A Vein Of Deceit: The Fifteenth Chronicle Of Matthew Bartholomew (The Chronicles of Matthew Bartholomew)

by Gregory, Susanna

  ‘Now we cannot ask what they have plotted,’ he said, alarmed. ‘Their plan may yet succeed.’

  ‘How?’ asked Michael hoarsely, rubbing his throat with one hand and holding out the other for Bartholomew to help him up. ‘They are hardly in a position to act now.’

  ‘They were not here to “act”,’ shouted Bartholomew, heart pounding. ‘They were here to watch what happened – to enjoy the spectacle. Oh, no!’

  ‘What?’ asked Michael fearfully, leaning against the buttress to catch his breath.

  ‘Wine,’ said Bartholomew, white-faced. ‘Will some be provided at the end of the debate? For every scholar in the University?’

  Michael gaped at him in horror, then whipped around and began running towards the church door. Bartholomew followed, stopping only to order three beadles to help Cynric secure the Gosses.

  Inside, the clamour of discordant voices was loud enough to hurt the ears. The refreshments sat on a table in the north aisle. Bartholomew aimed for them, but Michael found his way barred by a horrified Junior Proctor.

  ‘Thank God you are here, Brother,’ gasped Cleydon. ‘The two sides are on the verge of a huge fight and I am powerless to stop it.’

  ‘There he is!’ cried a familiar voice. It was Warden Powys, and he was pointing at Michael. ‘There is the man who prefers to let College business take precedence over his University duties. He has been in Michaelhouse, drinking claret with his Master, when he should have been here.’

  ‘Is this true, Brother?’ asked Chancellor Tynkell nervously. He was a timid nonentity, wholly incapable of calming the anger that was erupting all around him.

  ‘Of course it is not true,’ bellowed Deynman indignantly. ‘King’s Hall is just trying to make trouble for Michaelhouse.’

  As he headed for the north aisle, Bartholomew saw the scholars had arranged themselves into two distinct factions – those who sided with Michaelhouse, and those who preferred King’s Hall. He knew from past experience that it was bad news when a debate moved from academic topics and began to air other grievances. It meant the audience was itching for a fight. Powys seemed to know it, too.

  ‘Michael should resign,’ he shouted provocatively. ‘He has accrued too much power, and I have no confidence in his rule. I demand he steps down as Senior Proctor.’

  There was a cacophony of yells, some howling support for Michael and others bawling that Powys made a very good point. The clamour was deafening.

  ‘Powys is right,’ hollered Eltisle of Bene’t College, who had never liked the monk. He had a shrill voice, and it carried over the others. ‘We have all been burgled over the last few weeks, but Brother Michael has made no effort to catch the culprits.’

  ‘On the contrary,’ boomed Michael, scrambling on to the dais next to the Chancellor. He held an imperious hand aloft, and such was the force of his personality that it immediately quelled the din. ‘I have just arrested Gosse and his sister on charges of theft and murder.’

  His words were met with a startled silence, which was followed at once by a clamour of questions and cheers. Bartholomew reached the refreshments and looked at the three large casks of wine that were sitting ready to be poured. Had Gosse poisoned them all, or just one?

  He could not afford to take risks with his colleagues’ lives, so he pulled the stoppers from all three and watched their contents splatter to the floor. Fortunately, the rumpus caused by Michael’s declaration drowned the sound it made. By the time the din subsided, the kegs were virtually empty.

  ‘You have Gosse in custody?’ It was Powys asking, and he sounded worried.

  ‘They are being taken to my prison as I speak,’ affirmed Michael haughtily. ‘Of course, I was deeply disappointed to miss the debate, but sacrifices must be made. I have always put duty before pleasure, and catching criminals who have harmed my University is a sacred responsibility, as far as I am concerned.’

  ‘I am glad you have him, Brother,’ called Rougham of Gonville Hall warmly. ‘He stole three gold candlesticks from us.’

  ‘And a silver paten from us,’ added Master Wisbeche of Peterhouse.

  ‘I shall do my utmost to see they are returned to you,’ promised Michael. ‘Meanwhile, I insist you all return to your debate, and leave the unpleasant work to me.’

  Deynman released a sudden cheer, which was taken up by other Michaelhouse men, and soon the whole church resounded with it. Friends surged forward to clap Michael on the back, although no one from King’s Hall was among them.

