Wheel of Fate (14 page)

‘It was not long after, I believe. At the time, no one made any connection between the two events, only later when the sister, Charity, died from eating mushrooms. And again, some months afterwards when the half-brother, Martin Godslove, was set upon by footpads and killed.'

‘Oh, I remember that.' Father Berowne once more rubbed his forehead. ‘A terrible thing to have happened. But there again, such murders occur almost nightly. It's what I was saying just now, law and order are breaking down. It's not at all like it was when I was a boy.'

It never is in my experience. If I had a silver penny for every time someone has lamented to me that things aren't what they used to be, I reckon I'd be a rich man. A very rich man.

I regarded the priest curiously. ‘Where do you come from?' I asked. ‘I'd swear there's some Irish in your voice. I can hear it every once in a while.'

My companion smiled, a sweet, twinkling smile that reached his eyes even quicker than his lips.

‘Your hearing must be very acute,' he said. ‘I can detect traces of it, myself, now and then, although I've never been there in my life. But my father came from the southern tip of Ireland, around Waterford. Do you know it?'

I shook my head. ‘Like you, I've never been there, but it's the part of that country Bristol trades with the most, Waterford being the nearest Irish port of any size. The slavers, I fancy, use the smaller coves and inlets, not wishing to attract attention to their illegal cargoes.'

‘Ah, yes.' He regarded me straitly, the smile no longer in evidence. ‘I've heard that the people of Bristol still fuel that dreadful trade with their unwanted relatives and enemies, even though it was banned by the Church many centuries ago.'

His voice was suddenly so stern that I felt bound to reiterate the fact that I was born in Wells and was a Bristolian only by adoption. It surprised me how much I wanted the approbation of this simple, godly man. Even Hercules, who had been lying quietly at my feet, raised his head from his paws and – or so it seemed – stared at me reproachfully.

I must have sounded even more defensive than I felt, for my companion made haste to disclaim, ‘No, no! Dear me! I was not implying that you, my son – no, indeed – that you are – were – have been – in any way involved. Forgive me! I . . .'

It was my turn to reassure him that he had in no sort given offence; and as I had no wish for him to discover that I had, in the past, come to know at least one of the slavers quite well, I steered our conversation back into less troubled waters.

‘That trace of Irishness in your tone comes, then, from hearing your father speak when you were a child?'

He nodded, eager and willing to follow my lead. ‘Yes, that must be it, although few people detect it as quickly as you, if at all.'

‘It comes from listening to the many Irish sailors around the Bristol docks,' I said and got to my feet. ‘Thank you for your time, Sir Berowne. I won't trouble you any further.'

‘No, no! Dear me!' He also jumped to his feet. ‘You can't go without some refreshment. What am I thinking of? Sit down again, please.' He went to the corner cupboard and produced a flask and two beakers. ‘Some of last year's elderflower wine. I make it myself and this was a particularly fine brew. And while we drink, tell me again if you please about your good self. You say you are a solver of mysteries and have had some successes in the past. I should like to hear about them if it wouldn't bore you too much.'

It would take a far more modest person than myself to resist such a flattering offer, so for the next hour, against a background of Hercules's wheezing snores, I recounted some of my more successful exploits while the priest and I gradually emptied the flask of its contents. Once I had to go outside and relieve my bursting bladder and twice the priest was forced to do the same; and finally we went together, arm in arm like two old comrades, to play the schoolboy game of who could piss higher against the wall. After which, there seemed nothing else to do but wish my new found friend goodbye, whistle up my dog and wend my unsteady way back to the Arbour.

What Adela's reaction to my drunken state would have been, had I been able to remain upright, I never learned, as almost immediately I was violently sick and collapsed into unconsciousness and delirium. After that, I was vaguely aware, on various occasions, of people coming and going, of anxious voices, of things being forced down my throat, of my wife's frightened face hovering above me, of the doctor's ponderous tones. But for the most part I inhabited an insane world of my own peopled by distorted images and horrors that made me sweat with terror; a place where the boiling seas were blood red and the earth gave up its ghosts and my heart thumped nearly out of my body; where my long dead mother waved a bony finger and warned me I was damned unless I renounced my profligate way of life and became a true believer. It seemed to go on for ever . . .

