The Sanctuary Murders: The Twenty Fourth Chronicle of Matthew Bartholomew (Chronicles of Matthew Bartholomew Book 24)

by Susanna Gregory

  ‘She must have come to the chapel to pray, but encountered the killer instead. There was a struggle – I assume you saw the mess downstairs? At some point, she managed to escape up here, but he got her anyway.’

  The floor was covered in oily footprints, which suggested that Goda and her assailant had done a lot of running about before the fatal blow was struck. There were two distinctive sets: the tiny ones made by the victim, and the much larger ones of her attacker.

  ‘I thought you kept this room locked,’ said Bartholomew, bending to inspect them. ‘Amphelisa told us that she carries the only key around her neck. So how did they get in?’

  Amphelisa glanced uncomfortably at her husband.

  ‘Tell them the truth,’ said Tangmer wearily. ‘Lies will help no one now.’

  ‘I sometimes gave Goda my key when I needed something fetching from here,’ replied Amphelisa unhappily. ‘Unbeknownst to me, she made herself a copy. It is in her hand.’

  The dead woman’s fingers were indeed curled around a piece of metal. Bartholomew removed it and knew at once that it had been cut illicitly, as it was suspiciously plain and had no proper head. Then he looked at Goda’s fine new kirtle, and answers came thick and fast.

  ‘Was she stealing your oils and selling them on her own account?’

  Amphelisa nodded slowly. ‘We think so, although she must have negotiated a very canny deal with an apothecary to explain all the handsome clothes she has acquired recently. She has not worn the same outfit twice in days . . .’

  ‘So who killed her?’ demanded Tulyet. ‘A member of staff? You have already said that these oils represent a vital source of income, so her thievery will impact on everyone here.’

  ‘None of us hurt her,’ said Tangmer firmly. ‘She was family. Besides, we knew she was light-fingered when she married Eudo, but she made him happy, so we overlooked it.’

  ‘Then have you had any visitors today?’ asked Tulyet.

  ‘No – we thought it best to dissuade them,’ replied the Warden. ‘For obvious reasons.’

  ‘Then how do you explain her murder, if you are innocent and no one else came in?’

  ‘A townsman or a scholar must have climbed over the wall,’ said Tangmer helplessly. ‘Like they did when the Girard family died. We try to be vigilant, but our Spital is huge, and it is not difficult to sneak in undetected. You know this, Sheriff – you did it yourself, to prove that our defences are less stalwart than we believed.’

  ‘So you had a mysterious invader,’ said Tulyet flatly. ‘How convenient!’

  Before he could ask more, Leger made an urgent sound. He was standing near the screen, and had been peering through it into the nave below.

  ‘Someone is down there,’ he whispered tightly. ‘Eavesdropping.’

  Tulyet was down the stairs in a flash, and Bartholomew ran to the screen just in time to see him lay hold of someone by the scruff of his neck.

  ‘Hah!’ exclaimed Leger triumphantly. ‘It is that French priest. I said those bastards were still in the area, but I was wrong. The truth is that they never left!’

  It did not take long to determine that Leger was right. The old men, women and children – but not the Jacques, who were conspicuous by their absence – were huddled in the guesthouse recently vacated by the nuns. They looked frightened and exhausted, and Bartholomew’s heart went out to them. Before any questions could be asked, there was a commotion outside the gate. Tulyet told Leger to make sure the Spital was not about to be invaded.

  ‘What if it is?’ shrugged Leger insolently. ‘Or would you have me defend French scum from loyal Englishmen?’

  ‘I would have you defend a charitable foundation from a mindless mob,’ retorted Tulyet sharply. ‘This is a hospital, built to shelter people in need, and the King will not want it in flames. Now go and restore the peace – and not a word about what you have seen here, or you will answer to me. Is that clear?’

  With ill grace, Leger stamped away. Once he had gone, the peregrini relaxed a little, and one or two of the smaller children even began to play. The Sheriff had been wise to dispense with Leger’s menacing presence before starting to question them.

  ‘Where are the Jacques?’ he began.

  ‘We do not know,’ replied Julien tiredly. ‘They left during the night. I did my best to find them and persuade them to come back, but to no avail. Sir Leger saw me in a churchyard, and I was lucky to escape from him.’

