The Prodigal Son (4 page)

‘Or if I hadn't had a reputation for solving mysteries. Why not?'

He shrugged his thin shoulders. ‘Why would you want to be saddled with an unknown younger half-brother?' He gave the ghost of a grin. ‘They can be a damn nuisance, as I know only too well.'

That made me laugh. I found my initial, instinctive hostility turning to liking as I saw in him traits of character that I recognized in myself. I had always known that my cynical view of the world must have come from my father: my mother had been far too simple and devout a soul to see life with a jaundiced eye.

I settled my buttocks more comfortably – or as comfortably as possible – on the stone bench. ‘Tell me all you can about this Dame Bellknapp,' I invited.

‘That's just the point.' He threw out his hands in despair. ‘I can't tell you anything about her. I don't know her. I've never seen her before in my life.'

‘Then tell me what happened yesterday.'

‘What can I say …? Well, to begin with, I'd realized it was useless hanging around Bristol any longer. I could wait for days … weeks … and there might be no more news of John Jay and his crew than there is today. Which is to say, nothing. And if I stayed away too long, my poor mother would also begin to worry about me. So, I decided to go home. There was an Irish ship tied up at Welsh Back that was sailing for Waterford this morning, on the early tide.' His voice caught momentarily in his throat and I could see that he was near to tears. ‘It's gone now,' he went on gamely, mastering his emotion.

‘So?' I prompted.

‘So I arranged my passage with the captain and then I went to the fair to find a present for my mother. I knew most of the traders and stallholders had packed up and gone by that time, but there were still enough of them left to make a visit worthwhile.' He drew a deep breath. ‘I was just haggling over the cost of a gilt chain – the rogue who was trying to sell it to me wanted twice what it was worth – when I heard this woman shouting, “Stop that man! That's John Jericho!” Of course, I looked around like everyone else, to see who it was that she was talking about. Then to my utter astonishment, I realized she was pointing straight at me. The next thing I knew, one of the two men with her – her servants I guessed them to be – was holding me with one of my arms up my back and one of his arms clamped round my neck. The second man had gone haring off, and returned a few minutes later with a sheriff's officer, this Sergeant Manifold. Meanwhile, the woman was ranting on about how I was a robber and a murderer and should be arrested immediately. I think if she'd had her way, I'd have been strung up there and then on the nearest gallows.'

‘What about her two household officers?' I asked, although, thanks to Margaret Walker, I already knew the answer. ‘Did they recognize you?'

‘They both agreed there was a likeness. The man who was holding me said there was a great likeness, but the other man, the one she called George and introduced to Sergeant Manifold as her steward, wasn't nearly so sure. Something of a likeness was what he said, and reminded his mistress that the murder and robbery took place six years ago. A long time, as he pointed out.'

‘But it didn't satisfy this Dame Bellknapp. Is that her name?'

‘I think so. I wasn't paying close attention. I think, though, it would have been enough for the sergeant – after all, it was just her word against mine with no one really prepared to back her up – had she not claimed kinship with a certain John Foster, who lives in Small Street. Apparently, he was once sheriff of Bristol and is thought almost certain to be the next mayor.'

Not the present holder of the office, then. Margaret Walker's information had at least proved faulty on that score, which pleased me. Everything else she had told me had proved to be distressingly accurate.

‘I know Alderman Foster,' I said. ‘Well, not to speak to, but he's a neighbour of mine. A salt merchant, and although he doesn't live in one of the bigger houses in Small Street, he's reputed to be a very wealthy man. A man of considerable influence, too, among the city fathers.'

‘Oh, I can confirm that,' my half-brother told me bitterly. ‘As soon as his name was mentioned, Sergeant Manifold's attitude towards me underwent a change. He instructed those two henchmen of his—'

‘Jack Gload and Pete Littleman,' I interrupted with an involuntary laugh. ‘That pair of incompetents.'

‘I don't know what they're called, and I don't care,' my companion snapped. ‘I only know I found myself clapped up here, in the bridewell, while the sergeant went off to consult with his superiors. And the result is that I seem destined to be imprisoned here indefinitely while those in authority try to decide which one of us – this woman or me – is telling the truth. And in the end, of course, they'll take her word against mine, because she's bound to bribe or blackmail her servants into supporting her.'

