The Weaver's Inheritance by Kate Sedley Page B

or two he looked totally dumbfounded. It seemed as if he was as amazed as we were at his easy acceptance. How stupid of me not to have remembered that before.’
    ‘You have had too much else to occupy you,’ I consoled her. ‘But if you’re sure of what you saw, it may have some significance. If this man were truly Clement Weaver, I don’t think the possibility of not being accepted by his father would ever have crossed his mind.’
    But this was going too fast for the dame: she was not yet ready to come down on one side or the other, let alone permit any observation of hers to decide the issue. ‘I … Well … Maybe I was imagining things,’ she hedged. ‘I can’t be absolutely certain.’
    It was on the tip of my tongue to remind her that this was not what she had said a few moments earlier, but I could see that she was growing flustered and let the matter rest. ‘What did you think when the young man put back his hood?’ I asked. ‘Did you immediately think, “Yes, it’s Clement Weaver!”?’
    ‘Not then, no! I could see no resemblance. But later, when he was washed and wearing a tunic and hose that had belonged to Clement – for my sister told me that the Alderman never threw anything of his son’s away, and resisted all Alison’s persuasions to give his clothes to the poor – I was struck by a likeness. After that,’ she admitted honestly, ‘my opinion changed from day to day, sometimes from hour to hour. It still does. On occasions, he seems nothing like the boy I remember, but at other times, I think I can see Clement plainly in him.’ She sighed.
    ‘What about his voice? Is that the same?’
    Dame Pernelle again shook her head. ‘I can’t recall how Clement sounded, not after all these years.’
    ‘What about Rob Short and Ned Stoner? What do they think?’
    ‘You must ask them.’
    ‘But the three of you must have discussed the affair during these past few weeks. It must surely be a frequent topic of conversation among you?’
    She made no attempt to deny it. ‘Oh yes, but Ned and Rob don’t know what to think any more than I do. And with the Alderman himself so positive…’ Her voice tailed away into silence.
    I understood. Alderman Weaver’s unhesitating acceptance of the stranger was the cornerstone on which all others’ belief was necessarily founded, with the exception of Alison Burnett and her husband. I mentioned their names.
    The housekeeper instantly threw up her hands in dismay. ‘What goings-on!’ she exclaimed. ‘What quarrels! What terrible things said on both sides that neither will retract! It’s tragic. Alison and William are adamant that it’s all a plot to deprive her of her inheritance. The Alderman, on the other hand, insists that they acknowledge Clement – for I must call him something and know of no other name to give him – without any reservations whatsoever, which is very unreasonable, to my way of thinking. Indeed, everyone I’ve spoken to thinks Alfred a fool for not being suspicious of this young man’s story; for accepting him as his son with no more proof than his word.’
    ‘And why do you think the Alderman has done so?’
    ‘Because, secretly, he’s never ceased to blame himself for Clement’s death, for allowing him to carry so much money on that visit to London. In the years following his son’s disappearance, whenever Alfred visited the wine shop, he often used to speak of Clement as if he were still alive. Then he’d pull himself up short with a terrible, lost expression on his face. It broke my heart to see it. A doting father.’
    ‘Not so doting,’ I answered drily, ‘if he can disinherit his own daughter. First he halves her inheritance, then deprives her of it altogether.’
    ‘Oh, he’ll change his mind, given time,’ the housekeeper assured me warmly, but there was, nevertheless, an underlying uncertainty in her tone. ‘He doesn’t care for his son-in-law very much, that’s the trouble, and takes pleasure in