  ‘Their flight is a bitter blow,’ said the weaver – Madame Vipond – worriedly. ‘Who will protect us now? Even Delacroix has gone, despite the rhubarb decoction I slipped into his ale to make sure he stayed put.’

  Julien gaped at her. ‘So he was right to claim he was poisoned?’

  ‘It was not poison,’ she sniffed. ‘It was a tonic. He just happened to swallow rather a lot of it. Goda got it for me, although it cost me the last of my savings. Do not look at me like that, Father – I did what I thought was best for the rest of us.’

  Julien turned back to Tulyet. ‘Well, all I hope is that they have the sense to get as far away from here as possible. I am beginning to realise that we should have done the same.’

  ‘So why did you stay?’ asked Tulyet, making it clear that he wished they had not.

  ‘Because Michael moved the nuns, and suddenly there was an empty guesthouse available,’ explained Julien. ‘It seemed as if God was telling us to hide here for a while longer – to make proper plans, rather than just traipsing off and hoping for the best.’

  Bartholomew looked at the children’s bewildered faces, and the dull resignation in the eyes of the adults, and was filled with compassion. Could he take them to Michaelhouse? Unfortunately, word was sure to leak out if he did, and then there would be a massacre for certain – of his colleagues as well as the refugees. He wracked his brain for another solution, but nothing came to mind.

  ‘We could not bring ourselves to oust them,’ said Amphelisa. ‘So we agreed to tell people that they had gone to London instead. After all, who would ever know the truth?’

  ‘Everyone you invited here to search the place,’ replied Bartholomew, shocked by the reckless audacity of the plan. ‘You said you hoped they would see it is a good place, and would bring their lunatics here.’

  ‘The offer was for folk to look around our hall, not the guesthouse,’ argued Amphelisa pedantically. ‘No one would have seen the peregrini.’

  ‘If you had declared one building off-limits, even the most dull-witted visitor would have smelled a rat,’ said Tulyet, disgusted. ‘Your decision was irresponsible, especially as Delacroix and Julien were seen after they were supposed to have left. I appreciate your motives, Amphelisa, but this was a foolish thing to have done. Now none of you are safe.’

  ‘Dick is right,’ said Michael. ‘You must leave today. All of you – staff and peregrini.’

  ‘And go where?’ asked Madame Vipond helplessly. ‘The open road, where we will be easy prey for anyone? Another town or village, where we will be persecuted as we were in Winchelsea? At least here we have food and a roof over our heads.’

  ‘Not food,’ put in Tangmer. ‘I have no money to buy more, and nor do you.’

  ‘You mentioned the castle,’ said Bartholomew to Tulyet. ‘They would be safe there, under your protection.’

  ‘That was before Goda was murdered,’ said Tulyet. ‘Once it becomes known that a local lass was stabbed in a place where Frenchmen were staying . . . well, you do not need me to tell you what conclusions will be drawn. None of us can guarantee their safety now, and the only thing these peregrini can do is get as far away as possible.’

  ‘Goda,’ said Michael, looking around at the fugitives. ‘Do you know who killed her?’

  ‘She brought us bread at dawn,’ replied Julien. ‘But since then, we have been huddled in here, trying to keep the children quiet. The windows are either nailed shut or they open on to the road rather than the Spital, which means we have no idea what is happening in the Tangmers’ domain.’


  ‘We had better pack,’ said Madame Vipond exhaustedly to the others. ‘And trust that God will protect us, given that people will not.’

  ‘We cannot send them off to fend for themselves,’ protested Bartholomew to Michael and Tulyet. ‘It would be inhuman. We must find another way.’

  Michael pondered for a moment. ‘The conloquium will finish the day after tomorrow, and nuns will disperse in all directions to go home. Most are good women, and many hail from very remote convents. Let me see if one will accept some travelling companions.’

  ‘Two days is too long,’ argued Tulyet. ‘We cannot trust Leger to keep his mouth shut for ever, and these folk will die for certain if they are discovered here.’

  ‘Then we will just have to protect them,’ said Bartholomew doggedly. ‘Detail more soldiers to stand guard.’

  ‘I cannot spare men to mind the Spital when I am struggling to prevent my town from going up in flames,’ said Tulyet irritably.