If he was waiting for me to contradict him, he was doomed to disappointment, because he was right. That's the way the world turns, always has done, always will do, and there's nothing anyone can do about it. Well … maybe. Sometimes.

‘What do you know about the crime you're being accused of?' I asked after a moment's silence.

My companion shrugged. ‘Six years ago, there was a robbery at this woman's house … near Wells.' He added defiantly, ‘I was in Ireland six years ago. I explained that. We went there very shortly after my mother married my stepfather.'

‘And you never came back?'

‘No. Never. Not until last week. And I shan't be returning, either, if I get out of here alive.' He shivered suddenly, and his voice broke.

‘Oh, we'll get you out of here,' I said bracingly, and, had he but known it, with far more confidence than I was actually feeling.

He turned to me eagerly. ‘You'll help me, then?'

I regarded him mockingly. ‘Isn't that why you wanted to see me? To ask for my assistance?'

‘Are you angry?'

‘No, of course not.' Was I being quite truthful? But he was my father's son. I was sure about that. And if I couldn't help my own kith and kin, what right had I to be helping other people? Besides, any mystery intrigued me. Moreover, I could see as plainly as John could – and it was time to start thinking of him by his baptismal name – that there would most likely be a miscarriage of justice unless someone did something to prove his story true. Of course, I could go to Ireland, seek out his mother and anyone else willing to swear that he had been at home there at the time of this murder. But what good would it do? It was the truth that was needed, and what mother isn't prepared to perjure herself in the cause of her son's life? As for other witnesses, could their memories be relied upon after such a length of time? And in my experience, most communities, particularly rural ones, will close ranks to protect one of their own. Matthew O'Neill was undoubtedly that, and his stepsons would therefore be regarded in much the same light.

So, if I ruled out crossing the sea to Ireland, what was my next step? Obviously, to find out more about this Dame Bellknapp and her history, and as she was related to my neighbour, John Foster, I should have to risk a rebuff from the former sheriff and mayor-elect and pay him a visit. He might know something worth the telling; although distant relatives, if they had any sense, usually remained just that.

I got to my feet and reached down to press my half-brother's hand with my own. ‘I'll do what I can,' I promised, and shouted for the turnkey to let me out.

Luck was with me. The young maidservant who answered the door informed me that Alderman Foster was at home, and if I liked to step inside, she would see if he was willing to receive me.

As I had told my half-brother, this was not the largest or grandest house that Small Street had to offer, but the hall's elaborately carved stone fireplace, the painted and gilded ceiling beams, upper window panes made of glass, not horn, a corner cupboard displaying a quantity of pewter and fine silverware, a spruce coffer spread with green velvet cushions and a branched candelabra, holding five wax candles, all spoke of a wealth and comfort that Adela and I would never achieve. Most of our neighbours resented the fact that such a raggle-taggle bunch as my family had come to live amongst them at all, and I was more than half prepared to be told that Alderman Foster was unable to receive me. But five minutes later, he appeared, smiling affably and brushing his hands together.

‘Salt!' he exclaimed with a laugh. ‘I've been down in my cellars, Master – er—?'

‘Chapman. Roger Chapman,' I murmured. ‘A neighbour of yours.'

‘Ah, yes, I know! You have three small children and a dog.' I groaned inwardly. We were notorious, even Hercules. But, miraculously, the alderman didn't seem to mind. ‘I only have two children, a son, Richard, and a daughter, Agnes, but they are all a gift from God.' I wasn't so sure about that, but kept a still tongue in my head. ‘So, how may I be of service, Master Chapman? I must apologize for having kept you waiting, but, as I said, I've been down in my cellars, checking my latest consignment of salt, received yesterday from the Rhineland.' His eyes lit with a sudden enthusiasm. ‘Have you ever visited the Rhineland, my dear sir? Have you ever seen the city of Cologne? Or its marvellous, wondrous cathedral?' I denied all knowledge of both and was informed sadly that I had missed one of the miracles of the world. ‘However,' my host continued, ‘I daresay you haven't come to hear me ramble on. What can I do for you?' And he waved me to an armchair at one side of the fireplace, while he seated himself in another, opposite.

