The Tintern Treasure (12 page)

Nevertheless, my family was delighted to see me. For a while, at least.

Adela had been genuinely worried once news of Buckingham's rebellion had come to her ears, and the children had sensed enough of her unease to begin to be anxious about me. My sudden appearance in the kitchen, therefore, just as they were about to sit down to ten o'clock dinner, caused a minor stampede as Adela rushed to embrace my upper half and Elizabeth, Nicholas and Adam grabbed whatever other bits of me were available. I was installed in my seat at the head of the table, my wet boots removed by the simple expedient of the two boys seizing a leg apiece and pulling hard, while Adela served me a lavish portion of rabbit stew and my daughter poured me a beaker of ale. It was a welcome that almost convinced me that I had truly been missed.

I was able to reassure Adela straight away about her erstwhile friend, Goody Harker, with a strong animadversion on the foolishness of believing everything told one by a thieving tinker. I was just about to embark on the tale of my various adventures, when Elizabeth suddenly clapped her hands and demanded, ‘Well, what have you brought me, Father?' My guilty expression must have alerted her to the truth, and she gasped, ‘You can't have forgotten that today's my birthday!'

I stared aghast at Adela.

She hurried, as always, to my defence. ‘Your father's been very busy and in a lot of danger, Bess. You can't blame him for forgetting your and Nicholas's birthdays.' She added for my benefit, ‘Nick was nine years old last month, while you were away, Roger. Bess is nine today.'

It was no good pretending. ‘Sweetheart,' I said to Elizabeth, ‘I am so very sorry, but I have forgotten. And you, Nick! My deepest, most heartfelt apologies. But your mother is right. I have had quite a lot on my mind. But you shall both go with me to the market tomorrow and choose anything you like.'

‘Within reason,' my wife amended, frowning at me. She was quite aware of my tendency to let my tongue run away with me.

‘Oh, well!' Elizabeth granted magnanimously, ‘I suppose that will have to do.' Her face brightened. ‘And there are always the other presents you've bought us.'

Five-year-old Adam clapped his hands in excitement and bounced up and down on his chair. ‘Presents!' he announced. ‘What have you brought me, Father?'

Once again my eyes sought Adela's with a look of dismay. But this time she was at a loss for words and only had the same excuse to offer on my behalf. And this time, it wasn't good enough.

‘You . . . You mean you haven't brought us anything?' my daughter quavered.

I shook my head.

There was a silence while all three children waited to see if I were joking or not. Then, having decided that I was in earnest, Elizabeth's eyes began to fill with tears, my stepson regarded me with horror, while Adam's lower lip and jaw started to tremble preparatory to his giving an almighty roar of protest. (And as I think I've mentioned in former histories, he had the best pair of lungs I've ever met with in a child.) To add to my discomfiture, Hercules chose this particular moment to return home from whatever secret foray he had been on and, having regarded me with some surprise for several seconds, began to bark aggressively. This was his way of letting me know that he deeply resented the fact that I had been away and failed to take him with me.

The crescendo of noise increased. Elizabeth was now wailing and Nicholas sobbing, adding to the bedlam of Adam's yells and the dog's barking. In general, I can bear it, my nerves having become inured over the years to the din of outraged children and animals. But the past few weeks had not been without their trials and perils and I had been looking forward to a little peace and quiet within the walls of my own home. I suddenly sprang to my feet, fairly kicked the dog aside, seized my pack from where I had dropped it in a corner, unbuckled it and emptied the contents all over the table.

‘There you are!' I shouted. ‘Take your pick from that! Go on! Take whatever you want. I don't care! You mercenary, ungrateful little beggars!'

And I stormed from the kitchen. But at least the noise had stopped. They were all, including Adela, staring after me with their mouths hanging open.

In the cool of the parlour, I slumped down on the window-seat, feeling extremely sorry for myself. A month ago, on the second of October, it had been my birthday, but I had been forced to celebrate it in the company of strangers. Moreover, on that day, King Richard and I had both turned thirty-one, very nearly middle-aged. And where had I been? Not among my loved ones, receiving their congratulations and presents, that was for certain. No, thanks to my wife's misplaced confidence in the words of a mendacious tinker, I had been on a wild goose chase to Hereford in the mistaken belief that some old biddy, whom I had never met, was in need of my help. I was the one who should be feeling hard done by.