  Bartholomew shook the barrels, to make sure they were drained to the dregs, then backed away and edged towards the door. The gathering could turn against him just as quickly as it had turned to favour Michael – no scholar liked to be deprived of free wine.

  ‘You transformed yourself from villain to hero,’ he remarked, when the monk’s path crossed his own. ‘It was cleverly done.’

  Michael preened. ‘And Powys is furious. Look at his dark face!’

  ‘It will not stay dark for long,’ warned Cynric worriedly, appearing beside them. ‘Idoma recovered her senses as we were taking her to the cells. We could not hold her, and she has escaped.’

  EPILOGUE

  Two weeks later, Bartholomew and Michael were again travelling the road that led to Suffolk. The physician was reluctant to leave his pupils a second time, but Deynman had managed a surprisingly good job of supervising them during the earlier jaunt, and had offered to do it again. And it would be the calm before the storm as far as the students were concerned, because Bartholomew intended to keep them so busy for the rest of the term that no one would have time to think, let alone indulge in spying or stealing his medicines.

  It was a pretty day, with the crisp scent of late autumn in the air. The trees were red and gold, and showers of leaves drifted across the road each time the wind blew. A pheasant croaked from deep in the woods, and a cow lowed in a nearby meadow. Bartholomew tipped his head back and took a deep breath, savouring the smell of damp leaves and freshly tilled soil. Unfortunately, his horse objected to the movement, and skittered sideways.

  ‘Grip with your knees,’ said Michael automatically. ‘And shorten the reins.’

  ‘I was wrong,’ said Bartholomew, when he had regained control of the beast. He noticed Cynric and the beadles were riding well back, partly to give the scholars the opportunity to talk without being overheard, but mostly to stay away from the menace the physician represented while on horseback. ‘About Wynewyk.’

  ‘We all were,’ said Michael softly. ‘It just took you longer to accept the truth.’

  ‘He was a thief and a murderer,’ said Bartholomew, still barely able to believe it. ‘I kept thinking there would be an innocent explanation for the wrong he did, but there was not.’

  ‘Poor Joan,’ said Michael. ‘If Carbo had not made his so-called discovery of diamonds, she and Wynewyk would probably never have met again. Their affair would have been forgotten – Joan would have given Elyan his heir, and Wynewyk would never have known about the child.’

  ‘So what happened?’ asked Bartholomew tiredly. ‘What made him poison her?’

  ‘I suspect he saw her in Cambridge, and assumed she was there to make trouble for him – to reveal that he, a scholar, had fathered a child. In other words, he judged her by his own rotten standards. But, of course, she would have been as eager as he to conceal what had happened.’

  Bartholomew closed his eyes. ‘So he gave her pennyroyal, and he did it without compunction.’

  Michael nodded. ‘Valence told me he heard Wynewyk and Tesdale discussing that particular herb the day before Joan died. Tesdale almost certainly told him what to use.’

  Bartholomew kept his eyes closed. ‘It was my supply that killed Joan. Edith will never forgive me.’

  ‘She knows it was not your fault, Matt,’ said Michael kindly. ‘She liked Wynewyk, too, and was appalled when she heard how he deceived us.’

  ‘Did he deceive us? He borrowed money to make arrangements with Luneday, d�
��Audley and Elyan, but there is no proof that he intended to keep the proceeds for himself.’

  ‘Actually, there is. Clippesby discovered more hidden documents in Wynewyk’s room, in the chimney this time. There were arrangements to buy a big house in London, fine new clothes and deposits to be left with a moneylender – a kind of pension. Apparently, he had a lover who was going to join him there, because there are several fond references to a man named Osa.’

  Bartholomew’s eyes snapped open. ‘Not Osa Gosse? But Wynewyk talked about him the night he was ill – when the almond posset upset him – and he did not describe him in very flattering terms.’

  Michael ignored him. ‘Apparently, Wynewyk and Osa met in February, when Wynewyk travelled to Suffolk to inspect Luneday’s pigs – and impregnated Joan, into the bargain – and they embarked on a relationship. He always did have a weakness for ruffians, but the correspondence indicates he was deeply in love this time.’

