Free The Weaver's Inheritance by Kate Sedley

for many years and knowing that he held himself partly responsible for the premature deaths of her husband and young son, but there was still a lingering doubt in her mind, and I was fully aware that she would prefer me not to meddle.
    I owed Margaret Walker a very great deal, and I went to bed that night half-inclined to respect her wishes; but when I awoke the following morning, I knew that, once out of the cottage, my insatiable curiosity would direct my feet straight to the Burnetts’ house in Small Street.
    *   *   *
    Small Street runs parallel to Broad Street, and its dwellings, like all the others in the city, are built of wood and plaster with roofs of stone or slate. The Burnetts’ house was no exception, and I guessed that inside it followed the same pattern as Alderman Weaver’s; hall, parlour, buttery and kitchen on the ground floor, with family bedchambers on the first and an attic for the servants on the second.
    I presented myself, as I had been requested to do, between the hours of eleven and noon, and the door was opened to me by the housekeeper whose keys, dangling from her belt, informed me of her calling. She fixed me with a beady eye and seemed none too pleased at having to allow me across the threshold.
    ‘Good-day,’ I said, stepping briskly inside. ‘Your master and mistress are expecting me. Roger Chapman is my name.’
    She made no response other than a quick jerk of the head to indicate that I should follow her. To my relief we crossed the hall, where the draughts seeped under the doors and whispered among the painted rafters, and I was shown into the parlour, an altogether warmer and cosier room. Tapestries hung on the walls and a fire of logs and sea-coal burned on the hearth, keeping at bay the chill of the January morning.
    Alison Burnett, in a red velvet gown trimmed with grey squirrel, was huddled in a carved armchair, her hands spread to the flames whose light appeared almost visible through their delicate, blue-veined skin. She turned her head as I closed the door, the ghost of a smile lifting the corners of her mouth. Of her husband there was, for the present at least, no sign.
    ‘Sit down, Master Chapman,’ she invited, nodding at a second armchair on the opposite side of the hearth.
    I did as she bade me, but I felt uncomfortable at usurping what I was sure was William Burnett’s own place. I perched awkwardly on the very edge of the seat, ready to get up at once should he appear.
    Alison nodded understandingly. ‘It’s all right. My husband has agreed that it might be wiser if I see you alone. He gets so angry on my behalf.’ She bit her lip and sighed. ‘Indeed, his temper has already caused too much harm.’
    I relaxed a little. ‘In what way?’ I asked her.
    She buried her face in her hands for a moment before looking up. ‘He has quarrelled so bitterly with my father, told him so many home truths about this evil rogue who pretends to be Clement, that my father has altered his will, cutting me out completely.’ She drew a long, shuddering breath. ‘I don’t mind owning to you, Master Chapman, that his action has destroyed my faith in human nature. Never, never did I think that he would treat me in such a fashion.’
    I was astonished at this revelation, but it could explain the scene I had witnessed outside the Alderman’s house in Broad Street. To make certain I asked, ‘When did you learn of this?’
    ‘The day before yesterday,’ she answered, confirming my suspicions. ‘My father sent Ned Stoner round in the morning with a message, requesting that William and I wait upon him some time before supper. We were hoping that he had come to his senses at last, but it was only to tell us that in view of our hostility towards “Clement” and our attitude towards himself, he had that very afternoon made a new will, leaving everything he possessed to his “son”!’ She spat the last word so venomously that a few drops of spittle, landing on one of the logs,