The Prodigal Son by Kate Sedley

me – ‘and then expect us to treat him with the same courtesy as we should use towards one of our guests.’
    Dame Audrea paused to draw breath, but Anthony gave her no chance to proceed further. In a voice as coldly furious as her own, he reminded her again that he was now the master of Croxcombe Manor. ‘And so that there should be no doubt on that head, on my way here, I took the precaution of calling on lawyer Slocombe and confirming the contents of my father’s will. Croxcombe is left to me provided I claim my inheritance before Simon reaches the age of eighteen.’ He gave a malicious smile. ‘And as I remember perfectly that I was already past my tenth birthday when he was born, and as I am now twenty-five …’ He didn’t bother to finish the sentence, merely shrugging his shoulders and leaving us to draw the inevitable conclusion for ourselves. Simon Bellknapp was still only fifteen. After a moment Anthony went on, ‘I am therefore the master here, my dear mother, and anything I choose to do must, I’m afraid, be acceptable to you and Simon or you can arrange to make your home elsewhere.’
    I heard the steward gasp, and had to admit that I was myself taken aback by such plain speaking. Sons, whatever the circumstances or provocation, did not generally treat their mothers in such a forthright and disrespectful fashion. For her part, Dame Audrea, although trembling with anger, recognized that she was, for the moment, beaten, and that it would be beneath her dignity to brawl openly with her son in the presence of her steward and a mere ‘disreputable’ pedlar. She therefore swung abruptly on her heel in the direction of the door.
    â€˜We shall see you then at supper. You, too, Chapman.’ (She turned the word into an insult.) ‘Come, Simon! There’s nothing you can do here.’
    â€˜You shouldn’t have spoken to your lady mother like that, Master Anthony,’ the steward reproved him as the door of his room shut with a thud behind Dame Audrea and her younger son.
    Anthony grimaced. ‘I’m sorry, George.’ Although I couldn’t say that he sounded very apologetic. ‘But I have to make my position clear. I know my mother. She’s a high-stomached woman. I have no doubt she’ll have had things all her own way since my father died – and I can tell by your expression that I’m right. As for that brother of mine, he needs putting in his place. He’s a vicious, mean-minded brat, spoilt from the moment of his birth. And dangerous, too. You saw how he went for me. But for you and the chapman here, he might well have throttled me.’ He turned towards me, holding out his hand. ‘I owe you something for that, my friend. I’m holding by what I said. You must count yourself my personal guest for as long as you wish to stay here. And you must certainly remain at Croxcombe until that ankle is stronger. Now, George, tell me in detail this terrible story of the robbery and Jenny’s murder.’
    The steward’s account of events that night six years previously differed little in essentials from the version I had pieced together for myself from the various scraps of information that had come my way. John Jericho had entered Dame Audrea’s employ some two years before. No one knew much about his past or exactly where he had come from. He had simply wandered into the kitchen at Croxcombe one day, half starved and looking for employment.
    â€˜An orphan, he claimed, and no other family.’ George Applegarth spread his hands and pulled down the corners of his mouth. ‘That was all we ever learned about him, though I felt in my own mind it wasn’t the truth. And the name Jericho … I was always suspicious of that. But for some reason, the mistress took a strong fancy to him and made him her page. The master told her she was being foolish. Mistress Ursula – Lady Chauntermerle, I