  ‘Please, Dick,’ said Michael quietly. ‘I seriously doubt these people can move quickly enough to escape the bigots mustering outside, so they will be caught and murdered. I do not want that on my conscience and nor do you.’

  Tulyet sighed in resignation. ‘Very well – you have until dawn the day after tomorrow to organise an escape. But the agreement is conditional on the peregrini staying out of sight. If one is so much as glimpsed through a window or a gate, the deal is off. Do you understand?’

  ‘Thank you, Sheriff,’ said Julien with quiet dignity. ‘We accept your terms. But what about Delacroix and his friends?’

  ‘You had better hope they are well away,’ said Tulyet sourly, ‘because if they are lurking here, they are dead already.’

  ‘Do you think Goda tried to stop them from leaving?’ asked Bartholomew. ‘And they stabbed her for it?’

  Julien and Madame Vipond exchanged a glance that suggested it would not surprise them. Amphelisa was the only one who protested their innocence, although not for long.

  Outside, Leger listened in mounting anger to what had been agreed. His face darkened and his fists clenched at his side.

  ‘You place the comfort of foreigners above the safety of your town,’ he snarled. ‘How long do you think it will take before the truth seeps out? After that, anyone trying to defend this place will die, and for what? To protect Frenchmen?’ He spat the last word.

  ‘We four are the only ones outside the Spital who know the secret,’ said Tulyet curtly. ‘Michael, Matt and I will say nothing, so unless you cannot keep quiet . . .’

  ‘I can,’ said Leger sullenly. ‘Although this is a stupid decision, and I will tell the King so when he demands to know why good men died for nothing.’

  ‘No one will die, because you will prevent it,’ said Tulyet briskly. ‘I am assigning you the task of ensuring the Spital comes to no harm.’

  ‘I refuse,’ said Leger immediately. ‘You cannot make me act against my principles.’

  ‘Your principles preclude you from defending a charitable foundation?’ asked Tulyet archly. ‘Because that is all I require you to do – to keep the building safe.’

  ‘A building with Frenchmen inside it,’ retorted Leger. ‘The enemy.’

  ‘Oh, come, man,’ snapped Tulyet. ‘We are talking about a gaggle of women, old men and terrified children. Do you really think such folk represent a danger to you? However, if the challenge of defending this place from a ragtag mob is beyond your abilities, I can easily pick someone else to do it.’

  ‘Then do,’ flashed Leger. ‘Because I am not—’

  ‘Although if the Spital is damaged because you refuse to do your duty, you will answer to the King,’ Tulyet went on. ‘He has taken a personal interest in this place, and wants it to thrive. I seriously doubt you will keep his favour once he learns that you let it burn down because a few displaced villagers from Rouen were within.’

  ‘Very well,’ snarled Leger, throwing up his hands in defeat. ‘But I want my objections noted, and I shall be making my own report to His Majesty.’

  He stamped away without another word, his expression murderous. Tulyet watched him begin his preparations, then started to walk back to the town with Bartholomew and Michael.

  ‘Are you sure he can be trusted?’ asked Bartholomew uneasily. ‘Because if not, it will cost the lives of everyone inside – peregrini and staff.’

  ‘I am sure,’ replied Tulyet. ‘A massacre will reflect badly on his military abilities, and he will not want that on his record. Besides, now that Orwel and Norbert are dead, he is the only man with the skills and experience to mount a workable defence – other than my knights, and I cannot spare them. However, it is not Leger who concerns me, but the Jacques.’

  ‘Why?’ asked Bartholomew. ‘They will be miles away by now. They would have gone after the Girards were killed, but Julien stopped them. They never wanted to linger here.’

  ‘There is a rage in them that I have seen before,’ explained Tulyet soberly. ‘Their time in the Jacquerie and then in Winchelsea has turned them angry, bitter, violent and unforgiving. They will not overlook the Girard murders, no matter how much they and the victims might have quarrelled. They will want vengeance.’

  ‘Unless they are the ones who killed them,’ Bartholomew pointed out. ‘They are on our list of suspects.’

