13 - The Midsummer Rose by Kate Sedley Page B

of eggs to my sister who lives over on the Somerset side. I saw you get out of the boat with Master Tyrrwhit. He went off to the alehouse, so I took myself back here until the rain should stop. I don’t know what happened to you. I didn’t notice. By the time I’d got myself dry, the weather was on the mend, but when I looked out of my window, Jason was halfway across the river again. So I stayed where I was and waited for him to return. He was about mid-way across when I left the cottage and walked down to the shore. A man with a little boy was there and we got talking. Said he’d crossed from Ashton-Leigh earlier in the day to see his mother, who’d been unwell. He was going to give me details of her illness, but just then we heard old Tyrrwhit yelling and shouting. When we looked round, he was rowing off course towards something floating in the river. That was you.’
    ‘And you didn’t see anything or anyone further along the bank? No one running towards the Witherspoon house?’
    Goody Tallboys shook her head. ‘I’m afraid not. Until that moment, I was looking away from the house, you see. And the man, the stranger – I didn’t ask his name – was looking at me. Although, now I come to think of it …’ She sipped her wine slowly, frowning.
    ‘Yes?’ I asked eagerly, hope reviving.
    ‘Now I come to think of it,’ she repeated, ‘I do recall the child kept tugging on his father’s sleeve, trying to attract his attention. He was facing in my direction, but not looking at me, if you follow what I mean.’
    ‘He was looking beyond you? Upriver?’
    ‘That’s right, dear. Eyes all over the place, bored by the adults’ conversation, as children are. Perhaps he saw something. Perhaps that was what he wanted to tell his father.’
    ‘He didn’t mention anything later on, after I was safe ashore? He didn’t say anything then?’
    ‘Oh, as to that, lad, I couldn’t rightly tell you. Not that I know of, at any rate. Might have done to his father. Jason and I were too busy trying to decide if you were alive or dead and thinking up the best way to get you home to Bristol.’
    ‘And you don’t know the boy’s name, or where he lives?’
    She shook her head sadly. ‘Only that he and his father come from the other side of the Avon. Somewhere in Ashton-Leigh.’
    That was that, then. I thanked her for her time and trouble, and apologized for bothering her.
    ‘No bother, dear. I was glad of the company.’ She was struck by a sudden thought. ‘What’s today? Saturday?’ I nodded. ‘Ah, well then! He might be over here, that man. Told me he and the boy usually visit his mother on a Saturday. He’d only made a visit on the Wednesday that week because the old lady had been poorly, and had sent a message across by a neighbour.’
    ‘Do you happen to know where the stranger’s mother lives?’ I enquired eagerly, but without much hope.
    My companion shook her head. ‘But don’t look so downhearted,’ she encouraged me. ‘Rownham Passage ain’t that big. Not above a score of cottages all told. Walk around a bit. Most windows’ll be open in this weather. Pop your head inside. You’ll find him and the boy somewhere. Sure to.’
    I was less optimistic. I took her advice, however, having first begged a bucket of water for the cob, still patiently awaiting me. Then I stabled him in the cool of the outhouse belonging to the old Witherspoon dwelling.
    It was by now very hot indeed. I removed my jerkin, slung it over one shoulder and retraced my steps towards the main group of houses, Goody Tallboys having assured me that none of her immediate neighbours was a sick, solitary, elderly woman. I had no real expectation of finding my quarry, even when the the hamlet was so small. Goody’s estimate of a score of cottages was on the generous side; by my reckoning there were no more than fourteen. But not all of them had their shutters open, and I could hardly knock on each door demanding to know who was