But gradually, as my anger cooled, my lips begin to curl into a reluctant grin and I started to feel extremely foolish. I was behaving like a child. There was nothing to choose between me and Elizabeth, Nicholas and Adam. Indeed, I was the worse culprit because at my age I really should know better. At the same moment, I felt a cold wet nose nudge one of my hands, and then, with a leap and a scramble, Hercules was on the window-seat having come to find me and make his peace.

‘Hello, old fellow,' I said and fondled his ears. He licked my face and gave a little whine of pleasure. Then he got hold of the edge of my tunic with his teeth and gave it a gentle tug. I nodded and rose to my feet. ‘All right,' I told him. ‘I'm coming.'

In the kitchen, it was now very quiet. My satchel had been repacked and re-buckled, tears had been dried, dirty dishes cleared from the table and a fresh beaker of ale stood waiting for me. In silence, I took my seat and glanced at Adela, who winked.

‘Did each of you find something you wanted?' I asked mildly.

The relief was palpable. Their lord and master was over his tantrum and prepared to let bygones be bygones.

‘Yes, thank you, Father,' my daughter said demurely. ‘I took those lovely buttons.' And she patted the reticule attached to her girdle with a proprietary hand.

I cursed silently. I had meant to make a decent profit on those buttons.

‘And I took the metal tags for the end of my new belt,' Nicholas added, opening his clenched fist to show me.

Another loss! They were silver. But then, I had told them to take what they liked. I couldn't go back on my word. The blame was mine and served me right for losing my temper.

I turned to Adam. ‘And what did you take?'

He smiled seraphically, delved into the little pouch at his waist and produced the knife with the ivory inlaid handle. I might have guessed!

‘I think he's too young to have a knife, Roger,' Adela protested, immediately provoking the usual storm signals.

I sighed and, not without a good many misgivings, took my son's side. ‘He's a boy, sweetheart. Boys need knives. You'll be careful with it, won't you, Adam?'

‘Yes,' he said, scowling ferociously at his mother and echoing my words. ‘Boys need knives. And I'm five.'

Adela shrugged and gave in. She knew she was beaten when the males of her household began to side with each other. Nicholas gave Adam a nod of approval, and he and I grinned at one another. I was on easy terms with my stepson and very often forgot that he was not my own. Adela's relationship with Bess was a more difficult one. My daughter had never known her mother, who had died when she was born, and I had married again when she was a mere two and a half years old. All the same, she had never wholly accepted Adela, and even after six years I still noticed in her a reluctance to use the word ‘mother'. For this state of affairs I blamed Margaret Walker, Adela's cousin and my former mother-in-law, who talked far too much about Lillis to her granddaughter; not, I am sure, with any intention of alienating Elizabeth from her stepmother, but simply because it kept the memory of her child alive in her mind. (Indeed, Margaret was very fond of Adela and had been the moving spirit behind our marriage.) Nevertheless, her reminiscences were a constant reminder to Bess that Adela was not her mother, a fact which had been underlined earlier this year when my wife had fled to London taking the two boys with her, but leaving my daughter in her grandmother's charge.

Adela's voice broke in on my thoughts. ‘I hope you don't think, Roger, that I encouraged them to pick those things.' She knew their value as well as I did. ‘In fact, I washed up the dirty dishes so that I didn't even see what they chose.'

‘Sweetheart, such a thought never so much as crossed my mind,' I lied. I wouldn't have put it past her as a punishment for behaviour of which she strongly disapproved. But if she said she didn't, then she didn't. Adela was the most truthful person I had ever known.

‘And now,' she went on, ‘it's time for lessons. Your knowledge of the alphabet, Adam, leaves much to be desired, while as for you two, your inability to do the simplest sums is very worrying. A little more concentration and a little less whispering and giggling would do neither of you any harm.' (For the affection between Elizabeth and her stepbrother had been instant and lasting, making them almost inseparable.)

But as my wife rose to fetch their slates from the cupboard, I stopped her. ‘Couldn't you let them off lessons just for this once? There's something I need to talk to you about.'

Adela was immediately suspicious. ‘Can't it wait?'