  ‘Regardless, I fear they have not disappeared into the Fens to escape the tedious business of protecting Julien’s flock, but are here, in Cambridge, biding their time until they can avenge themselves on the country that took them in and then turned against them.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ said Michael. ‘Yet I cannot believe that one of them stabbed Bruges at the butts. It would have been a shocking risk, and none of them are fools.’

  ‘But it would be a good solution to the murders, would it not?’ asked Tulyet. ‘The culprit being neither a townsman nor a scholar?’

  ‘Yes,’ acknowledged Michael. ‘But only if it is true.’

  As the mood of the town felt more dangerous than ever, Tulyet decided it would be safer for Bartholomew and Michael to remain with him while they hunted killers. Michael objected, on the grounds that no one would dare assault the Senior Proctor, but Bartholomew was glad of Tulyet’s protection. They went to the castle first, where Tulyet organised a hunt for the Jacques, promising a shilling to the soldiers who brought them back.

  ‘Alive,’ cautioned Bartholomew, visions of corpses galore delivered to the Sheriff’s doorstep, the triumphant bearers safe in the knowledge that the dead could not say there had been a terrible mistake.

  When the patrols had gone, Tulyet, Bartholomew and Michael went to the Griffin, to question its patrons about Wyse’s killer, after which they interviewed rioters about the person who had yelled the order to shoot. They spent an age in King’s Hall asking about its murdered scholars, and then went to St Radegund’s, where Sister Alice informed them that all the evidence against her was fabricated. Finally, they spoke to the staff at the Brazen George, to see if they had noticed anything untoward around the time when Orwel had died.

  But they learned nothing to take them forward. Afternoon faded to evening, and then night approached, dark and full of whispering shadows. Tulyet scrubbed vigorously at his face to wake himself up as the church bells rang to announce the evening services.

  ‘We have done all we can with the murders today,’ he said. ‘Now I must go and keep the peace on our streets.’

  ‘I have already briefed my beadles,’ said Michael, ‘although I told Meadowman not to trust Heltisle’s Horde. I shall offer them to Leger soon – a gift of two dozen “prime fighting men” for the King’s army.’

  He and Bartholomew trudged back to Michaelhouse, where they sat on a bench in the yard and ate a quick meal of bread and cheese before Michael went to join his beadles. The yard used to be dark once the sun went down, but he had ordered it lit with lanterns after he had taken an embarrassing tumble. In the hope that logical analysis would present the answers that had eluded them a
ll day, Bartholomew began to list his remaining suspects.

  ‘The Jacques or Theophilis,’ he said. ‘I would like to include Heltisle, too, as he keeps trying to drag your attention away from the investigations by playing petty power games, but the truth is that I cannot see him stabbing anyone.’

  ‘The Jacques are on my list, too,’ said Michael, ‘but with Aynton above them, rather than Theophilis. You are right about Heltisle – he is objectionable, but no killer. We can exclude de Wetherset for the same reason.’

  ‘The only other people left are nuns – Sister Alice and Magistra Katherine, who cannot prove their whereabouts when the Girards were murdered.’

  ‘But Katherine is the Bishop’s sister, and too busy being intelligent and superior at the conloquium to stab people. I do not see Alice braving the butts either, much as I dislike her.’ Michael stood and brushed crumbs from his habit. ‘That meagre dinner will not see me through the night. I need something else. Come and have a couple of Lombard slices.’

  He marched to his quarters and flung open the door. Theophilis was inside, going through the documents on the desk. The Junior Proctor jerked his hand back guiltily, but managed an easy smile.

  ‘There you are, Brother. I am looking for the beadles’ work schedules for the coming week. They are not in St Mary the Great, so I assumed they were here.’

  ‘I gave them to Heltisle,’ said Michael. ‘Why did you want them?’

  ‘Because Perkyn is ill, and must be removed from the rosters until he is well again. He complains of ringing ears after listening to the Marian Singers.’

  Michael’s expression hardened. ‘Then tell him his services are no longer required. I heard the choir, and my ears are not ringing.’

  Theophilis inclined his head and left, while Bartholomew wondered what lie the Junior Proctor would tell Perkyn to explain why he no longer had a job.

  ‘He did not want the rotas,’ he said, looking through the window to watch Theophilis cross the yard. ‘The truth is that Heltisle uncovered nothing to hurt you in your office last night, so he sent him here to find something instead.’