And then, quite suddenly, one morning, I awoke to the early sun rimming the shuttered window, to a feeling of light-headed calm and peace and the sight of Adela's drawn face beside me on the pillow. I knew at once that I had been ill. I also knew that now I was better.

It took me a minute or two longer to work out where I was and how I got to be there, but in a much shorter time than I would have thought possible, clarity and memory had returned and I could recollect everything that had led up to the moment of my return to the Arbour. The probable cause of my illness remained a mystery until I remembered the sour-tasting ale at the Voyager. And I had been foolish enough to order a second cup, some of which, at least, I had drunk. The smell of it, the rancid taste of it were once again in my throat and nostrils, and I felt my stomach heave in protest . . .

‘Roger?' It was Adela's voice. She was awake, propped on one elbow and staring at me in disbelief and joy. ‘You're better.'

I smiled weakly at her. ‘How long have I been like this?' I asked. ‘What day is it?'

‘Tuesday,' she said, then burst into tears. ‘We thought you were going to die.' She smothered my face in watery kisses.

‘Tuesday?' I demanded incredulously. ‘Are you telling me I've been ill for
six days
?'

She nodded, lying down again and pressing her head into my shoulder. ‘We've all been so worried. Poor Father Berowne has called nearly every day. Apparently you had both been drinking his elderflower wine just before you returned here, and he's desperately afraid that it might have been the cause. Although he himself has suffered no ill effects, he fears he might have made it too strong for someone not accustomed to it.'

‘Nonsense!' I declared. ‘It was the rotten ale at the Voyager.' And I told her what I had done and also what I had discovered the preceding Wednesday afternoon. I was amazed at how much the telling took the virtue out of me and how tired I felt afterwards. I was as weak as a kitten.

‘Better now?' enquired a voice in my left ear, and there was Adam peering at me over the edge of the mattress. He climbed the small flight of steps at the side of the bed and, ignoring his mother's remonstrations, wriggled in beside me. He stroked my face. ‘You're better,' he assured me firmly.

‘Thank you, sweetheart.' I put an arm around him.

He eyed me, solemn as a little owl. ‘“Sweetheart” is for girls,' he said sternly. I apologized, but noted that he didn't seem to mind being cuddled.

A moment or two later, having been woken by the sound of our voices, Elizabeth and Nicholas bounced into the room. (Adela had obviously not thought it worthwhile to keep the intervening door locked during my indisposition.) They were delighted that I was my normal self again, and were the first of a stream of visitors who arrived at my bedside throughout the day with their congratulations on my recovery. I was desperate for sleep, but everyone wanted to talk. Clemency and Celia were anxious to share their fear that this might have been another attempt on a family member's life and refused to be altogether convinced by my argument that I could hardly be counted as a Godslove or be reassured that I was correct about the cause of my sickness. Sybilla also paid me a visit, but was less interested in my condition than in describing her own recent sufferings which, according to her, had been many and varied. Next, the housekeeper made a brief appearance to inform me that whatever I fancied to tempt my appetite would be prepared by her own fair hands (the kitchen maids being a couple of fools who could be trusted with only the most basic of recipes). And both the priest and doctor called, the former still anxious for confirmation that I held his elderflower wine in no way to blame for what had happened, the latter ostensibly to see how his patient fared, but in reality, I suspected, to catch a glimpse of Celia and snatch a clandestine word with her if at all possible. By the time Oswald returned from Westminster and the law courts in the late afternoon, I was feeling like one of my daughter's rag dolls after Hercules had given it a mauling.

At least with Oswald I was able have a rational conversation and glean whatever news there was to be had from the outside world.

‘Has the duke arrived yet?' My companion shook his head. ‘Is there any word of him? Or from him?'

