The Prodigal Son (7 page)

‘Oh, get on with you! You haven't changed a bit. You always did know how to wind a woman round your little finger. That poor Jenny Applegarth never stood a chance where you were concerned.'

‘Ah, my dearest Jenny! How I'm looking forward to seeing her again! How is she?'

There was a moment's silence, then the landlord hurriedly placed an arm about Anthony Bellknapp's shoulders and urged him farther into the aleroom.

‘My dear sir, come in! Come in! You need a bed for the night and food. Janet' – he turned to his wife – ‘rekindle the fire in the kitchen. There's broth in the pot. I'll tell your man to stable your horse, Master Anthony. Our only spare bedchamber, I'm afraid, is occupied by Sir Damien.' He glanced hopefully at the knight. ‘If your worship would care to share your bed …?'

‘No I would not,' snapped the older man angrily. ‘What I want is an explanation of where that man's been all these years and what's brought him home at last.'

Sir Damien's squire and page had, by this time, tactfully withdrawn to a corner of the room, where they presumably hoped to remain unnoticed, as fascinated by the turn events had taken as I was. I remained in full view of everyone, my own man and answerable to no one. Not that I think Sir Damien was even aware of my presence, so incensed was he by this sudden and unlooked-for return of the prodigal.

The prodigal himself, having once recovered from the shock of meeting his brother-in-law so unexpectedly, seemed to be enjoying the situation. He drew up a stool to the damped-down fire and straddled it.

‘What's brought me home, my dear Damien? Why, the news of my father's death, of course, I understand that this – er – unhappy event occurred two years ago, but I was only told of it a month since, and that by pure chance. I've been living in the eastern counties for some considerable time now, and during a recent visit to Cambridge, fell into conversation with a man who also happens to be a native of these parts, although he's not lived here since his boyhood. He corresponds with his sister, however, and knew that my father had died the year before last. He was even able to tell me the terms of the will.' (The sister was plainly the sort of informant every brother would wish to have.) ‘Naturally, I settled my affairs in the east and started out for home the very next day. And so here I am, come to claim my inheritance. I can only hope that my mother and brother will be better pleased to see me than you are.' But even as he voiced this pious wish, Anthony Bellknapp glanced at me and pulled a comical grimace.

‘Then you're more of a fool than I took you for,' Sir Damien snapped, ‘and all I can say is that I'm glad I shan't be present to witness the meeting between you and young Simon. He'll be in a state to cut your throat, so I'd watch out if I were you.'

Anthony laughed openly. ‘What you mean, dear brother-in-law, is that you'd like to see him try. No, no! You'd like to see him succeed. Then I'd be dead, he'd be hanged and Ursula would become my father's sole heir.'

‘Nothing of the sort,' the knight answered austerely. ‘Ursula's dowry was more than adequate.'

The younger man straightened his back and stretched. ‘Oh, I know that. But enough is never quite enough, my dear Damien, now is it?'

‘I'm returning to bed,' the knight replied. ‘I trust you'll have the good manners to be gone before I get up in the morning.' And he mounted the short flight of stairs to the spare bedchamber over the aleroom with a stateliness and outraged dignity it was a joy to behold. At least, I thought so, and, judging by the grin on his face, so did Master Bellknapp.

‘What a piece of work he is!' he exclaimed. ‘He hasn't changed at all in eight years.'

The landlord followed his wife out to the kitchen, and while they were absent, we were joined by Anthony Bellknapp's servant, who announced that he had watered and fed their two horses and seen them settled for the night. He was a tow-headed lad, whose eastern counties speech fell oddly on my ears, and who smelled powerfully of sweat and bad breath. Nobody else seemed to notice, however, and Sir Damien's squire and page came creeping back to the fire where they were soon in conversation with the young man, whose name, we learned, was Humphrey Attleborough. Anthony Bellknapp leaned forward on his stool, hands dangling between his knees, apparently listening to their idle chatter, but in reality, as I could see by his glazed expression, miles away in his thoughts.

