The Christmas Wassail (18 page)

The rest of them, however, were all exclaiming, expressing either doubts about my theory or hailing it as a possible answer to the mystery.

‘Can you remember either the young man's name or where he came from?' I repeated, cutting across this babel.

Cyprian Marvell shook his head and looked enquiringly at the two women. ‘Joanna? Stepmother? Can either of you recall his name? As to where he came from, I believe …' He paused, obviously searching his memory, then nodded decisively. ‘I feel sure he came from Clifton way.'

‘You're right,' his wife agreed. ‘I think his parents rented one of those smallholdings belonging to the manor.' She sucked in her breath sharply. ‘And now I come to think of it, I seem to remember your father saying that he had used his influence with the lord to get them turned off his land.'

If this were true, it was food for thought indeed. ‘Do you recall the name of the family, Mistress Marvell?' I pressed.

‘Try to recollect, my dear,' Cyprian encouraged her. ‘Your memory is so much better than mine.'

I could barely restrain myself from giving her a hint, but I managed to keep a still tongue in my head. At last, however, after what seemed an age, Joanna nodded briskly.

‘Yes, I can remember Father-in-law saying that the family's name was Deakin and that the son was called Miles.'

Cyprian slapped his thigh. ‘You're right, my love. Now you mention it I, too, recall that that was the fellow's name. Miles Deakin! Do you remember, Stepmother?'

‘Yes,' Patience said slowly. ‘I do recollect now that that was his name. But why is Master Chapman so sure that this man has anything to do with your father's disappearance?'

‘Lady Marvell,' I said, ‘I am not sure. Far from it. But the last word Alderman Trefusis uttered before he died was the name Dee. Now, no one seems to know of anyone so called, and it occurred to me that perhaps it was only the beginning of another name altogether.'

‘Deakin!' exclaimed James. He regarded me shrewdly. ‘You already knew the name, Master Chapman. Someone else has mentioned it to you. Admit it. You just wanted my parents' and grandmother's confirmation.'

‘I've told you not to call me by that name, James,' Patience stormed at him, before I could answer. ‘I am not your grandmother.'

He grinned insolently. ‘Step-Grandmother, then.'

‘Be quiet, boy,' his father snapped. He turned once again to me. ‘What made you think of this man?'

‘It was just a thought, sir,' I answered cagily. ‘My wife's cousin, Mistress Walker, had told me the story of Dame Drusilla's quarrel with her brother; the reason for the enmity between them. And her friend, Goody Simnel, told me the young man's name.' Here, Lady Marvell gave a snort and muttered something about ‘Redcliffe gossips'. I continued as though she hadn't spoken. ‘When I heard that it was Deakin, the thought crossed my mind that maybe that was what Alderman Trefusis had been trying to say. If he had recognized Miles Deakin, it's possible he was trying to warn Sir George.'

Cyprian Marvell was looking as excited as a man of his phlegmatic temperament could do. ‘You've informed the authorities of your suspicions, of course?'

‘Not yet. I have no proof whatsoever to implicate this Miles Deakin, but now that you and Mistress Marvell' – I nodded at Joanna – ‘have confirmed his name I think I should put the suggestion to Sergeant Manifold.'

‘You must! You must!' Cyprian was emphatic. ‘Indeed, I shall make my own enquiries regarding this Miles Deakin. Do you have any other reason, apart from his name, to believe he might be the alderman's murderer? The man who, possibly, has abducted my father?'

‘In all truthfulness, no. Dame Drusilla did mention to me, however, when I called on her yesterday, that, the previous afternoon, she had noticed a man in a bird mask staring up at this house. That same night, Sir George vanished. But who the person was there's no means of telling, nor if he had anything to do with your father's disappearance. At this season of the year, the wearing of masks is commonplace. All the same, I have never liked coincidences.'

‘Nor I.' Cyprian Marvell stood for a moment chewing his bottom lip, then held out his hand. ‘Master Chapman, I congratulate you. You seem to have discovered more – and made more use of that discovery – than Sergeants Manifold and Merryweather put together. I've heard of you, of course, and your reputation for solving mysteries. I know that you are close to the Duke of … I – I mean, the king.' I made protesting noises, but they were, as always nowadays, discounted. ‘If there is anything else any of us can do to aid your enquiries …'

‘There is one thing,' I said. ‘Dame Drusilla was unable to inform me if the man in the mask called at this house. Can your steward or any of your servants tell me if that was so?'

