The Prodigal Son (30 page)

I shook my head, swallowing my disappointment, as we re-entered the candlelit hall. This was now deserted, except for Mistress Bignell, our other erstwhile companions having presumably taken themselves off to bed, a fact that the lady confirmed when asked.

‘And it's time we were asleep, too, my love,' she said, taking her husband's arm. ‘I've spoken to Dame Audrea while you were outside with the chapman, and she agrees that we may return home tomorrow, provided we agree to remain as quiet as possible for the present concerning the true circumstances of Master Bellknapp's death. She intends that Sir Henry shall conduct the funeral rites and the body be buried as soon as may be. The family vault in the church will be opened up in the morning and Master Anthony laid to rest by evening. She counts on our discretion. And,' Mistress Bignell added with more dryness than I would have thought her capable of, ‘she suggests that we supply the manor with an additional two carcasses a week, preferably two young, tender porkers.'

Thomas Bignell gave no sign, not so much as by the flicker of an eyelid, that he recognized this offer for what it was, saying simply, ‘That's very gracious of Dame Audrea and I shall tell her so before we take our leave of her tomorrow.' He turned to me, holding out his hand. ‘In case we don't see one another again, Master Chapman, I'll say goodnight and goodbye. If you're ever in Wells, you must visit us.' He appealed to his wife. ‘We shall expect it, shan't we, my dear?' Then without waiting for her assent, he went on, ‘Now, we must go and find Rose and Ned and see if we can sort things out between them before we go. For my own part, I don't suspect there's anything seriously amiss. Nothing that recent events won't have remedied.'

This tactful way of referring to Anthony's death at first amused, but then made me uneasy. Was I overlooking the obvious? Was I naive in not being more suspicious of the butcher as the killer of the murdered man? He had both a motive (of sorts) and the opportunity. Furthermore, he was used to killing, no doubt slaughtering many of his own animals in order to ensure the freshness of his meat. But as I watched him quit the hall in search of his daughter, closely followed by his wife and son, I couldn't bring myself to think him guilty. There were other thoughts, other suspicions floating around in my mind like the pieces of flotsam they might well turn out to be, and in any case, I knew where to find the Bignells if I had cause to change my mind.

I went to look for Simon Bellknapp.

I was informed by the steward that he was already abed, but in spite of the lateness of the hour, he returned a grudging message by George Applegarth – who had volunteered to be my messenger – that he would see me if he must.

His bedchamber was next to Dame Audrea's, an arrangement that I guessed had pertained since childhood; a small, stuffy room overburdened with furniture and with a row of wooden toys – horses, soldiers, cup-and-ball and even a tiny, jointed doll – arranged on a shelf alongside his bed. This was a large four-poster, far bigger than that needed by a solitary person, with dark red canopy and curtains and with numerous little drawers and cupboards let into the bedhead. (I had seen another like it some years before, in a house in Glastonbury, and presumed therefore that they were both the work of a local craftsman.)

Simon himself was sitting up, propped against the pillows. He was still very pale and his broken arm obviously continued to give him pain, a fact which might account for his unusually sour expression – sourer even than was customary for him – although I doubted this. He was not pleased to see me, and I suspected that he had been persuaded against his will by George Applegarth to give me audience. He was certainly on the defensive, as his opening remark clearly indicated.

‘I didn't kill Anthony, so you can just go away and leave me alone. I'm master here again now, and I don't have to answer to you or anyone.'

I raised my eyebrows. ‘Not even to your lady mother? I think she'd argue with that, don't you? And I have her permission to question whomsoever I please.'

He snorted so vehemently that the flame of his bedside candle guttered in the draught, but I noted that he didn't contradict me. Instead, his eyes suddenly narrowed and he went on the attack.

‘What about you?' he demanded nastily. ‘How do I know – how do any of us know – that you're not my brother's murderer?'

‘And why would I have wanted to kill Master Bellknapp?' I asked quietly.

He shrugged, pouting angrily. ‘How can I tell? But I consider it very odd you turning up here the very same day that Anthony reappeared after eight years' absence.'

