[Roger the Chapman 03] - The Hanged Man (7 page)

'Ned!' I exclaimed thankfully. 'Ned Stoner! I must see the Alderman. Tell the goodwife here that he knows me.' The heavy, lantern-jawed face regarded me straitly for a moment, then was wreathed in smiles. 'Dang me, if it ain't the chapman! How goes it then, me old acker? What you doing back in Bristol?' And without waiting for an answer to either of these questions, he addressed himself to the dragon barring my path. 'It's all right, Dame Judith, you can tell the master 'e's here. The master'll see 'im too, I shouldn't wonder. Owes our friend the chapman a lot, I reckon.'

Stiff with outraged dignity, the housekeeper eventually withdrew, reappearing some minutes later to say that Alderman Weaver would indeed be pleased to see me.

Her reluctance at delivering this message was aggravated by the sight of me, at Ned's invitation, already inside her kitchen, and the two girls neglecting their duties to stare and giggle bashfully. She was plainly at a loss to account for my standing with her master, and I speculated whether or not she would sink her pride sufficiently to question Ned about it after I was gone.

The alderman had finished his breakfast and received me in the parlour with its painted and carved doorposts and roof-beams. The glass windows, which had so intrigued me when I first saw them, were dulled now with the grime of winter, but still let in a deal of light. The ornate cupboard, displaying the family pewter and silverware, had been removed to another corner from the one in which it previously stood but, apart from that, all was much as it had been. The alderman, rising to greet me from one of the armchairs beside the hearth, on which burned a roaring fire, was as I remembered him; a little older, perhaps, a little more careworn, the hair sparser and greyer, but with the same thickset build and old-fashioned clothes.

He held out his hand in greeting and waved me to the other armchair. 'Roger Chapman,' he said, 'how can I help you?'

I explained my errand and, as I did so, a faint smile, tinged with sadness, curved his lips.

'So,' he said, when at last I finished speaking, 'you are still using your peculiar talent to help other people as you once helped me. With,' he added, after a moment's sorrowful reflection, 'the prospect of no happier an outcome. Less happy, perhaps, for at least I had the satisfaction of seeing the malefactors brought to justice. I fear in this case, there is no hope of that, for the simple reason that the crime lies at the door of us, the citizens of Bristol. We allowed our dislike of a young man to cloud our judgement; even, in some cases, making up evidence against him and, worse still, growing to believe it, because we wanted to think him guilty. A shame most of us will have to bear for the rest of our lives.' He flung up a hand.

"Oh, I can guess what you're thinking; that what happened Io him did not make Robert Herepath any the less of a burden to his brother and to the rest of us who had to endure his effrontery, his gambling, his debts and drunkenness. But no man, whatever his faults, deserves to choke to death at the end of a rope for a murder he did not commit.'

I nodded. 'I think so, too. But I do not think that two innocent women should be made to suffer for something which was not their fault. Which is why I should like to discover, if I'm able, where William Woodward was during the time between March and August last year; between the Day of the Annunciation and the Day of the Assumption of Our Lady.'

The alderman frowned. 'An impossible task, I should have thought, now that the only person who might have thrown any light on the subject is dead.'

‘He claimed to have been taken to Ireland by the slavers, but no one seems to have believed him. Yet the evidence of the hat, and of the witnesses at Robert Herepath's trial, would give the claim credence. Why is it so summarily dismissed?'

Alderman Weaver sighed. 'Because the slavers do not in general trouble themselves with people over a certain age; they are of little value in the market-place. But if they do .... and there are unscrupulous men and women who will pay handsomely to be rid of elderly relatives they are not so foolish as to beat the victim so severely about the head as to make him lose his wits. What profit would there be for them in that? No, the truth behind William's disappearance must be sought elsewhere. And now, young man, you must hold me excused. I have to be at the weaving sheds this morning. The aulnager is coming to inspect a consignment of cloth before it's dispatched to London and the Steelyard.'

Chapter Six

The alderman would have risen to his feet, but I stretched out a hand. 'A few minutes more of your time, Your Honour, I beg you.'