Oswald pursed his lips. ‘The rumour in the city – and it's a pretty strong one – is that His Grace will reach Northampton sometime today, where he is due to meet up with the royal party travelling across country from the Welsh border.' He stroked his chin. ‘What is certain is that a few days ago, Sir Richard Grey left the capital for Wales with a train of some thousands strong to join his uncle and half-brother before they set out on their journey.'

‘Why? Surely the king and Earl Rivers have enough men stationed at Ludlow to supply a sufficient retinue for the purpose of a peaceful entry into London?'

The lawyer chewed a thumbnail. ‘One would have thought so. But it would seem the queen and members of the Woodville family think otherwise.'

I detected the note of unease in his voice. ‘What do you believe is the reason?'

Oswald laughed and got up from the bed, where he had been sitting. ‘Oh, I try not to have opinions. Well, my dear fellow, your first week with us has been unfortunate. I suppose you had no time, in the few hours before you were struck down, to discover anything of significance? No, obviously not. But I hope this unhappy episode hasn't changed your mind about helping us. Not for my sake, you understand. But it would bring a certain measure of peace of mind to my sisters. For my own part, I still remain somewhat unconvinced by this theory of a mysterious enemy waiting to strike us all down.' He smiled in his irritatingly superior way. ‘And now I'll leave you to get some rest. I'm sure you need it.'

He was right, and I slept, on and off, for the remainder of the day and all of the night. But my powers of recuperation have always been remarkable, thanks in the main to my generally good health and the strength of my body. By the following evening, the last day of April, I was almost myself again and left our bedchamber to join the family for supper.

It was a splendid meal of mutton stewed in red wine vinegar flavoured with cinnamon and saffron, chopped parsley and onions, and followed by a curd tart with cream. It was all washed down with a pale amber-coloured wine whose name I refused to ask for fear of displaying my total ignorance, but whose soft, warm glow spread throughout my body and completed my recovery. When I finally laid down my spoon and drained my cup, I felt ready for anything.

I turned to Oswald, cutting across some desultory small talk between the three sisters (Sybilla was now well enough to leave her sickbed) and said abruptly, ‘Before I was taken ill, Adela was telling me about a man who wishes to buy this house from you; a man who, for some reason, feels he has a right to it. Jollifant? Was that the name?'

The lawyer laughed dismissively. ‘Oh, Adrian Jollifant! Yes, there is such a man. This house belonged to his father – or grandfather, I forget which – many years ago, but the family were forced to sell it. (We bought it, I think, from the man who bought it from them.) Now that the Jollifants are prospering again, Adrian wants it back and seems to think that I am under some obligation to oblige him. He is, of course, a fool with no knowledge of the law. But if, my dear Roger, you're thinking that he is behind these attacks on us – if deliberate attacks they really are – forget him. I told you, the man's a fool and has neither the wits nor the strength of purpose to sustain such a campaign.'

‘Nevertheless, I should like to see and speak with him,' I said. I could not share Oswald's slightly contemptuous view of humanity, nor believe, as he so patently did, that the world was peopled entirely by idiots. ‘If you know where he lives, I should be grateful if you could put me in the way of meeting him.'

‘Nothing easier,' Oswald replied with a shrug. ‘Adrian Jollifant has a silversmith's shop in Cheapside, close to St Paul's. If you care to accompany me tomorrow morning on my way to Chancery Lane, I'll point it out to you.' He gave a faint smile. ‘I'm certain Clemency won't mind if you borrow her horse, Old Diggory. He's a quiet enough animal and won't play you any tricks.'

How Oswald had divined my uneasiness around horses I had no means of knowing, unless Adela had been revealing family secrets during my illness. But somehow I didn't think she would. I decided that my host's intuition, based on powers of observation, was greater than I had given him credit for.

‘Thank you. I should be grateful if you would do that,' I answered politely.

He nodded and rose from the table. ‘Now, if you will all excuse me, I have some work to do; case notes to look over. I shall see you then, Roger, at breakfast. I like to leave the house as soon as it's light.'