Wheel of Fate Read Free Page A

studied nonchalance. ‘Yes. I think I know who that was. A . . . a kinswoman of my wife’s first husband. Adela would not have been altogether surprised to see her. There has been some . . . er . . . trouble in the family of late and Adela had promised assistance if she could be of any use. Yes, yes! Of course. That would be it. Things must have come to a head during my absence. Adela will have gone to stay with them. The Juetts live some miles off, near . . . er . . . near Glastonbury.’
    The woman seemed disappointed with this ingenious explanation, and she gave me a narrow look as if not entirely convinced by it.
    I smiled blandly back at her and hoped that she was unable to hear the thumping of my heart as I waited in a fever of impatience for her to go.
    â€˜Oh well, if that’s all . . .’ she muttered sulkily.
    â€˜It is. You say you think my daughter is with Mistress Walker, in Redcliffe?’ I asked as she finally and reluctantly turned away.
    Hope flared again in the strangely dark eyes. ‘So I was told. But why would your wife have left the girl, but not the boys? That’s odd, surely?’
    â€˜Not at all. My stepson and son, being also my wife’s children, are related to the Juetts. Elizabeth is not. As you and your friends have doubtless made it your business to discover during the years my family and I have lived in Small Street, she is my child by my first wife, Mistress Walker’s daughter.’
    â€˜Hmmmph.’ The noise was wonderfully indicative of her contempt for me and my household, implying that such domestic irregularities were only to be expected of a low-born pedlar.
    â€˜Thank you for your concern,’ I said, preparing to close the door. ‘But there is no need for you or any of our neighbours to worry any further.’
    I think, even then, she was tempted to linger, prompted by a feeling that she had by no means discovered the whole truth, but by this time Hercules, too, had had enough of her unwelcome presence on his doorstep. He suddenly advanced several paces, baring his teeth and growling ferociously. The woman gave a little shriek, snatched at her skirts and ran up the street, letting herself in with more haste than dignity at her own front door.
    This ignominious departure afforded me a momentary satisfaction, but it was short-lived. Now that Hercules and I were alone again, all my anxiety flooded back and I felt as if some unseen hand were squeezing my entrails. I glanced down at the dog, who was regarding me with a puzzled stare, then, for the second time, ran upstairs and into the bedchamber, unearthing from a corner cupboard a large canvas sack. Into this, I stuffed all my clothes from the clothes chest, my new garments being thrust unceremoniously in amongst the old, and made certain that the children’s and Adela’s coffers really were empty, ran downstairs again, Hercules at my heels. I was out in the street almost before I knew it, locking the door behind me.
    I walked back to Redcliffe as fast as my legs would carry me, the canvas sack somewhat impeding my progress. The crowds around the High Cross and the Tolzey were as thick as usual but there was a subdued air about them. Shoppers were clustered together in little groups of three or four, deep in earnest conversation, speculating, no doubt, on what the future under a boy king was likely to hold and reflecting sadly on the past twelve years of peace and prosperity of the late king’s reign, ever since the spring of 1471 when he had returned from temporary exile to wrest back his crown from the Earl of Warwick and the latter’s attempt to re-enthrone King Henry VI. Several people hailed me, eager to hear my views, but I pretended not to see them and pressed on across the bridge to Margaret Walker’s cottage.
    My greatest fear was that she would be from home, but to my relief she answered the door after my