Free 13 - The Midsummer Rose by Kate Sedley Page A

companion in without having to knock for admittance. I was unable to loiter and so proceeded on my way, knowing that if I were to visit Rownham Passage that day, I was already pressed for time.
    Adela had not been expecting me, but was pleased to see me nevertheless. She professed herself suitably impressed by my (almost) full pack and by much of the merchandise I had bought from the ships along the Backs. It was now ten o’clock and dinnertime, so I was able to sit down at the kitchen table with her and the children and share their rabbit stew.
    While we ate, I told her of the man pulled from the Avon, and who he was.
    ‘Did … Did Richard believe you?’ she asked uncertainly, her spoon arrested halfway to her mouth.
    ‘He said he didn’t, but I was none too sure it was the truth. Do
you
believe me?’
    ‘Yes, I think I do. I think I have to. I don’t suppose you’d invent a thing like that.’
    ‘Thank you,’ I said and meant it, although my tone may have sounded a little caustic. I looked steadily across the table at Adela, engaging her eyes with mine. For once, the children were quiet, intent on emptying their bowls. ‘I also met Elizabeth Alefounder’s maid down on the Backs. The Widow Hollyns.’ I took a deep breath. ‘When I knew her, she was still Rowena Honeyman. I told you about her.’
    I had indeed told Adela about my unrequited passion, and it had been her sympathy and understanding that had led to the completely unexpected revelation that I was not really in love with Rowena at all, but with herself. And I was still in love with her, which she knew. Unfortunately, she also knew that I would always be a little in thrall to those ladies who had once engaged my affections. She had had the experience of Cicely Ford the previous year. Now here was Rowena come out of the past to haunt us. But she gave no sign of any unease.
    ‘Of course,’ was all she said, ‘if Mistress Honeyman – or Mistress Hollyns as I suppose I must now learn to call her – lives in Keyford, she must know Elizabeth Alefounder well. Two widows drawn together by loneliness, one rich, one poor, what could be more natural than that the former should offer the other employment?’ She placidly resumed eating, leaving me to my own self-reproaches, until she was struck by a sudden thought. ‘Roger! Does this mean that Mistress Hollyns could be the woman in the blue brocade dress? The one who killed the Irishman?’
    The idea had already crossed my mind, but I wasn’t about to admit as much.
    ‘Firstly, I haven’t yet established that Mistress Alefounder is the woman in the brown sarcenet,’ I pointed out. ‘Secondly, Rowena Hollyns gave no indication that she recognized Eamonn Malahide.’ I added slowly, ‘Though Robin Avenel, now … He did seem perturbed, even though he hadn’t seen the body.’
    ‘You think he might be the man whose voice you heard?’
    I smiled at her. ‘Why are you suddenly so certain that my story’s true, and not the result of delirium?’
    ‘Because you gave me a detailed description of the man who was killed. At least, the part of him that you could see. It seems to tally in every respect with the man pulled out of the Avon. And I’ve only to visit Saint Nicholas’s crypt to check that you’re not lying … Will you still go to Rownham Passage?’
    ‘I must.’ I pushed aside my empty bowl and rubbed my overfull belly. If I weren’t careful, I should grow fat. ‘I still have to convince that dunderhead, Dick Manifold, of the truth of my story. There must be some evidence
somewhere
of what happened. Someone must have seen something, heard something, but I wouldn’t trust him to winkle it out. Mind you, I don’t suppose he tried very hard because he didn’t believe me.’
    My wife looked guilty. ‘That was my fault, I’m afraid. He knew I wasn’t convinced by your story. As for Margaret …’ Adela broke off, laughing.
    I grinned in reply. ‘She’ll be most upset if it can be proved