James was immediately despatched to fetch the steward and, while we waited, I noticed that Patience Marvell was regarding me with a warier eye than she had done hitherto. If I knew so much, what else did I know? I returned her gaze blandly.

The steward, when he arrived, assured me that he was unaware of any caller at the house on Childermass Day.

‘Sunday, was it not, sir? No, I cannot recall anyone coming to the house. The master and family went to church, but otherwise there was very little activity. You must remember that yourself, Master Cyprian. A very quiet day.'

‘And none of the other servants can recall anyone coming to the door?' I asked.

‘No, sir.'

Cyprian nodded dismissal and the steward withdrew.

‘Could someone be lying?' asked Joanna.

Her husband shook his head. ‘I see no good reason why they should.'

But if no one had called to leave a note or a message for Sir George, then he had not left the house in response to any summons. The man seen by Dame Drusilla might not have had anything to do with his vanishing. Then, just as I was about to take my leave, another idea struck me.

‘Can anyone remember if Sir George left the house at all on Sunday afternoon?'

There was a general shaking of heads, except for Bartholomew, who said, ‘Father did go out after dinner. I saw him from my bedchamber window. I don't know how long he was gone because I didn't see him come back. He was home in time for supper, although he might have returned well before then. Why do you ask?'

‘Because it occurs to me that the man in the mask could have waylaid Sir George and delivered his message, either spoken or written, in person. And now you tell me that your father did go out, I think this may well be what happened. Provided, of course,' I added with a sigh, ‘Master Bird Mask has anything to do with the matter.'

I could see that Cyprian, his wife and the two young men were very much inclined to regard the mystery as solved as soon as Miles Deakin could be found and questioned. What Patience Marvell's thoughts were was more difficult to fathom.

‘You'll go to Master Sheriff or one of the sergeants now, tonight?' Cyprian asked urgently, shaking my hand as if I were an equal.

‘Not yet,' I said and glanced towards the windows. Outside, the sky had darkened as the short December day drew to its close, and the leaded glass panes – a sure sign of money – showed nothing now except the reflected flames of the candles lit by the steward before he left the room. When Cyprian would have voiced a protest, I said, ‘I should prefer to consider this idea a little longer, sir. I need to convince myself that it's justified before I drag a man's name in the mud or put him in peril of the hangman's noose.' I didn't add that I guessed Richard Manifold and Tom Merryweather, desperate for a suspect for Alderman Trefusis's murder, would embrace my theory all too eagerly, even if they deeply resented my interference.

The older man would have demurred, but his son came unexpectedly to my aid. ‘Master Chapman's right, Father,' he said quietly. ‘In fact, before a word is said to anyone in authority about this Miles Deakin, an effort should be made to find him and at least discover if he could possibly be the culprit. And if he can positively prove his innocence, then nothing regarding him need be mentioned. You say his parents had a smallholding rented from the lord of Clifton Manor?'

‘But remember I told you,' his mother reminded him, ‘that I believe your grandfather used his influence to get them evicted. It's no good looking there. The man is probably somewhere in the city, disguised.'

‘Nevertheless,' James argued, ‘Clifton seems to me to be the place to start. Someone there might be able to tell us what became of the family.' He looked across at me. ‘Master Chapman, would you care to accompany me to Clifton tomorrow morning? Together, we might discover something.'

The honest answer was, ‘No,' but I could see what was in his mind. As a Marvell, as Sir George's grandson, as a resident since birth of that now abandoned house on the heights above Bristol, he could probably command answers from people I should hesitate to question. Besides, I was growing to quite like James, in contrast to Bartholomew, whom I felt to be a whining, sulky mother's boy.

‘Very well,' I agreed. ‘I'll meet you at the High Cross after breakfast and we'll walk up to Clifton together,'

‘Walk?' he asked with an incredulous laugh. ‘Walk? My dear man—'

He got no further. The door burst open and the steward appeared, his face the colour of old parchment.