  Bartholomew frowned. ‘But the night he was unwell, he told me he had only met Gosse the previous week. He said Gosse had accused him of seduction, and was offended by it.’

  ‘He was lying. Reliable witnesses have since informed me that he and Gosse were often together. And the night he misled you was his first attempt at suicide. Tesdale said so, and I think he was telling the truth about that. You see, there is some indication in Wynewyk’s letters that Gosse had recently spurned him – that he was refusing to go to London.’

  Bartholomew tried to recall what else Wynewyk had said. ‘He told me he and Gosse had some sort of spat that turned violent. Gosse’s servant was killed when daggers were drawn.’

  ‘The Carmelite novices saved him from a trouncing and there was a fatality – you gave me a verdict, if you recall. But I suspect Wynewyk had realised by then that he was on a slippery slope to nowhere: he was sans lover, he had taken too many liberties with the College accounts to put right, he was responsible for our Bible Scholar’s death …’

  ‘Gosse killed Kelyng,’ said Bartholomew stubbornly. ‘They fell over each other when they were spying on Elyan’s mine.’

  ‘But who ordered him there?’ demanded Michael harshly. ‘Wynewyk was a villain, Matt. He even tried to kill Langelee, and when that failed and he knew his game was over, he ate nuts in earnest. But Tesdale got him first.’

  ‘But why kill himself? Why not go to London?’

  ‘I think he could not bring himself to leave Cambridge in the end,’ replied Michael. ‘But it was all for greed. For these wretched diamonds – Carbo’s so-called magic stones.’

  ‘And the irony is that the whole thing was a hoax. First, diamonds do not occur in England – and they certainly do not appear in seams of coal in Suffolk. And second, the rocks in the bag Carbo stole from Gosse were not diamonds anyway.’

  The last point was news to Michael. His jaw dropped.

  ‘They were, Matt! They were raw diamonds – uncut, and so unfamiliar to most of us. But they scratched glass, and everyone knows—’

  ‘Many minerals scratch glass, Brother.’

  Michael regarded him thoughtfully. ‘What about the sack of pebbles Joan buried in Edith’s garden?’ Edith had noticed freshly turned soil, and asked Bartholomew to investigate, although he and Michael both knew what they would find. Joan had buried it there, in the hope that its disappearance would prevent men like Wynewyk, Paxton, Warden Powys and d’Audley from harming her child.

  ‘Poor Joan,’ said Bartholomew. ‘No wonder she was distressed for the last few weeks of her life. She knew she had to dispose of the “diamonds” – the ones the husband she loved hoped would make him rich, and that she knew really belonged to Osa Gosse. It cannot have been an easy decision to make.’

  But Michael was more interested in the physician’s claim that the precious gems were a hoax. ‘Can I assume from your remarks that you performed some kind of experiment on them?’ he asked.

  ‘I borrowed a real diamond and a ruby from Edith, and both scratched what Joan had buried – which means Elyan’s stones are softer. I did some reading, and deduced that they are actually rock crystal, which is quarried by the bucket-load in Greece.’

  Michael sighed. ‘I should not be surprised, given that the originator of the tale was Carbo – a madman. Elyan was a fool for believing him, and everyone else was a fool for believing Elyan.’

  ‘According to Sheriff Tulyet, who returned today, a box of rock crystal was stolen from a Suffolk jeweller last summer. Clearly, Gosse is the culprit, and no doubt he intended to pass them off as raw diamonds at some point in the future. Just as Wynewyk tried to do.’

  ‘But Carbo found them first, and told Elyan they had come from his mine.’

  ‘I doubt Carbo lied – he probably believed it himself. Poor Carbo! It is a pity, because in other ways he was regaining his wits – he came to Cambridge to expose his felonious brother. And Neubold killed him for it.’

  ‘Elyan is no innocent, either,’ added Michael. ‘He told Gosse the “diamonds” had been distributed around the University, so Gosse would leave him alone and pick on someone else. Did I tell you he has gone on a pilgrimage to Walsingham, to atone for all his sins?’

  Bartholomew nodded. ‘The whole affair was horrible. It led Gosse to kill Kelyng, Margery and d’Audley; Wynewyk to kill himself – with Tesdale’s help; and d’Audley to hang Neubold. It brought Wynewyk into fatal contact with Joan; and induced Gosse and Idoma to try to poison the entire University.’

