Elyan looked smug. ‘But my mine is the only one in Suffolk, which makes it unique. Moreover, its coal is exceptionally hard and pure. Carbo told me so, when he discovered it in the summer.’
‘Carbo?’ asked Michael, startled. ‘Why should you believe anything he said? He was ill.’
‘He was not always so, and he claimed his knowledge of minerals came from God. I believed him because … well, suffice to say he proved himself to me.’
‘Proved himself how?’ pressed Michael.
Elyan sighed, resenting the interrogation. ‘Because he excavated some very fine specimens. When we find more – which I hope we will – they will make us rich, and I shall be able to buy any clothes that take my fancy. Have you seen the girdles worn by the King’s knights these days? They comprise a wide belt with the most fabulous buckles.’
Bartholomew took a sip of the wine, and was taken off guard when the taste summoned a vivid image of Matilde – it was identical to the brews she had prepared for him on cold winter nights. The intensity of the recollection took him by surprise, and he wondered whether he would ever stop thinking about her. He became aware that Agnys was staring at him.
‘You have tasted its like before,’ she said, while Michael struggled to drag her grandson’s attention away from clothes and back to minerals. ‘And it pains you. Shall I fetch you something else?’
‘No,’ said Bartholomew quickly. ‘It is not an unpleasant memory.’
‘A lost lover?’ she asked sympathetically. ‘You are a scholar, so it cannot have been a wife.’
Bartholomew did not often talk about Matilde, but he was seized by a sudden urgent and wholly irrational desire to do so now. While Michael did his utmost to learn about Joan, coal and Wynewyk – and Elyan regaled him with an analysis of courtly fashions instead – the physician told Agnys all about the woman he had loved. He was not normally given to confiding in strangers, and could only suppose it was the result of a sleepless night and the shock of finding Kelyng. Agnys listened without interruption or comment, even when he described Matilde in the most impossibly eulogistic terms.
‘You still hope she will return to you,’ she said, when he eventually faltered into silence.
‘Logic tells me she is gone for ever, but I cannot bring myself to believe it. However, I would settle for knowing she is safe and happy. The King’s highways are dangerous places for lone women.’
‘Your Matilde would not have let robbers best her,’ said Agnys, patting his knee encouragingly. ‘She will have arrived at her destination unscathed, never fear.’
Although she had no grounds for making such an assured statement, Bartholomew found her words oddly comforting; more comforting than reason dictated he should. He smiled, and when he took another sip of the wine, the experience was much less unsettling.
‘You told me yesterday that you knew our colleague Wynewyk,’ Michael was saying to Elyan. He sounded exasperated, and the physician could tell he was reaching the end of his patience.
‘Actually, I did not,’ countered Elyan. He also sounded irritable, indicating they had managed to rile each other. ‘You asked if I knew him, but d’Audley started to gabble before I could reply.’
‘Wynewyk said he knew you,’ lied Michael. ‘He told me you sold the best coal in Suffolk, and was pleased to have done business with you. He has been commending you to friends in other Colleges.’
‘I very much doubt that,’ said Elyan flatly.
Michael’s eyes narrowed. ‘And now we reach the crux of the matter. Your dealings with him were not honest – that is why you sit there so certain he would not have mentioned you to anyone else.’
Elyan glowered in a way that made Bartholomew certain that Michael was right, but made no other reply. Agnys also noticed her grandson’s reaction, and became sharp with him.
‘Our manor has always held a reputation for fair dealing, Henry. If you have flouted that tradition, you had better speak now, so the matter can be rectified before any harm is done.’
Elyan tried to ignore her, but there was a steely glint in her eye that warned him to do as he was told. ‘All right, I knew Wynewyk. But I did not sell him the coal I import from Ipswich – we had another arrangement.’
‘He paid you eighteen marks,’ stated Michael. ‘He wrote it our account book.’
‘Eighteen marks?’ echoed Agnys, shocked. ‘You did not tell me this when we enjoyed our pork and ale in the Queen’s Head yesterday. Eighteen marks is a vast sum of money, and I might not have been so willing to agree to an exchange of information, had I known the stakes were so high.’
Michael grimaced. ‘But you did not exchange information, madam – you promised to look into the matter of Wynewyk, but you had nothing to give us at the time.’