‘Coincidence,' I said. Or divine interference in my affairs. But I didn't risk saying that to Simon, lest he accuse me of blasphemy. And I was beginning to wonder myself if, in this case, it were true. I hadn't been able to save Anthony Bellknapp from a violent death, but maybe that had not been God's purpose.

Simon made no reply, but continued looking sulky and unconvinced. ‘I still think it's strange,' he flung at me defiantly.

I ignored this. ‘You, on the other hand,' I pointed out, ‘had all the reason in the world to get rid of your brother. You made no secret of the fact that you wanted him dead from the moment of his return.'

The young man patted his broken arm. ‘How could I have killed him with this?' he demanded truculently. ‘Try not to be a bigger fool than you look, Chapman. Although that might be hard, I agree.'

I refused to let myself be riled.

‘Your left arm,' I said. ‘There's nothing wrong with your right. And you're right-handed.'

But even as I spoke, I silently acknowledged the fact that his injury would have proved a major difficulty to overcome. Whoever had wrested the cudgel from Anthony Bellknapp would have had to move swiftly to retain the element of surprise and to strike before the other man realized his intention. It would have needed two hands to swing my cudgel with the necessary force, and an accuracy of aim hardly achievable with the use of only one arm. Reluctantly, I relinquished the idea of Simon as his brother's murderer. Not that I was going to tell him that, at least not in so many words, although, if sharp enough, he might deduce it from the slight alteration in my manner.

So I abruptly changed the subject, a tactic I had often found disconcerted people and threw them off their guard.

‘Do you remember any of the details of Jenny Applegarth's murder?' I asked.

‘Wh-what?' he stuttered, blinking rapidly. ‘Jenny Apple… No. I wasn't here. A-and what's that got to do with…?' He tailed off, staring at me stupidly. Next moment, however, his native cunning and intelligence reasserted themselves. ‘You think there's a link between them,' he accused me.

By now it was dark outside, the glimpse of sky beyond the still-open shutters a faded black, against which were sketched the inkier shadows of the distant trees. An owl hooted as it swooped past the window in search of prey. The shadows in the room were lengthening, inching forward until Simon Bellknapp and I were islanded in the pool of light thrown by the solitary candle.

‘I was at Kewstoke Hall with my parents,' my companion continued, ‘visiting my sister and brother-in-law.'

I nodded. ‘And, as I understand it, all the household officers had accompanied your father and mother with the exception of the Applegarths and Dame Audrea's page.'

‘Yes. John Jericho. I remember him.'

‘What do you remember? Would you have thought him capable of robbery and murder?'

‘I don't think I thought much about him at all. It must be all of six years ago. I wasn't much more than nine. He was just another servant.'

The sneering, dismissive tone angered me, but I was determined to hold on to my temper and not give rein to it.

‘Then you can't help me,' I said, and turned to go. ‘I'll wish you goodnight, Master Bellknapp, and pleasant dreams.'

‘Wait!' His curiosity had been aroused, and now that I appeared to have abandoned the thornier subject of Anthony's murder, he was more willing to talk. ‘It's perfectly true, I don't recall a lot about John Jericho – like many other people, I thought that a silly, made-up name – except that he was small and dark and was always disgustingly cheerful. I recollect that once, Mother had him quite severely beaten for some misdemeanour or another – I can't remember what – and he just laughed when it was over, as cocky as ever.'

‘Who administered the beating? Can you remember?'

Simon shook his head. ‘But it was probably Jenny Applegarth. She'd been our nurse, Anthony's and mine – I suppose she still was mine at the time, although Father declared I was growing too old for petticoat government – and she could always give a thrashing when she thought it was deserved.' He spoke with a certain venom, as if he hadn't shared his dead brother's affection for their former nurse. ‘Mother could well have turned the page over to her for punishment.'

Here was something new to think about. ‘Would he have resented it?' I asked.

