Twenty years ago, he might well have encountered their visitor and friend, Robert Moresby of Gloucester, and, through the latter, met Isabella Linkinhorne. He had been struck by her beauty, she liked him and was by no means predisposed to attach herself to just one man. So somehow, unbeknownst to Robert, they had arranged to meet when he was not by, Westbury being just as convenient a place for their rendezvous as it was for him and Isabella. Oh, yes, the more I thought about it, the more I was convinced that I had – with a little help from the Almighty, of course – found my ‘Caspar’. ‘Oi! Chapman! Thomas is talking to you.’ Jack Gload’s voice interrupted my musings and made me jump. ‘I beg your pardon, Master Baker,’ I apologized. ‘You were saying?’ He repeated the question I had only half-heard, and out of politeness I was forced to explain my dealings with Lady Claypole the week before. Fortunately, this seemed to satisfy my host, once he had established that I was not a friend of her ladyship but merely the instrument of someone else’s bidding (and that person being His Worship, the Mayor of Bristol).
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