‘Master Cyprian,' he said, his voice trembling so much that he found it hard to get the words out, ‘come quickly! Sergeant Manifold's below. They've just fished a body out of the River Avon.'

T
here was a moment's complete silence while we all stood, rigid with shock, staring upon the poor man as if he were holding the head of the Medusa.

I think I moved and spoke first, my voice coming out in a kind of hoarse croak ‘Whose … Whose body?'

The steward shook his head. ‘Sergeant Manifold didn't say, sir. Just … just that a body had been found.' He turned again to Cyprian. ‘Do come, master. Do come and hear what the sergeant has to say.'

But I was already out of the door before he had finished speaking. Richard was waiting at the bottom of the stairs, his face looking haggard in the flickering light of the fire burning on the hearth of the main hall. He glanced up as I started to descend, a shade of annoyance marring his not unhandsome features as he realized who it was.

‘You!' he exclaimed. ‘What are you doing here?'

I was saved the trouble of replying by Cyprian's arrival hard on my heels.

‘Sergeant Manifold,' he quavered, ‘is the body that of my father?'

Richard shook his head. ‘I don't know yet, Master Marvell. It was still being hauled out of the water when I left. I thought it right to inform you straight away so that you could prepare yourself for the worst. I didn't wish you to hear the news from anyone else.'

I reflected silently that such an action was somehow typical of the man: earnest, dedicated, anxious to please but never quite getting his priorities right; always prone to do the wrong thing.

James, joining his father at the foot of the stairs, said furiously, ‘Then why bother us, Sergeant, until you were certain? The shock to Lady Marvell and my mother has been profound. And may prove to be unnecessary. Where is the body?'

‘Saint Nicholas Back,' was the reply as Richard flushed angrily at this rebuke.

‘Then we'd better waste no more time and go there at once.' James addressed one of the servants who had crowded into the hall, telling him to fetch his and his father's cloaks. ‘The warm ones with the fur linings.' He turned to Bartholomew who, with his mother and Joanna, made a small, huddled group in the middle of the stairs. ‘Bart, look after the women while we're gone. Try not to imagine the worst.' He spun round again. ‘Master Chapman, I'd be more than grateful if you would accompany us.'

I didn't tell him that nothing on earth would keep me away, merely inclining my head graciously. (I caught Richard's quickly suppressed snort of amusement.)

The cloaks having been brought and I having wrapped myself up warmly in mine, Cyprian and James Marvell and I followed Richard out into the cold December night. The month was ending as it had begun with sharp flurries of wind and sleet.

The four of us half-walked, half-ran through Bear Alley, along Redcliffe Street and across the bridge, turning left into St Nicholas Back, by which time we were having to force a passage through a gathering crowd. News of a dead body found in the Avon had spread fast and people were emerging from their houses, braving the winter weather, to see for themselves. Richard was compelled to use his voice as well as his staff of office to clear a path.

‘In the king's name, make way for his officers of the law. Stand aside! Stand aside!'

Jack Gload and Pete Littleman were keeping guard over a dimly visible shape lying at full length on the quayside and smelling to high heaven. A couple of stalwart sailors from one of the neighbouring ships who, by their bedraggled appearance, had evidently assisted in rescuing the corpse, were also helping to keep the crowd at bay. Ripples of light, reflections from the various cressets and torches, turned the surface of the river to molten gold.

Richard stepped forward, holding his own torch high above his head so that the face of the dead man was suddenly illumined …

It was not Sir George Marvell.

Cyprian gave a gasp of what could have been relief. On the other hand, it might have been one of disappointment. James gave no reaction whatsoever.

Richard Manifold frowned. ‘Does anyone recognize who it is?' he asked.

I drew a deep breath. ‘Yes, I do,' I said. ‘It's an Irish slave trader known as Briant of Dungarvon.'

The body had been carried into St Nicholas's Church, down into the crypt, and laid out on the lid of one of the larger stone sarcophagi. Most of the crowd had gone home, cheated of their very just hope that another gory murder had been uncovered. Cyprian and James Marvell had also returned to Redcliffe Wharf to reassure Bartholomew and the two women that the drowned man was not Sir George. Before he left, James had reminded me – but, thankfully, out of Richard Manifold's hearing – of our assignation the following morning.