I wondered what he was thinking about, although it took little imagination to guess. He had to be speculating on the nature of his reception at Croxcombe Manor when he arrived there the following day. If he had been entertaining a wild hope that he might be welcomed by mother and brother after his long absence, Sir Damien's attitude must have warned him to expect the worst. And there was yet more grief to come when he discovered that his beloved Jenny Applegarth was dead, brutally murdered. Master Litton's quickness of mind had prevented him learning the truth tonight, but it had only postponed the evil day.

The landlord reappeared, as though summoned by my thoughts, carrying two bowls of broth and the heel of a loaf which he handed to the new arrivals. Then he bade us goodnight and withdrew. I once again wrapped myself in my cloak and lay down beside Hercules, suddenly realizing how very tired I was after the exertions of the day, and hoped that the other four would soon follow suit. But I need not have worried. I had been up before dawn and covered, by my reckoning, a good eight miles before being rattled and jolted another eight in the turf carrier's cart over rutted tracks baked hard in the summer heat. The voices of squire and page, master and manservant gradually faded until they were nothing but the echo of my dreams. Hercules snorted and wheezed; then he, too, became part of the distant chorus as I fell deeply and soundlessly asleep.

It might have been the sun streaming in through the open alehouse door that woke me; but I rather fancy it was Master Litton, who ‘accidentally' tripped over my long legs as I sprawled beside the cold ashes of yesterday's fire. I sat up with a snort to find that, apart from Hercules and the landlord, I was alone, my companions of the previous evening having all disappeared.

‘Where is everyone?' I asked, still drugged with sleep.

‘You
were
tired, my lad,' the landlord marvelled. ‘There have been comings and goings through here since daybreak, what with five breakfasts to see to, Sir Damien's saddlebags to be packed and hauled downstairs and no one bothering to lower his voice. But you slept through it all like one dead. And that ill-favoured hound of yours.' The intelligent animal lifted his lip and farted loudly just to show his contempt. Master Litton roared with laughter and continued, ‘Yes, they've all gone on their way, if not exactly rejoicing, then at least anxious to reach journey's end before nightfall. You're the only one left.'

I scrambled to my feet, noting that the sun was already halfway up the sky and climbing steadily, then staggered outside and held my head under the stable pump until I felt fit enough to face the new day. I combed my hair with one of the combs from my pack, cleaned my teeth with the piece of willow bark I always carried and went back indoors to a meal of oatcakes and (it being Friday) poached fish, which Master Litton assured me was no more than forty-eight hours old, having been purchased fresh from the Abbot of Glastonbury's fishpond the day before yesterday.

‘How do I get to Croxcombe Manor from here?' I asked as he placed a beaker of small beer before me and gave Hercules another bone to gnaw on.

‘Croxcombe Manor, eh? Well there! If you'd woken betimes, you could have accompanied Master Anthony. But on second thoughts, I'd give the manor a wide berth today, if I were you. Things are going to be pretty lively there, I reckon, when the prodigal turns up. I don't suppose anyone but George Applegarth will be pleased to see him.'

I swallowed a mouthful of oatcake and asked, ‘Why not?'

The landlord cast a quick glance over his shoulder to make certain that Mistress Litton was nowhere about, then sat down opposite me at the table.

‘The Bellknapps aren't near neighbours of ours, you understand. On foot it'll take you the best part of the day to get there, especially as you're already late setting out. On horseback, now, and with an early start, I daresay Master Anthony will arrive by midday. So, as I say, we're not near neighbours, but not so far distant that one doesn't hear things. And the Bellknapp family has been good for gossip in and around Wells these many years, what with Cornelius's feud with the elder boy, Anthony's disappearance and then, of course, the robbery and murder of Jenny Applegarth. And now' – the landlord chuckled – ‘just as matters seem to have settled down, here's the renegade marching back to claim his inheritance and put young Simon's nose well and truly out of joint.' He sighed. ‘I'd give my last groat to witness
that
encounter.'

I said, ‘I know a little of the Bellknapps' affairs. A cousin of Dame Audrea is a neighbour of mine, in Bristol.' I saw the landlord's look of startled disbelief and hurried on, ‘I assure you it is so, unlikely as it may seem. And to prove I'm telling the truth, I know that Cornelius Bellknapp left everything to his wife until the younger son reaches his eighteenth birthday, when he inherits, but only if the elder brother hasn't returned by then, when everything goes to
him
. And now he has.'