He hesitated, then sank back into his chair, but his manner betrayed impatience.

I went on quickly, 'Forgive me, but do you have certain knowledge that William Woodward's story was false?'
 

It was Alderman Weaver's turn to pause for thought, but after a moment, he said firmly, 'I do not have certain knowledge, no. That would be impossible. But if you ask me am I as sure as I can be, then the answer must be yes.' He sighed. 'I have often wished that Mistress Walker would marry again, but as she has never seemed inclined to do so, I have felt in some sense responsible for her and her daughter. Although nearly a score of years ago, it was one of my carters, a drunken fellow who should have been dismissed long before, who was the cause of her husband's death, and also that of her child. Her only son.’ There was a poignant silence, during which I guessed he was thinking not of Colin Walker, but of his own son, Clement. The alderman continued bravely: 'Therefore, when this trouble came upon them; when William Woodward came back, as it were, from the dead, I felt obliged to investigate his story in the hope that it might prove to be true. If it were, then no blame could be attached to either him or his family.' He raised his earnest glance to mine and leaned slightly forward in his chair. 'I have done much business over the years with the Irish of the eastern seaboard, from Waterford up as far as Dublin, which is the trading ground of Bristol men. Many of these acquaintances have become good friends, for the Irish are a friendly people.'

'I doubt if those sold into slavery to them think so,' I put in drily.

The alderman smiled. 'In most cases you would be wrong. Oh, there are cruel masters, I don't deny. What nation can claim to be free of cruelty? But in general, the Irish treat their servants as friends, all sitting down to table together and eating from the same dish. You look incredulous, as well you might, but I assure you that it's true. I have seen it with my own eyes and know it to be the general custom. Many Bristol men and women, sold into slavery in Ireland, have found a happiness there they did not know at home. And although,' he added hastily, 'I cannot condone something that is a crime against both Church and State, its consequences are not always to be deplored.'

Realizing that my remark had caused him to digress, I prompted, 'So you made inquiries of your Irish friends regarding William Woodward?'

'I did indeed, and very thorough they were, too. But no sighting of anyone resembling him could be recollected in any of the slave markets held in March last year. These markets of necessity take place in secret, but are well attended; and if my immediate informant had not been present, he always knew of someone else who had.' Alderman Weaver leaned even closer, thumping the arm of his chair. 'I feel sure in my own mind that an elderly man with severe head injuries would not have been overlooked, if only for the simple reason that his appearance would have provoked ridicule from the onlookers. Furthermore, there appears to have been no talk of a runaway slave in the latter half of August, and I am assured that such news does get about.' His gaze became yet more earnest. 'Mistress Walker has doubtless told you in what condition her father returned to her, and indeed, I saw William for myself on more than one occasion. The blows he had received to his head had addled his wits; and while I believe a man in his state could, by instinct, make his way home on foot, I am extremely doubtful of his having the ability to find a ship's master willing to transport him across water. Sailors are too superstitious. And if he had found someone, William had no money with which to pay for his passage.'

I realized with dismay that I had given very little thought to William Woodward's return journey, and silently upbraided myself for the lapse. This latter argument of the alderman seemed to me a more telling one than any he had hitherto advanced, although taken altogether, his reasoning convinced me that I must look elsewhere for the truth concerning the old man's disappearance. It seemed unlikely that he had ever been in Ireland.

I stood up. 'Thank you for your time and patience,' I murmured humbly, still shaken by the fact that I had obtained but half a story from Margaret Walker, and determined to remedy this omission as soon as possible.

My recent illness, I decided, must have blunted the sharpness of my mind. The alderman also rose, anxious to be away to the weaving sheds and the waiting aulnager. I went on, 'If I am to help Mistress Walker discover what really happened to her father, I shall need to make more inquiries. But I hesitate to intrude upon the grief of Edward Herepath and Mistress Ford without some kind of introduction. Would you.., could you provide me with a letter?'

