Airs and Graces by Roz Southey Read Free Book Online Page B

to the George where I was to meet Hugh and Balfour. There was still a watchman on guard outside the shop; he was reconciling his duty and his inclinations, by refusing to let sightseers into the house but charging them for a look through an unshuttered window.
    I walked up the Side, passed St Nicholas’s church and cut off into the Clothmarket, from which an alley led to the George Inn. Hugh and Balfour were waiting for me in the inn yard.
    ‘I told you the snow would go!’ Hugh said triumphantly. ‘That’ll be it for the winter.’
    ‘I hope so,’ Balfour said. He looked cold and subdued.
    ‘Come on then!’ Hugh said. ‘Got to make sure we’re finished before the inquest.’ He grinned at me. ‘Had a message this morning to say I wouldn’t be needed.’ He nudged me in the ribs. ‘Lawyer Armstrong says he trusts you to give an accurate account of what happened.’
    ‘I don’t think I’ll go,’ Balfour said.
    ‘Very wise,’ Hugh agreed. ‘Bound to be a crush. Half the town’ll be there.’
    Now, that was a cheering thought.
    The proposed site for the new Assembly Rooms is in the Groat Market, separated from the Clothmarket by a block of houses and shops. The place was easy to find. Six months ago, on one of the hottest nights in June, a fire broke out in a mercer’s shop and within an hour the property was consumed, along with the empty house next door; the mercer’s body was found in the ruins. What remained of the buildings had been considered too dangerous to leave standing and the walls had been pulled down, leaving only the remains of the cellar creating a deep hole in the ground crisscrossed by charred timbers. The timbers were now under a layer of snow, showing here and there as black smudges in the white. The mercer’s spirit must have evaporated in the fire.
    Balfour looked at the ruins with a jaundiced eye. ‘The space occupied by both properties is to be used?’
    ‘Robert Jenison, the director of the Assemblies and the Concerts, owns both. He’s willing to donate the sites to the town.’
    Hugh leant over a wooden fence that had been put up round the ruin, to prevent anyone falling in. Footsteps in the snow suggested that several people had climbed the fence this morning and gone down into the cellar pit. ‘What on earth were they after?’
    ‘Wood. Free fuel for the fire.’
    ‘Break their necks,’ Hugh said with a grin.
    Balfour was shivering, although it seemed warm to me in the sunshine. He searched his pockets, took out a measure, and asked Hugh to hold one end of it while he plodded up and down, muttering under his breath. He seemed to be making a great show of it, as if wanting to impress us with his efficiency – surely he must have all this information already. But he’d worked on the new Assembly Rooms in York, so he must be competent. And I knew from experience how a good performance can inspire confidence in an audience.
    What he found didn’t seem to please him. He muttered, ‘Not really long enough. Or wide enough for that matter.’ The site was only one property deep; on its far side ran a narrow alley covered in snow. Balfour scowled. ‘Is there any chance of that property being incorporated?’ He waved a hand at the tavern next door.
    ‘I think Jenison owns that too,’ I said, not entirely certain. ‘But you won’t be popular pulling down a tavern.’
    Hugh was still peering down into the hole. He swung his leg over the fence. I grabbed his arm. ‘What are you doing!’
    ‘I can see something shiny down there. Look – under the far bank.’
    Cautiously, I peered over the edge. ‘It’s probably just a dropped coin.’ Just ? A few months ago, before my marriage to Esther, I’d been an impecunious musician and every penny meant a great deal; I’d have been thinking of climbing down there. How quickly things change. ‘Hugh, it’s dangerous!’
    ‘Nonsense!’ Hugh said with magnificent inconsistency. ‘Half a dozen people have already been down