‘It could,' I acknowledged, ‘but I'd rather it didn't.' Which was true. I knew what a coward I could be.

‘Very well then,' she said slowly.

The children whooped with joy and vanished upstairs before she changed her mind. A few moments later it sounded as if the whole of Caesar's Gallic wars was being re-enacted above our heads.

‘Let's go into the parlour,' I suggested.

Some little time later, I finished the stumbling account of my visit to Juliette Gerrish and, leaning forward uncomfortably in my chair, waited for the storm to break.

There was a long silence, then, much to my astonishment and confusion, Adela said quietly, ‘The poor creature. Why ever didn't she tell me the truth at the time? It would have saved so much . . . misunderstanding between us.'

‘You're sorry for her?'

‘I'm sorry for any woman placed as she is. But are you certain she's telling the truth? That the father is indeed your half-brother?'

‘How else could she have known about him? Very few, if any, people, even in Bristol, knew about John Wedmore's relationship to me. I doubt, after three years, if anyone even remembers him. And she called him an Irishman, even though, like the blessed Saint Patrick himself, he's Somerset born and bred.'

There was another silence before Adela's initial suspicions were suddenly reawakened. ‘You're not suggesting that we should take this child in when . . . when . . .?'

‘No, of course not,' I disclaimed, a shade too hurriedly. ‘In fact . . .'

‘Roger, we have three children of our own! And another boy! This house is too full of males as it is.'

‘And so I told Mistress Gerrish. But I did promise I would try to speak to this Walter Gurney who's head groom to Sir Lionel Despenser.'

‘A fool's errand,' Adela told me bluntly. ‘You'd do better to save your shoe leather.'

‘I know it,' I agreed. ‘But a promise is a promise. It will mean a walk to Keynsham, but I can sell some of my goods on the way. I'll pay a visit to Goldsmith Foliot's shop tomorrow and ask him for Sir Lionel's exact direction. I know they're friends. Which reminds me,' I added, relieved that my confession was over, ‘I haven't yet told you about the rest of my adventures. What happened at Tintern Abbey. A most remarkable series of coincidences, if indeed it was that.'

And I proceeded to tell the tale.

Adela was intrigued by the story, as I had known she would be, but she had no solution to offer to the mystery. ‘But,' she said, ‘it does account for some gossip that I overheard in the market the day before yesterday to the effect that Anthony Roper's nephew is dead. There didn't seem to be much information as to how the boy had died, more speculation as to how Master Roper had received the news. The general opinion was that he would have shed no tears over a scapegrace and a ne'er-do-well for whom he had never had much affection in the first place.' Adela broke off for a moment, thinking, then nodded briskly to herself. ‘It accounts, too, for the fact that when I passed Ursula Foliot in St Mary le Port Street a day or so back, her eyes were all red and swollen as if she had been crying. You say Master Foliot claims the lad had been hanging around his daughter and wanted to marry her. I must admit that both Goody Watkins and Bess Simnel had hinted as much a while ago, but you know how full of talk they are and at the time I didn't take much notice. But what could he possibly have been after at Tintern Abbey?'

‘I've told you, we found nothing on his body, so perhaps there was nothing to find. But he was certainly looking for something even if he failed to discover it. And I could have sworn that he was holding something in his left hand when he rushed past us and out into the night.'

I had hoped that Adela might be in the mood to discuss the subject further, but I knew her well enough to see that her attention had wandered and that she was now struggling with some confession of her own.

‘Roger –' she began, then stopped.

I raised my eyebrows and gave her an encouraging smile.

She took a deep breath and began again. ‘Roger, I've invited Richard to supper this evening.' Richard Manifold, sheriff's officer and one-time aspirant to Adela's hand in the long-ago days before she had married Owen Juett and gone to live in Hereford, was a constant, if infrequent, presence in our lives and a perpetual thorn in my side. Adela liked him, not only for old times' sake, but also for himself, and while I had no doubt that her heart was entirely mine, I was uneasy when he was around. I felt certain, not without past reason, that he would do me a mischief if he could. And be happy to do it. But he was always smooth and pleasant on the surface so, unless I were to appear unnecessarily churlish, what could I do except treat him with complaisance? Nevertheless, Adela knew that I disliked him and was always tentative when mentioning his name.