘Well, you're lucky,' Simon snarled. ‘Mother, can't you make him go away again? Why doesn't somebody get rid of the bastard? If I had the use of both arms, I'd do it myself.'

The Bignells looked, if it were possible, more shocked than before, and Dame Audrea said hastily, ‘That will do, Simon! I'll have none of that wild talk, if you please.' She waved a hand at one of the servants and then indicated the jumble of games on the top table. ‘Clear these things away and prepare the hall for dinner. George, I will oversee the laying of the trestles if you wish to retire to your chamber and rest your arm.'

‘What a fuss about nothing!' Anthony exclaimed angrily, aware of having lost face in front of Rose, who had retreated to her parents' side, looking frightened. ‘George is made of sterner stuff than to complain about a little bruise, aren't you, my friend?' And he embraced George Applegarth's shoulders, giving them an affectionate squeeze.

The steward smiled faintly. ‘I've said, I'll do well enough. There's no call for anyone to worry. Now, you two men' – he nodded at the servants – ‘get the tables set up. Dame Audrea, if you and Master Simon will just get out of the way …'

Dame Audrea moved towards the Bignells, no doubt with the idea of making light – or as light as she could – of an ugly family scene, but Simon stayed where he was, his features contorted with hatred.

‘I meant what I said,' he shouted at his brother. ‘In God's Name, I wish someone would kill you!'

No sooner had he spoken than there was a vivid flash of lightning, followed by an ear-splitting clap of thunder. The flames of two candles, standing in a wall niche, were suddenly extinguished. Rose Micheldever gave a little sigh and fainted.

It was one of those summer storms that seemingly comes out of nowhere, is fierce in its intensity while it lasts, but then is gone, leaving the world a cleaner, fresher and greener place.

The clouds must have gathered since we came indoors, and I realized that the hall had indeed been growing darker for some time, unnoticed as we became absorbed in our games. Nor had we been aware of the beat of the rain as it drummed against the sides of the house. The crash of the thunder had scared us all.

There was general consternation as we all moved towards Rose, supported by her father's arm and looking almost as pale as Simon. But whereas he was obviously in genuine pain from his broken arm, it occurred to me that Rose's swoon was more for effect than because she had been genuinely frightened. I didn't doubt that she had sustained a momentary shock, but it was not until Anthony had wrested her from Master Bignell's arms, carried her bodily to the armchair on the dais and forced wine down her throat that her eyes fluttered open and she gave a tremulous smile.

‘Wh-where am I?'

Her mother came fussing up on her other side, frowning at the sight of Anthony chafing her daughter's hands and raising one of them to his lips in a tender salute. Unhappily Edward Micheldever saw it, too, as he entered the hall, summoned from the counting-house by a servant who had informed him that his wife was ill.

‘Leave her alone, all of you,' he said brusquely, approaching the dais and mounting the steps. But although he included everyone in his displeasure, it was at Anthony that he directed his gaze. ‘Let her alone,' he repeated, pulling Rose roughly to her feet. ‘If you feel unwell, girl, go and lie down.'

‘Oh, what a kind and considerate husband!' Anthony sneered, glancing from the Bignells to Rose and back to the receiver. ‘You could surely have done better for your daughter than that oaf, Master Butcher! I only wish I'd been here when she became of marriageable age.'

I heard the steward, standing just behind me, suck in his breath. George Applegarth knew as well as I did the sort of mischief Anthony was up to; the seeds of dissatisfaction he was sowing in the Bignells' minds that the marriage they had arranged for Rose was not, perhaps, as advantageous as they had once thought it. As for Edward Micheldever, his expression indicated only too clearly that he shared Simon's sentiments concerning the ultimate fate of the prodigal. If looks could have killed, Anthony would have dropped dead on the spot.

Rose was dragged reluctantly away by her irate husband, the discontented droop of her rosebud mouth showing that she had overplayed her hand, pretending to be worse than she was. Anthony knew it, too, and gave a crack of unseemly laughter as she was bundled through the door leading to the private quarters of the house. He was enjoying himself; and, to my great surprise, just before she disappeared from view, I saw Rose glance back at him in dawning comprehension, as if the scales had suddenly fallen from her eyes.

She did not reappear for dinner, but at ten o'clock, the rest of us sat down to yet another uncomfortable meal. Our host had been telling nothing less than the truth when he said he had grovelled to the cook and been forgiven, for she had plainly put forth her best efforts with a first course of broiled venison steaks in oyster sauce and a side dish of chicken stuffed with grapes, followed by pears stewed in wine syrup and a sweet curd flan. Had there been only the food to consider, it could have been a highly enjoyable occasion, but too much raw emotion was poisoning the atmosphere to make for good digestion. Dame Audrea and the three Bignells made stilted conversation, trying to pretend that nothing untoward had happened; Simon pushed the meat around his plate and glowered at his elder brother; Edward Micheldever, although showing a hearty appetite, looked sullen; the chaplain was still upset; Bailiff Kilsby, with the threat of imminent dismissal hanging over his head, was silent and morose; while Jonathan Slye, the chamberlain, staring malevolently at Anthony whenever he thought that young man wasn't looking, did little to detract from the general air of gloom. What gaiety there was, was generated by the lower servants, who seemed undisturbed by the quarrels and carryings-on of their betters.

Only Anthony, among those at the top table, appeared to be enjoying himself, eating greedily and occasionally smiling to himself in a way consciously intended to aggravate anyone foolish enough to display an interest in him. As this included everyone except his mother and the steward, both of whom studiously ignored him, he could be said to have achieved his object.

It was still raining, but less heavily than it had been when the storm first broke. Indeed, gleams of sunlight were beginning to pierce the clouds and make patterns among the rushes. One of the servants, under Dame Audrea's direction, pushed the shutters wide again, allowing the air to flow into the hall. As everyone rose from table, the Bignells began to mutter about taking their leave. Anthony made no effort to detain them.

‘You must see Rose first,' Dame Audrea said, and offered to conduct them to the Micheldevers' chamber.

Her words were interrupted by the arrival of a lay brother from the cathedral, seeking hospitality. The main track to Wells, he explained, was flooded and a narrow plank bridge across a stream had been washed away by the violence of the recent storm. He himself was on horseback and would be able to continue his journey later, when the waters had subsided a little, by using the ford a mile or so upstream, but he would advise anyone on foot to delay their journey until tomorrow. The man having delivered and been thanked for his warning, George Applegarth conducted him to the kitchens, where a meal would be found for him from the remains of our own.

This news, I could see, left the Bellknapps in a quandary; whether to offer the butcher and his family horses from their stables or invite them to remain at Croxcombe for the night. The two donkeys would hardly be able to carry the three of them, and horseflesh was precious; too precious to entrust to comparative strangers in the dangers of a swollen stream.

I watched these considerations flit across Anthony's face as he silently deliberated the problem, but it seemed to me there was more going on behind that polite façade than was immediately obvious. In the end, he came to a sudden decision.

‘You must stay the night, Master Bignell, you and your family. Mother, will you see that the guest chamber is prepared?'

Dame Audrea flushed at this casual command, for all that it was framed in the shape of a question, but Mistress Bignell was too busy expressing their thanks to notice her host's rudeness.

‘For you must know, Master Bellknapp, that Thomas has never learned to swim, and has a great dread of water in general, and floods in particular. Why, walking here this morning, he found it quite an ordeal to walk across that narrow bridge, for there's no rail to it, and his balance isn't what it was, is it my dear?'