Master Litton nodded, eyeing me with a new and wary respect, as though he wasn't quite sure what to make of me. A pedlar who lived in the same street as a kinsman of Dame Bellknapp was something of a phenomenon, and I could tell he was half inclined to say no more. But curiosity got the better of him and instead of going about his business, he fetched himself a beaker of ale and sat down again.

‘So you can understand as well as I do why Master Simon won't be pleased to see his brother, and why I'd like to be a fly on the wall at that meeting.'

‘Yes. But you also implied that others in the household won't exactly welcome Anthony with open arms. What about his mother?'

The landlord shrugged. ‘Gossip says Dame Bellknapp never had much affection for him, not even when he was small. That's as maybe, and more than I know, but it's certain he didn't get on with his father, and his mother holds his behaviour as partly responsible for her husband's death. Although Master Bellknapp must have felt some remorse for his treatment of Anthony, or he wouldn't have left things as he did when he was dying.'

‘You say this George Applegarth is fond of him?'

‘Oh, aye! He's Dame Bellknapp's steward and his wife, Jenny, was nurse to both the boys in turn. They've no children of their own and Anthony was like a son to them, the more so because he was neglected by his parents. Yes, George Applegarth, at least, will be delighted by his return.'

I reflected that for a distant neighbour, Master Litton knew a great deal about the Bellknapps, their history and their household. I was not, however, surprised. I had grown up in Wells and knew as well as anyone how far and how swiftly gossip travelled. And what better place than an alehouse – or inn, as I felt sure the landlord would have preferred me to call it – for the telling and hearing of such local tittle-tattle?

‘And the rest of Dame Bellknapp's retainers?' I enquired. ‘Surely they have nothing against Master Anthony? His return can make no difference to them.'

Again the landlord shrugged and waved his free hand while sipping his ale. ‘We-ell, the old chaplain, now, Henry Rokewood, nearing sixty I should guess, he and the older boy never got on. Poor old Sir Henry has a limp and a stammer – had 'em for years – and boys being boys, and a bit cruel sometimes, Master Anthony used to make fun of him. I've seen him do it in the street with everyone looking on and sniggering behind their hands. I've laughed myself, I have to confess, for he was a good mimic. But being the butt of a joke's a different thing altogether, and the chaplain was often near to tears. No, I don't reckon Sir Henry'll be pleased at Master Anthony's return.

‘Then there's the chamberlain, Jonathan Slye. His sister has a bastard child, a son. A handsome young fellow, about nine years old. The girl could never be persuaded to name the father, but Jonathan Slye swears it's Anthony.'

And people think that they see life in the towns! ‘Go on,' I invited, highly diverted.

‘Not much more to tell, really. Rumour has it that Reginald Kilsby – he's the bailiff – has high hopes of marrying Audrea Bellknapp someday. People do say they're already lovers, but that may be just malicious gossip. Dame Bellknapp don't strike me as the sort of woman to marry her bailiff. Bit of fun between the sheets, yes. Marriage, no. But the point is that Reginald Kilsby thinks she might. Simon probably wouldn't raise any objections: his mother can persuade him to almost anything. But Anthony, he could quite well forbid all thought of any such nonsense.'

I grimaced. ‘If all you say is true, then you're right. It doesn't seem likely that Anthony Bellknapp is in for the warmest of welcomes when he reaches Croxcombe.'

‘No. And furthermore, Edward Micheldever – that's the receiver, a man somewhere about your own age – has not long married a pretty young wife. Anthony's reputation where women were concerned left much to be desired before he disappeared eight years ago. He may have improved with age, of course, but I doubt it. And he didn't mention anything of a wife and family to me during our conversation at breakfast this morning. Didn't talk like a married man either, so I don't reckon he's settled down and got wed.'

‘So his arrival really will put the cat among the pigeons?'

‘Bound to. Can't but do aught else that I can see. Lord! Lord! There'll be ructions as sure as God's in His heaven and Old Scratch is down below. Here!' The landlord caught up my beaker and his own. ‘Let's have another stoup of ale.' He noticed my expression and grinned. ‘It's all right. No charge, but don't tell my wife.'