‘Then we had better rectify the matter: an arrangement is an arrangement, and an Elyan’s word is her bond.’ Agnys turned to her grandson. ‘Where is this eighteen marks, Henry? I hope you have not spent it on clothes.’
‘Wynewyk gave it to me because he wanted a share in my mine,’ said Elyan sullenly. ‘To invest in its running in order to enjoy its profits. I did not spend it on clothes. Although, I admit there was a rather nice red tunic that just happened to be—’
‘He invested?’ breathed Michael, appalled. ‘But your venture will founder, and eighteen—’
‘I told you: it has yielded some excellent specimens,’ interrupted Elyan tightly. ‘And I used his money to pay guards and diggers, so do not expect it back. It is long gone.’
Bartholomew did not think he had ever seen Michael so full of rage. The monk leapt to his feet and treated Elyan to a stream of invective that would not have been out of place in a fish-market. Agnys’s eyes grew wide with astonishment, and Elyan eventually put his hands over his ears. It was something Wynewyk did when he thought his colleagues were being unnecessarily bellicose, and it sent a pang of grief stabbing through Bartholomew. When Michael saw the gesture, he faltered, too.
‘Wynewyk paid you with College funds,’ he said, temper subsiding as abruptly as it had risen. ‘Ergo, this arrangement is with Michaelhouse, not with him, and you are legally bound to honour it. I want our money back. Now. I refuse to wait years for these so-called profits to materialise.’
‘We signed no documents detailing our pact, and as he is dead, you cannot prove what he did or did not give me,’ snapped Elyan. ‘Your eighteen marks no longer exists, and neither does the seven he gave to d’Audley. Oh, damn it! Now look what you have made me say!’
Michael’s expression was cold and angry. ‘Tell me about d’Audley,’ he ordered softly.
Elyan was clearly disgusted with himself, but also seemed to appreciate that the time for subterfuge was over. He sighed irritably. ‘He had no spare cash of his own to invest in my scheme, so Wynewyk lent him some. In return, d’Audley was to supply him with free timber until the loan was repaid in full. Unfortunately for you, there is no written proof of his arrangement, either.’
‘I will find proof,’ warned Michael menacingly.
‘You will not – and we could not repay you, even if we wanted to. The money is spent.’
‘Squandered, you mean,’ said Agnys, regarding her grandson in disgust. ‘Joan was given pennyroyal for a reason, and I am beginning to think it is connected to this horrible mine.’
Elyan paled. ‘No! I do not believe that. She was murdered, as I have said from the beginning, but it has nothing to do with my coal.’
‘I imagine it has more to do with the fact that she was about to provide Elyan Manor with an heir,’ said Michael, ‘thus thwarting the hopes of three optimistic claimants. However, I understand the child may not have been yours.’
‘How dare you!’ shouted Elyan furiously. ‘Of course it was mine!’
‘You overstep the mark, Brother,’ said Agnys warningly. Her face was a mask of anger, furious that a remark made in confidence should be so bluntly repeated.
Michael ignored her, focusing his attention on her grandson. ‘You must feel v
ulnerable. Now she is dead and you are childless, d’Audley, Luneday and King’s Hall all eagerly await your death.’
Elyan’s expression was impossible to read. ‘If you think that, then you are a fool. The situation with my estates is murky, and no one claimant has a better case than the others. Lawyers are needed to sort it out, so no one wants me dead before the matter is resolved. I am safe until the clerks have finished wrangling – which will not be for years yet.’
Michael regarded him dispassionately. ‘You are the fool. Do you think a powerful foundation like King’s Hall, which bursts at the seams with clever minds, is going to wait years for a decision? And do you think a sly, greedy man like d’Audley will sit back and wait for them to best him?’
‘I disagree,’ said Agnys coldly. ‘Joan’s death is connected to the mine, not the inheritance issue.’
Bartholomew wondered why an astute woman like Agnys could not see what was so obvious. ‘But whoever wins the manor will get the mine,’ he pointed out. ‘The two are tightly interwoven. And Michael is right to warn you, Elyan: Neubold was involved in the case and he is murdered; Wynewyk invested in your mine and he is dead; Carbo advised you about coal, and he is stabbed – by someone from King’s Hall; and your wife is poisoned.’