I perched awkwardly on the edge of the hard, carved seat, more embarrassed by his condescension than I would have been had he snubbed me, and explained what I wanted. When I had finished, without admitting to my personal interest in the case, John Foster rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

‘A history of the Bellknapps, eh? I heard what had happened, of course. Sergeant Manifold informed me of the incident and asked my opinion of what should be done. What could I say? Audrea Bellknapp's a distant kinswoman of mine, and although we don't see much of one another as a general rule, she always visits me and my wife whenever she's in the city, as she did on this occasion, before going on to the fair. As far as I know, she's a sober, upright and honest woman who wouldn't accuse a man falsely. She must genuinely believe this young man to be who she thinks he is.'

‘Neither of the men with her recognized him as this John Jericho.'

‘Her steward, George Applegarth and her receiver, Edward Micheldever … No, they didn't, or so I understand. That is what's exercising Sergeant Manifold's mind. That's why I consulted with my friends.' That meant the mayor and the rest of the Bristol hierarchy. ‘But the charge is a serious one. Robbery and murder. It couldn't be ignored.'

‘It's your cousin's word against my – against the Irishman's,' I pointed out, sounding more aggressive than I meant to.

John Foster raised his eyebrows, but if he noticed my slip, he gave no sign. He merely shrugged and asked, ‘What's your interest in this affair, Master Chapman?'

‘I don't like the thought of an innocent man being imprisoned,' I answered with perfect truthfulness.

‘If he is innocent, neither do I,' was the swift rejoinder. ‘So am I to understand that you are taking up the cudgels in defence of this John Wedmore?' He gave both names an emphasis that it was impossible to ignore.

‘John is a very common name,' I said. ‘Indeed, it's your own. And although he freely admits to being from these parts originally, the young man swears he was in Ireland six years ago.'

‘Do you intend going to Ireland?' the alderman enquired with a faint smile.

‘No.' And I gave him my reasons.

His smile grew rueful. ‘You believe justice is only for the rich?'

‘I think that people with money and influence stand a better chance of it. Yes, of course I do, don't you?'

He didn't answer the question directly, but after a moment, said quietly, ‘I'll do what I can to help you in your quest for the truth of this matter. You want a history of the Bellknapp family. I've already told you, I'm not close to my cousin, but I've probably picked up enough information over the years, during her annual visits to Saint James's fair, to be of some use to you. I stress again that my knowledge is limited, but such as it is, I'll share it with you.'

He arranged himself comfortably, eased his back, cleared his throat and began.

‘A
udrea Bellknapp is a cousin on my mother's side of the family, several times removed. What her maiden name was, I have no idea and can hardly believe it relevant to anything you might wish to know. Suffice it to say that ever since I can remember she has been first the wife, then the widow of Cornelius Bellknapp of Croxcombe Manor. This, I understand, although I have never visited it, lies a mile or so from Wells, at the foot of the Mendips.

‘I have met Cornelius, in the days when he used to accompany his wife to Saint James's fair, and, if I'm honest, I didn't much care for him. A very serious man, strict in his ways and expecting everyone else to be the same; judging people by his own limited perception of right and wrong. A man who lacked – now, how shall I put it? A man who lacked the gift of laughter. Yes, I think that describes him perfectly. But he suited Audrea, who is herself a woman without a sense of humour.

‘Cornelius did not, however, get on with the elder of their two sons. According to my cousin, Anthony was nothing but trouble from an early age.' John Foster grimaced sympathetically. ‘I imagine the poor young fellow was simply a normal, mischievous little boy, but one who was punished and reprimanded so often for what was nothing more than high spirits that he grew up at loggerheads with both parents, but particularly with his father. Audrea was inclined to blame, at least partially, the boy's nurse, Jenny Applegarth, the wife of her steward, who doted on the child, and was thought to have encouraged his rebellious attitude.'