The Prodigal Son Read Free Page B

custody until the matter is satisfactorily cleared up.’
    â€˜And how is that going to happen?’ Adela asked in her quiet way. ‘If it’s just this woman’s word against the Irishman’s, how can anything be proved one way or the other? If her servants don’t back her up …’
    â€˜Oh, they will, given enough time and sufficient inducement,’ I declared viciously. ‘Either this poor wretch will be left to rot in prison, or he’ll find himself dangling from the end of a rope. And all because this Dame Whatever-her-name is, is second cousin four times removed to our mayor.’
    â€˜Calm down, Roger,’ my wife advised me. ‘All this bile will upset your digestion.’ She regarded me anxiously as I began pulling on my boots. ‘Where are you going?’
    â€˜To the bridewell to have a word with Richard Manifold.’
    â€˜Don’t be ridiculous!’ Margaret snapped. ‘This is none of your business.’
    Adela added her mite. ‘Margaret’s right, sweetheart. Leave well alone. Don’t get involved with what doesn’t concern you. To please me,’ she added.
    I met her large, dark eyes, so full of love and concern, and experienced the same familiar shock at how much I loved her. I always did whenever I paused long enough to give the matter serious thought; which wasn’t as often as it should have been, I have to admit.
    â€˜What’s this Irishman to you, anyway,’ Margaret demanded angrily, ‘that you should go to his assistance?’
    â€˜I told you. I met him in the Green Lattis and had a talk with him. And he’s not Irish by birth. He and his brother are originally from Wedmore, his father’s village. And his mother is from Wells.’
    Margaret shot up straight on her stool. ‘Ha!’ she cried.
    â€˜What do you mean, “Ha!”?’
    â€˜You say he’s from around these parts. From Wedmore. Maybe Dame Bellknapp is right about him, after all. Maybe he is this page. And his name is John, as well.’
    â€˜That’s nothing,’ I snapped back. ‘You’d find half a dozen Johns even in a place as small as Wedmore.’
    I couldn’t help wondering why I felt so protective of this young man on the strength of a brief conversation which had taken place a few days ago. Perhaps it was because of that sense of having known him at some time in the past.
    â€˜Please, Roger,’ Adela insisted, ‘don’t get involved in this.’
    â€˜You need to be out on the road with your pack,’ Margaret scolded. ‘Your family can’t live on fresh air.’
    It was a consideration, certainly, but I knew it wasn’t Adela’s. She was only afraid that I might put myself in danger again.
    â€˜All right,’ I conceded grudgingly. Adela smiled. It was reward enough. ‘As you say, this affair has nothing to do with me.’
    I should have known better than to tempt fate in that way. The words were barely out of my mouth when there was a loud, officious knocking on our street door.

Two
    I answered the door, Adela still having Adam on her lap, asleep. It was Richard Manifold.
    I groaned. ‘What do you want?’
    Not the most welcoming of remarks, but what he had grown to expect from me. There was an armed truce between us, but we would never be the best of friends.
    â€˜I need to talk to you,’ he said. ‘Can I come in?’
    I stood aside reluctantly. ‘If you must. We’re in the kitchen.’ I saw no good reason to open up the parlour. The number of free meals he ate in our house, he was practically one of the family.
    He followed me along the stone-flagged passageway to the door at the foot of the stairs, pulling up short on the threshold, momentarily disconcerted by Margaret Walker’s presence.
    â€˜Ah, Sergeant, have you come to arrest him again?’ that dame asked with her usual acerbity, then laughed so