Alderman Weaver considered my request, then nodded briskly. 'Accompany me to the weaving sheds, and I'll dictate some lines to my clerk after I have finished with the aulnager. Meantime, you can take yourself down to the tenter ground. It was two of the tenterers' children who fished William's hat from the Frome. You may gain some further information from them, although after all this time, I would not wish to raise false hopes. But something new may be discovered.'

He called for his manservant to bring his hat and warm frieze cloak, and together we set out, along Broad Street, down High Street, and across the bridge with its shops and tall, narrow houses. Spanning the middle of the bridge was a chapel dedicated to the Virgin and, as we passed through, I sent up a prayer, asking Our Lady's blessing on my mission. I might have asked for its successful conclusion, except I had learned at an early age that neither God, nor His gracious Lady Mother, nor His Son, our Saviour, are prepared to give something for nothing. I should have to work to ensure a happy outcome.

The weaving sheds were busy at that time of day, and the clack of the looms could be heard even before we reached St Thomas's Church. From every cottage there sounded the hum of spinning-wheels. The aulnager was already waiting outside the counting-house, tapping an impatient foot and resisting the head weaver's attempts to placate him for the alderman's tardiness. An alderman of Bristol, however, was unlikely to be intimidated by the annoyance of a mere city inspector, and Alderman Weaver took much longer than was necessary instructing me how to reach the tenter grounds, which lay on the other side of the Redcliffe wall, along the bank of the Avon.

'Come back later,' he told me finally, 'and you shall have your letter.'

I thanked him and went out by the Redcliffe Gate. To my left, William Canynges's beautiful church of St Mary stood guard over the row of houses climbing Redcliffe Gate but I turned to my right, past the gravel pits to where the fullers had their small community, soaking and hammering the newly woven cloth before dispatching it to the tenters to be stretched. The tenter fields were further on again, looking across the river towards the Great Marsh and the Backs, where ships rode at anchor, waiting to be relieved of their cargoes or loaded for the journey home.

I cursed myself for a second time when I realized I had failed to ask the alderman for the two boys' names, but set about remedying the omission. There were a number of men working at the wooden frames. One couple near me fixed the selvedge of a piece of fulled cloth to the tenterhooks of the crossbar, before hooking the other selvedge to an even heavier wooden bar which was then allowed to swing free, its weight pulling and stretching the wet material into shape. When they had finished, I approached them cautiously and made my request. I knew from experience how loath closely knit communities of craftsmen were to give information to prying strangers, and was not surprised to be met with tightly shut mouths and uncomprehending stares. But once I had mentioned the names of Margaret Walker and Alderman Weaver, I was treated with less suspicion, and one of the two men told me what I needed to know.

'You're wanting Burl Hodge's young lads,' he said, giving me a long hard look. 'Come to think of it, Burl's mentioned you. You're the chapman who was taken sick some weeks back, just after Christmas. He helped carry you to Widow Walker's cottage, if I remember rightly.' I assured him that he did and asked where I could find Burl Hodge's sons this time of day.

'You'd best ask Burl himself,' my informant answered grudgingly, and nodded towards the opposite end of the field. 'Over there, with the green jerkin and brown hood.' I thanked him and made my way between the frames to where Burl Hodge was taking a well-earned rest from the rigours of hanging wet cloth on a cold, dank January day. He regarded my approach with some suspicion until sudden recognition dawned. He stopped blowing on his chilblained fingers and grinned.

'It's you, chapman. Hob and I've wondered how you were doing, if you were up and about yet. A nasty turn you had there. But Mistress Walker will've looked after you. A good woman, that, whatever some people might whisper behind her back. But then, some'd whisper about their own grandmothers. You're still seemingly a bit pale, though. Get plenty of her good victuals inside you. Now what can I do for you?'

I explained as best I could without taking up too much of his time, for I could see his partner was waiting to hang a new length of cloth which had just been brought from the fulling yard. 'I understand it was your two lads,' I ended, 'who fished William Woodward's hat from the River Frome. Alderman Weaver suggested I speak to them if I could find them.'