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elder brother hasn’t returned by then, when everything goes to
him
. And now he has.’
    Master Litton nodded, eyeing me with a new and wary respect, as though he wasn’t quite sure what to make of me. A pedlar who lived in the same street as a kinsman of Dame Bellknapp was something of a phenomenon, and I could tell he was half inclined to say no more. But curiosity got the better of him and instead of going about his business, he fetched himself a beaker of ale and sat down again.
    â€˜So you can understand as well as I do why Master Simon won’t be pleased to see his brother, and why I’d like to be a fly on the wall at that meeting.’
    â€˜Yes. But you also implied that others in the household won’t exactly welcome Anthony with open arms. What about his mother?’
    The landlord shrugged. ‘Gossip says Dame Bellknapp never had much affection for him, not even when he was small. That’s as maybe, and more than I know, but it’s certain he didn’t get on with his father, and his mother holds his behaviour as partly responsible for her husband’s death. Although Master Bellknapp must have felt some remorse for his treatment of Anthony, or he wouldn’t have left things as he did when he was dying.’
    â€˜You say this George Applegarth is fond of him?’
    â€˜Oh, aye! He’s Dame Bellknapp’s steward and his wife, Jenny, was nurse to both the boys in turn. They’ve no children of their own and Anthony was like a son to them, the more so because he was neglected by his parents. Yes, George Applegarth, at least, will be delighted by his return.’
    I reflected that for a distant neighbour, Master Litton knew a great deal about the Bellknapps, their history and their household. I was not, however, surprised. I had grown up in Wells and knew as well as anyone how far and how swiftly gossip travelled. And what better place than an alehouse – or inn, as I felt sure the landlord would have preferred me to call it – for the telling and hearing of such local tittle-tattle?
    â€˜And the rest of Dame Bellknapp’s retainers?’ I enquired. ‘Surely they have nothing against Master Anthony? His return can make no difference to them.’
    Again the landlord shrugged and waved his free hand while sipping his ale. ‘We-ell, the old chaplain, now, Henry Rokewood, nearing sixty I should guess, he and the older boy never got on. Poor old Sir Henry has a limp and a stammer – had ’em for years – and boys being boys, and a bit cruel sometimes, Master Anthony used to make fun of him. I’ve seen him do it in the street with everyone looking on and sniggering behind their hands. I’ve laughed myself, I have to confess, for he was a good mimic. But being the butt of a joke’s a different thing altogether, and the chaplain was often near to tears. No, I don’t reckon Sir Henry’ll be pleased at Master Anthony’s return.
    â€˜Then there’s the chamberlain, Jonathan Slye. His sister has a bastard child, a son. A handsome young fellow, about nine years old. The girl could never be persuaded to name the father, but Jonathan Slye swears it’s Anthony.’
    And people think that they see life in the towns! ‘Go on,’ I invited, highly diverted.
    â€˜Not much more to tell, really. Rumour has it that Reginald Kilsby – he’s the bailiff – has high hopes of marrying Audrea Bellknapp someday. People do say they’re already lovers, but that may be just malicious gossip. Dame Bellknapp don’t strike me as the sort of woman to marry her bailiff. Bit of fun between the sheets, yes. Marriage, no. But the point is that Reginald Kilsby thinks she might. Simon probably wouldn’t raise any objections: his mother can persuade him to almost anything. But Anthony, he could quite well forbid all thought of any such nonsense.’
    I grimaced. ‘If all you say is true, then