![[Roger the Chapman 03] - The Hanged Man](https://fs.ageofbook.com/508345/thumbs/152x264/roger-the-chapman-03-the-hanged-man.jpg)
asked, seeking confirmation of Mistress Walker's story.
'Oh, yes. He was always truthful, about his vices as well as his virtues.' Again, the fingers writhed together in anguish. 'I knew it, and that fact alone should have assured me of his innocence of the greater crime. Yet still I let myself be persuaded of his guilt.'
There was a splutter among the logs, and a small, blue flame spurted up the chimney. 'You were willing to forgive him so much,' I suggested tentatively. 'Could you not forgive him murder as well?'
The cornflower-blue eyes raised to mine were filled with abhorrence. 'The taking of human life for gain? No, that I could never condone.' Her voice fell almost to a whisper. 'That men must be killed, in war, by the law: that I accept; but otherwise, the right is God's and God's alone!'
I might have pressed the matter further, arguing that in this case the law had obviously been mistaken, but at that moment there was a knock on the street door, and a woman appeared on the half-landing of the staircase which ascended from the hall to the upper storeys of the house. 'That will surely be Master Robin,' she said in a tone of deep satisfaction.
She descended the remaining stairs, an upright, sprightly woman of some forty summers, dressed all in black except for a snow-white wimple and cap, just visible beneath her hood. She had shrewd, determined grey eyes which missed nothing, and which belied the softness of expression conveyed by her round cheeks, tip-tilted nose and generous mouth. 'I'll let him in.'
Cicely Ford managed to looked vexed, resigned and indulgent all at once. 'Dame Freda, it won't do him any harm to cool his heels a while until one of the servants is free to answer his knock.'
This, then, was the duenna employed by Edward Herepath as his ward's companion. I could not make up my mind in those first few minutes whether I liked her or not. I decided I should need to know her better before coming to any conclusion. Dame Freda gave me a slanting glance in passing and, ignoring her mistress's remonstrance, went at once to the street door and lifted the latch.
The young man who entered in a flurry of cold wind was typical of the dandies of his generation, and reminded me forcibly of Alderman Weaver's son-in-law as I had seen him three years previously. Once the sable-lined cloak had been discarded with an impressively negligent gesture, Master Robin, whoever he might be, revealed himself in all the glory of a parti-coloured doublet so short as to barely reach below his hips, thus displaying a padded cod-piece of impossible proportions, decorated with gold and silver tassels. His slender waist was circled with a belt of finest scarlet leather, which had a buckle studded with garnets and pieces of jade, and matching scarlet boots whose toes were at least two inches long - not, of course, as long as many shoe pikes, but certainly too long for general walking or riding. Both boots and belt hissed defiantly at the young man's shock of red hair, cut in a fringe across his forehead and curling to his shoulders. The eyes were hazel, set in a cherubic face of the extremely florid hue often found in people of his colouring. His whole bearing, reflected in his confident smile, gave me the impression of a man supremely sure of himself and of his welcome, totally impervious to the chilliness of Cicely Ford's manner towards him.
'Master Avenel,' she said quietly, making the slightest of curtseys and not offering her hand.
This, then, must be the son of the man who had bought the soap-works from Edward Herepath, and who, according to Margaret Walker, was sweet on Cicely Ford and probably hopeful of marrying her. I thought to myself that he hoped in vain.
I decided it was time to take my leave, and did so with as little fuss as possible. Muttering my farewells to Mistress Ford, I slipped back to the kitchen, where the housekeeper was still occupied with her cooking and too busy to give me more than a nod, and let
'Oh, yes. He was always truthful, about his vices as well as his virtues.' Again, the fingers writhed together in anguish. 'I knew it, and that fact alone should have assured me of his innocence of the greater crime. Yet still I let myself be persuaded of his guilt.'
There was a splutter among the logs, and a small, blue flame spurted up the chimney. 'You were willing to forgive him so much,' I suggested tentatively. 'Could you not forgive him murder as well?'
The cornflower-blue eyes raised to mine were filled with abhorrence. 'The taking of human life for gain? No, that I could never condone.' Her voice fell almost to a whisper. 'That men must be killed, in war, by the law: that I accept; but otherwise, the right is God's and God's alone!'
I might have pressed the matter further, arguing that in this case the law had obviously been mistaken, but at that moment there was a knock on the street door, and a woman appeared on the half-landing of the staircase which ascended from the hall to the upper storeys of the house. 'That will surely be Master Robin,' she said in a tone of deep satisfaction.
She descended the remaining stairs, an upright, sprightly woman of some forty summers, dressed all in black except for a snow-white wimple and cap, just visible beneath her hood. She had shrewd, determined grey eyes which missed nothing, and which belied the softness of expression conveyed by her round cheeks, tip-tilted nose and generous mouth. 'I'll let him in.'
Cicely Ford managed to looked vexed, resigned and indulgent all at once. 'Dame Freda, it won't do him any harm to cool his heels a while until one of the servants is free to answer his knock.'
This, then, was the duenna employed by Edward Herepath as his ward's companion. I could not make up my mind in those first few minutes whether I liked her or not. I decided I should need to know her better before coming to any conclusion. Dame Freda gave me a slanting glance in passing and, ignoring her mistress's remonstrance, went at once to the street door and lifted the latch.
The young man who entered in a flurry of cold wind was typical of the dandies of his generation, and reminded me forcibly of Alderman Weaver's son-in-law as I had seen him three years previously. Once the sable-lined cloak had been discarded with an impressively negligent gesture, Master Robin, whoever he might be, revealed himself in all the glory of a parti-coloured doublet so short as to barely reach below his hips, thus displaying a padded cod-piece of impossible proportions, decorated with gold and silver tassels. His slender waist was circled with a belt of finest scarlet leather, which had a buckle studded with garnets and pieces of jade, and matching scarlet boots whose toes were at least two inches long - not, of course, as long as many shoe pikes, but certainly too long for general walking or riding. Both boots and belt hissed defiantly at the young man's shock of red hair, cut in a fringe across his forehead and curling to his shoulders. The eyes were hazel, set in a cherubic face of the extremely florid hue often found in people of his colouring. His whole bearing, reflected in his confident smile, gave me the impression of a man supremely sure of himself and of his welcome, totally impervious to the chilliness of Cicely Ford's manner towards him.
'Master Avenel,' she said quietly, making the slightest of curtseys and not offering her hand.
This, then, must be the son of the man who had bought the soap-works from Edward Herepath, and who, according to Margaret Walker, was sweet on Cicely Ford and probably hopeful of marrying her. I thought to myself that he hoped in vain.
I decided it was time to take my leave, and did so with as little fuss as possible. Muttering my farewells to Mistress Ford, I slipped back to the kitchen, where the housekeeper was still occupied with her cooking and too busy to give me more than a nod, and let
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