‘I told you, he didn't seem to. But who knows what people are feeling secretly?' Simon settled himself more comfortably against the banked-up pillows and eased his splinted arm into a different position, although not without a wince of pain. ‘Perhaps that's why he killed her when he got the chance. When she caught him stealing the household plate and the jewels my mother had left behind, he couldn't resist the temptation to avenge his humiliation.'

An unplanned murder was how I had always visualized it, but until that moment, I had thought it was because the page could not risk leaving behind a witness to his guilt. Yet now I came to consider it more carefully, there never had been any doubt in anyone's mind as to who had committed the crime: John Jericho's flight had made that all too certain. And the killing of a woman, attempting to preserve her employers' property, had only made matters a thousand times worse for him. A moment of uncontrolled vindictiveness, however, offered a more reasonable solution.

All the same, ‘You still haven't answered my question,' I said.

‘What was that?'

‘Would you have considered this John Jericho capable of robbery and murder?'

Simon curled his lip again. ‘Who isn't, if pushed?' I watched him realize what he had said and he began to bluster. ‘I mean … well … a low-born fellow like that, he's probably capable of anything.'

‘You're sure he was low-born?'

Simon spluttered a laugh. ‘Came out of nowhere, didn't he? Wandering about the countryside, sleeping rough. Mother took one of her inexplicable fancies to him. My father, the Applegarths, everyone told her she was mad. Courting trouble, I remember Father saying. But she wouldn't listen. She can be obstinate when she likes. And look what came of it!'

‘You argue with hindsight,' I persisted. ‘Think back to before the murder. Would you have considered John Jericho likely to turn thief, let alone killer, before it happened?'

‘I've told you! I never thought about the man at all. I don't waste my time thinking of stable lads or kitchen maids or even Mistress Wychbold.' Again, he shrugged. ‘Why should I? They're nothing to me.'

I could see that I was wasting my time, so I gave up. I didn't suppose Simon Bellknapp had ever seriously considered the thoughts and feelings of anyone except himself in the whole of his life. I detached myself from the bedpost against which I had been leaning, and gave a curt nod of my head. (I certainly wasn't prepared to give the little monster the courtesy of a bow, whatever the difference in our stations.)

‘I'll wish you goodnight once more then, Master.'

‘And don't come bothering me a second time,' he hissed viciously, jerking himself forward, away from the pillows, to emphasize his words.

For a moment, his head was haloed by the candlelight, and I was taken aback by his unexpected resemblance to his brother. The shadows had temporarily aged a face that was normally young and immature, giving it the same saturnine expression that I had occasionally noted on Anthony.

‘What are you gawping at?' he demanded ill-naturedly, irritated by my fixed, unblinking stare.

I ignored the question, briefly inclined my head again and left the room.

I judged it too late by then to interrogate any more of the household, most of whom would have already sought their beds, although it was possible that the maids had not yet retired to whatever corners they inhabited during the watches of the night. So I made my way to the kitchens and was rewarded by finding two of the girls still hard at work, one busy damping down the fire with sods of peat from a pile which stood at the side of the hearth, the other stacking bowls and plates on the table ready for use in the morning. And by a lucky chance, the first girl was the one I was looking for.

Both maids were plainly startled by my late appearance, but were immediately all smiles when they realized it was no one in authority come to spy on them.

‘Goodness! You made me jump,' the fair-haired one complained, rising from her knees and brushing the residue of peat from her hands on the sides of her skirt. ‘I thought you were Mistress Wychbold come to check on us. She does that sometimes.'

Her darker-haired companion agreed, nodding her head vigorously. ‘The old dragon doesn't trust us. She suspects us of letting the stable lads in for a bit of you-know-what.' She giggled. ‘She's never caught us at it yet, though. We're too clever for that.' The girl eyed me provocatively. ‘Is that what you've come for? To try your luck?'

I grinned and gave her back look for look. ‘Unfortunately, no. I don't think my wife would approve.'

‘Oh, wives!' was the dismissive answer. ‘What the eye doesn't see …'

‘Bridget, behave yourself,' the first girl admonished her friend. ‘What will Master Chapman think of you?' She glanced at me and asked shyly, ‘Can we help you?'