Death and the Chapman Read Online Free PDF Page B

fortune.’
    ‘Precisely what I said!’ Marjorie nodded sagely. ‘I only wish I’d known how much money the Alderman had entrusted to Master Clement. I should have tried to talk him out of it, or persuaded him to go himself. A young man on his own, carrying a purseful of gold, is asking for trouble! And in an evil city like London!’
    Alison jumped to her feet, the hazel eyes blazing. The green flecks seemed to disappear, swamped by her anger.
    ‘Shut up, Marjorie! Shutup! It’s easy enough to be wise after the event.’
    I felt this to be a little unfair. Marjorie, had she been in possession of all the facts, would, according to her own account, have been wise before the event, and whatever had happened to Clement Weaver might have been prevented. I agreed silently with her that the Alderman had been foolish, and in consequence felt obliged to take her part.
    ‘I have heard,’ I offered tentatively, ‘that London is a very dangerous place.’ I noticed that since we had begun talking, the light had changed. Through the open kitchen door, the trees and distant rooftops, visible above the garden wall, were painted with sudden sharp brilliance against a sky which had faded from blue to pearl-grey. The day which had been so fine, would end in rain, and as though to confirm this impression, from far off came a faint rumble of thunder. I made to rise again. ‘I should be on my way. I have my living to make and lodgings to find before the storm breaks.’
    Alison turned her small, neat head in my direction. ‘Sit down,’ she ordered. ‘You haven’t heard the end of the story.’ She added on a suddenly fretful note: ‘Don’t you want to?’
    ‘Very much.’ And that was the truth. ‘It’s just that I’ve sold nothing today beyond the ribbon you bought off me. I need money if I’m to sleep dry and safe tonight and not under a hedge.’
    She resumed her seat at the table, willing me to do the same. Against my better judgement, I complied. ‘You can sleep here tonight,’ she said, astonishing both Marjorie and myself, ‘by the kitchen fire. I’ll speak to Father about it when he comes home.’
    I realized afterwards, looking back, that her brother’s disappearance must have occupied most of her waking thoughts and possibly many of her dreams as well. It had no doubt been the main topic of conversation between herself and all those close to her for the last five months. They had talked around it in circles until they had nothing new to say on the matter. Each one proffered the same jaded point of view. She needed a fresh mind, fresh thoughts, before she could finally accept that there was no solution to the puzzle; that her brother was gone and would probably never be seen alive again. Because I have to admit, from what I had already heard, that that was the most likely outcome. A wealthy young man, set upon and murdered for his money, his body disposed of in the nearest river, was that so unprecedented? It was one of the hazards of everyday life. And didn’t the Scriptures tell us that man born of woman had but a short time to live? Murder, rapine, famine, plague, they were all God’s instruments.
    With a start, I realized that I was thinking as I had been taught to think, expected to think, by the monks who had been my teachers. It was partly to escape their abject acceptance of the inevitability of Divine Will that I had decided against taking my final vows.
    ‘Your father will never permit of his sleeping here,’ Marjorie protested. ‘The chapman should be gone before the Alderman returns.’
    ‘I’ve told you, I’ll speak to Father.’ Alison dismissed the housekeeper’s objections and turned to me. ‘Well? Will you stay? The price I paid for that ribbon is sufficient, I should have thought, to let you eat for at least a couple of days.’
    ‘That I paid,’ Marjorie muttered under her breath, but not so low that her words were inaudible. I expected her mistress to fly into another fit of