  ‘And Risleye was killed by the duplicitous Tesdale,’ finished Michael. ‘Incidentally, in an effort to save himself, Gosse became very verbose. He told me King’s Hall had hired him and his sister.’

  ‘Hired them to do what?’

  ‘To break into Michaelhouse and retrieve documents about the diamonds from Wynewyk. But they could not find any, so they made off with the Stanton Cups instead. He also said they were paid to follow us to Suffolk and dispatch us there, because King’s Hall was worried that we planned to take up where Wynewyk had left off.’

  Bartholomew regarded him in horror. ‘Do you believe him?’

  Michael was silent for a long time. ‘Gosse also said that King’s Hall promised him a lot of money – enough to buy a decent house in our town and enjoy a life of luxury. Powys assures me that his College does not have that sort of cash to hand. But who knows the truth? I do not.’

  Bartholomew shook his head, sickened. ‘So King’s Hall tried to murder us? Paxtone and Powys? I thought they were our friends!’

  ‘They were not friends once the prospect of diamonds appeared,’ said Michael bleakly.

  ‘But they must have been aware that we knew nothing about these wretched gemstones – they had a spy in our midst, after all.’

  ‘Risleye. But we were suspicious of him – or I was, at least – and took care never to say anything we did not want him to hear. He was next to useless to King’s Hall.’

  Bartholomew thought about his student. ‘I should have known something was amiss when he and Paxtone remained on friendly terms. How could I have been so blind?’

  ‘Because you are too willing to see the good in people, as I have told you before. You need to develop a more cynical attitude to your fellows – present company excepted, of course.’

  ‘Did Shropham know about the diamonds?’ asked Bartholomew, not wanting to think too much about his colleagues’ shortcomings. He had liked the men from King’s Hall and was shocked by what the investigation had taught him about them.

  ‘No – just Powys and Paxtone. Did I tell you Powys has resigned as Warden? And Paxtone plans to leave Cambridge and practise medicine in Lincoln?’

  Bartholomew nodded unhappily, but made no other reply.

  ‘Gosse also claimed it was King’s Hall’s idea to poison the wine at the debate, but I know he was lying about that. Powys turned out to be corrupt and greedy, but he does not bear a grudge against the entire University. That particular piece of nastiness belonged to Gosse and Idoma alone.’

  ‘Good
,’ said Bartholomew bleakly, supposing it was some comfort.

  Michael tried to lighten the mood. ‘However, one good thing came out of this wretched affair: I was spared taking part in the Blood Relic debate.’

  Bartholomew regarded him askance. ‘I thought you were disappointed about that? You wanted the chance to show everyone that you are bishop material.’

  ‘I did – but I would have failed. Thelnetham was ruthlessly savaged by the Franciscans, and he is better versed in the dispute than me. I had a very narrow escape.’

  It was late by the time Bartholomew and Michael arrived in Suffolk. They stopped in Haverhill first, to visit Agnys, and found her entertaining Luneday. Both were lonely, with Margery dead and Elyan on pilgrimage, and had taken to keeping each other company of an evening. Agnys was teaching Luneday how to cheat at dice, and she was learning a great deal about pigs in return.

  The next morning, she took the scholars to the mine, where Kelyng was excavated and placed in a chest, ready to be carried home. Then Bartholomew went to inspect Lizzie: her humours were awry, and Luneday would not let the scholars leave until the physician had examined her.

  Bartholomew did not mind. The loans Wynewyk had made to d’Audley and Elyan had been less than scrupulous, but the deeds in Margery’s satchel revealed that the one to Luneday was perfectly honourable. And Michaelhouse, not Wynewyk, had stood to profit from it. The physician wondered whether Wynewyk had negotiated it out of guilt – that he had wanted his College to have something after he had disappeared to London with the riches arising from the diamonds he had planned to sell.

  While Bartholomew and Luneday were busy, Michael went to Withersfield’s quiet churchyard. He found Carbo’s grave – Agnys had arranged for his return to the village of his birth – and scraped a hole in the freshly turned soil. Then he reached into his saddlebag and extracted the stones that had caused so much trouble. He dropped them into the hollow and replaced all as he had found it, hoping they would never resurface to cause trouble in the future.