‘You think I am in danger?’ Elyan looked bewildered. ‘But why strike now? I have been in this situation for years, and no one has tried to harm me before.’
‘Clearly, someone is growing impatient,’ replied Michael. ‘The claims on both your manor and d’Audley’s chantry are becoming more acrimonious, suggesting knives are being honed for battle.’
‘You are wrong,’ said Elyan unsteadily. ‘No one will try to kill me. If they do, I shall take another wife. That will put an end to such nonsense.’
‘Or result in another death from pennyroyal,’ said Michael harshly. ‘But why did Joan really go to Cambridge? She was heavily pregnant and not young. It was a risky thing to do, and I cannot believe she did it for ribbons.’
‘It was for ribbons,’ said Elyan firmly. ‘She told me the ones in Haverhill were dull and she wanted brighter colours. She was going to buy me a new hat, too.’
Bartholomew studied him thoughtfully, and concluded that whatever the reason for Joan’s sudden decision to travel, she had not confided it to her husband. She had invented an excuse she knew he would accept – inveterate clothes-lover that he was – and had pre-empted any objections he might have raised with promises of treats.
She had, however, taken care to leave at a time when Agnys was not there stop her. Why? Was it really because the old lady would have tried to dissuade her? Or was she running away from something in Haverhill, something Agnys knew all about? Agnys had denied knowing the cause of Joan’s recent unhappiness, but who was to say she was telling the truth? He turned to look at the old woman, but could read nothing in her face.
‘Perhaps she went to see the father of her child,’ suggested Michael. ‘Lady Agnys said she had been distant and distracted for a few weeks. Perhaps she wanted to tell him the good news.’
‘The brat was mine,’ said Elyan fiercely. ‘And if someone else did step into the breach, then so what? It would still have been born to my wife, and raised as my heir.’
‘D’Audley, Luneday and King’s Hall would not agree,’ Michael pointed out. ‘They only lose their rights if you provide a child: another man’s progeny does not count in the eyes of the law.’
‘Who was it, Henry?’ asked Agnys softly. ‘Joan is dead, so breaking her trust cannot matter now.’
‘I loved her,’ said Elyan in a strangled voice. ‘I will not …’
‘I know you did,’ said Agnys gently. ‘But people are being murdered, and it is time to put an end to it. Who do you suspect of obliging Joan?’
Elyan sighed unhappily. ‘Neubold said it was him. Joan claimed it was not, but I always assumed she lied because she did not want me to think less of her for selecting such a miserable specimen.’
‘Neubold accompanied her to Cambridge,’ mused Michael. ‘And it was there that she died of—’
‘Neubold would not have killed her,’ interrupted Agnys with conviction. ‘If he was the father, he would have wanted her and the baby alive, so he could reap the benefits. He would never have harmed her, not when there might have been profit in the situation.’
‘But Michael is right in that the father may live in Cambridge,’ mused Bartholomew. He thought, but did not say, that the University was awash with handsome men, most of whom would be only too pleased to provide their services to a desperate woman – Joan would have been spoiled for choice. ‘Edith is wrong to think the solution to Joan’s death lies here: it lies in the place where she died.’
It was mid-afternoon by the time Bartholomew and Michael left Elyan Manor, and the weather had turned chilly. It was not raining, but the clouds were low and menacing and it would not be long before there was another deluge. Michael complained bitterly, because it had been warm when they had set out on their journey, and he had not bothered to take his cloak. Now he was cold.
‘I am more confused than ever,’ he said, shivering. ‘Did Elyan kill Neubold because he believed Neubold was his wife’s lover? Personally, I doubt it was the case – I imagine she had more taste.’
‘He was rather keen for a verdict of suicide,’ replied Bartholomew. ‘That is suspicious in itself. However, by killing Neubold, Elyan lost himself the services of a slippery lawyer.’
‘He is not the only one,’ said Michael, rather gleefully. ‘I cannot imagine Osa Gosse will be pleased when he learns his legal adviser is no longer available.’
But Bartholomew’s thoughts were still on Joan. ‘The more I consider it, the more I am sure you are right about why she went to Cambridge – it was to see the father of her child.’
Michael sighed. ‘To be honest, I only said that to shake a reaction from Elyan. It cannot be true, because we have been told – by several people, including your sister – that Joan had not been to Cambridge for years. Ergo, the babe must have been conceived in Suffolk. The father is not some willing scholar or burgess, but someone in this county. Or perhaps someone who visited Haverhill.’
‘It cannot be Wynewyk,’ said Bartholomew, seeing what the monk was thinking. ‘It is one thing you cannot blame him for, because we both know his preferences. Although …’
‘Although what?’
‘Although Yolande de Blaston did say he hired her on occasion. However, I suspect Joan would have opted for someone more manly. Scholars from King’s Hall must have visited Haverhill, too, to look at the Alneston Chantry and the manor they hope to acquire. Then there is Gosse. Joan knew him, because Edith was with her when she exchanged words with the fellow.’
Michael was shocked. ‘But Gosse is a felon! A well-dressed, intelligent one, but a felon even so.’
‘Perhaps she had no choice,’ said Bartholomew soberly.
They were silent for a while, and the only sound was their footsteps on the muddy track and the distant bleat of sheep on the surrounding hills.
‘Do you think Elyan was telling the truth about his arrangement with Wynewyk?’ asked Michael at last. ‘If so, we may never retrieve our eighteen marks.’
‘Twenty-five marks,’ corrected Bartholomew. ‘Wynewyk lent d’Audley money for the venture, too. And yes, I think he was telling the truth. He is not clever enough to have deceived you.’
‘What was Wynewyk thinking, to become embroiled with such people?’ demanded Michael.
‘I imagine he was thinking it offered an attractive long-term investment for Michaelhouse,’ said Bartholomew, who had been relieved by Elyan’s confession. ‘He was not dishonest, as I have said all along. It was not a wise decision, given that the mine is unlikely to be profitable, but being a fool is not the same as being a thief.’
‘We need to confirm this tale with d’Audley before we can be sure about that,’ said Michael. ‘And nor can we forget the five marks Wynewyk gave to Luneday, ostensibly for pig
s.’
‘What a coincidence – there is d’Audley,’ said Bartholomew, pointing down the road to where a familiar figure could be seen riding towards them. ‘On his way home from the market, I suppose.’
D’Audley saw the Michaelhouse scholars coming his way, and attempted to force his way through a hedge in order to avoid them. Unfortunately, the gap he had picked was not wide enough, and the nag panicked. It taxed even Michael’s superior horsemanship to extricate them both unscathed.
‘I saw a fox,’ declared d’Audley, once he was free. ‘And I wanted to see where it went. I have chickens, you know. A man with chickens cannot be too careful about foxes.’
‘Speaking of foxes, I would like to hear about your arrangement with Wynewyk,’ said Michael. ‘Elyan has just informed us that Wynewyk lent you seven marks, to allow you to invest in his mine.’
‘Damn him!’ cried d’Audley furiously. ‘He promised to keep the matter to himself. I should have known he could not be trusted!’
‘The time for deceit is over,’ said Michael, keeping a firm grip on the reins, lest his victim attempted to bolt. ‘You have two choices: you can tell us the truth, or you can tell the King. However, I should warn you that His Majesty beheaded the last person who tried to cheat us.’
D’Audley regarded him in horror, and Bartholomew looked away, uncomfortable with the lie. But it had the desired effect, because d’Audley began to talk so fast that it was difficult to keep up with the stream of confessions.
‘I should have followed my first instinct, and stayed well away from that wretched coal,’ he gabbled, bitterness in every word. ‘I knew it would be unprofitable, and we would all end up throwing away good money. So why did I weaken and let Elyan persuade me otherwise?’
‘You tell me,’ suggested Michael.
‘He seemed so sure it would prosper, and I dislike the notion of neighbours growing rich while I remain poor. So I decided to accept his invitation to invest. Unfortunately, I had no free money of my own. Then I happened to meet your friend Wynewyk in the Queen’s Head one night. I bewailed my plight to his sympathetic ear, and he gave me seven marks. I could not believe my good luck!’
A Vein Of Deceit: The Fifteenth Chronicle Of Matthew Bartholomew (The Chronicles of Matthew Bartholomew) Page 30
