‘These are not the nuns from Ely who want to spy on us,’ stated Tysilia, inadvertently revealing why the day-room was not in its usual state of comfortable debauchery. ‘These are Brother Michael and his two friends, who are not as fat as him and who therefore do not look like Benedictines.’
‘Nicely announced, Tysilia,’ said Eve dryly.
‘Nuns from Ely?’ asked Michael, raising questioning eyebrows.
‘We are to be inspected by high-ranking abbesses,’ replied Eve. ‘What do you think they will say when they find us mending shirts for beggars and everyone wearing the prescribed habits with no personal deviations?’
‘They will think that you had wind of their visit and that you have prepared accordingly,’ said Michael. ‘But if you really want to fool them, you should appoint a new gate-keeper for the day, or you will find all your efforts have been in vain.’
Eve looked thoughtful. ‘You are right. Tysilia should spend the duration of the visit in the kitchen.’
‘A cellar might be a better choice,’ muttered Bartholomew. ‘She can still speak in a kitchen.’
‘I can sew, too,’ announced Tysilia. She threw herself on to a cushion, careful to treat the visitors to a flash of her legs as she did so, then held up a scrap of linen that was covered in clumsy stitches.
‘Very nice,’ said Michael ambiguously. ‘But what is your sewing supposed to be?’
‘Be?’ asked Tysilia, frowning in puzzlement. ‘Why should it “be” anything?’
‘She sounds like a realist,’ muttered Timothy. ‘Questioning the existence of things.’
‘Hardly,’ said Eve, waving a hand to indicate that Tysilia should retire to a window-seat, where she would not be able to interrupt every few moments with her peculiar announcements. ‘We are still learning basic table manners, and have a long way to go before we graduate to philosophy.’
‘Is she really as dense as she seems?’ asked Timothy baldly. Bartholomew winced and cast an anxious glance at Matilde, afraid that Timothy’s question might put her in danger if Tysilia suspected that her disguise was being questioned.
‘No,’ said Eve shortly. ‘She is trying very hard to be intelligent at the moment.’
‘She is not playing games with you?’ pressed Timothy.
Eve shook her head. ‘I thought the same when I first met her: no one could be as dim-witted as Tysilia and survive to adulthood. But I have spent a long time watching her, mostly when she thought she was alone, and I am certain her gross stupidity is genuine. Why do you ask?’
‘No reason,’ said Michael, unable to resist a victorious glance at Bartholomew. The physician remained sceptical, still thinking about Tysilia’s notion that they should be looking for more than one killer. He happened to think that she was right: it would be difficult to overpower a man, tie him up and hang him singled-handed.
‘Is there word from my kinsman?’ asked Matilde in the croaking voice she reserved for Mistress Horner’s use, fiddling with the ring on her finger to indicate that she wanted to talk to them alone. She levered her bulk from her cushions and made her way unsteadily towards Bartholomew. ‘Did you give him the message I dictated to you?’
‘I did,’ said Bartholomew. ‘And Robin of Grantchester sends greetings in return.’
‘Good,’ said Matilde, steering him towards an alcove where they could at least speak without being overheard, even if everyone could still see them. ‘Here is a penny for your trouble.’
‘Thank you,’ said Bartholomew, gazing at the brown coin she pressed into his palm.
‘My standing here dropped dramatically when they thought I was related to Robin,’ said Matilde, her eyes bright with mischief. ‘You deserve to be paid only a penny.’
‘Have you learned anything?’ asked Bartholomew urgently. ‘We do not have much time.’
‘Nothing. Tysilia rises late, has the manners of a peasant and is the most active member of the convent during the night. Sometimes she says things that are so stupid they are actually quite clever.’
Bartholomew nodded. ‘Michael and Timothy believe she is exactly what she appears to be.’
‘So I gathered. And they may yet be right.’
‘What have you learned about the other members of the convent? Tysilia is not the only one who might be involved in something sinister.’
‘Eve Wasteneys is a clever and astute woman; Dame Martyn is a drunkard who barely knows what day of the week it is. I have been trying to watch Eve, but it is difficult, because she spends a good deal of time alone.’
‘Why?’
‘Dame Martyn is incapable of running the convent, and so Eve does most of the work. I imagine a good portion of her time is spent juggling the finances, but I cannot be certain. She may well be organising meetings where Walcote left off.’
‘I want you to leave here,’ said Bartholomew. ‘Today. Tell them Robin has summoned you.’
‘But I have not yet done what I came to do,’ objected Matilde.
‘I do not care,’ said Bartholomew. ‘A student was murdered at Michaelhouse last night, and Michael’s room was ransacked. I have the feeling the killer knows we are closing in on him, and I want you well away from here.’
‘I will just stay until tomorrow,’ said Matilde. ‘It will be Saturday, and—’
‘No,’ said Bartholomew. ‘Leave today. I will call on you this evening at home. If you are not there, I shall come here to fetch you.’
Matilde, seeing the determination in his face, reluctantly agreed, and Bartholomew left her to rejoin the others. Eve waved a gracious hand to indicate that her guests were to be seated near the fire. ‘How might I help you gentlemen? I would offer you wine, but you will understand that I would sooner you were gone before these nuns arrive. I do not want them jumping to the wrong conclusions.’
‘Then I will be brief,’ said Michael. ‘I want to know about Dame Martyn’s nephew.’
‘Which one?’ asked Eve uncertainly.
‘How many does she have?’ asked Bartholomew.
Eve shot him a playful grin. ‘It depends on how much trouble they are in for wandering along the Barnwell Causeway after dark.’
Michael sighed impatiently. ‘Lynne. He was here when we first visited you.’
‘Oh, him,’ said Tysilia, bored with her sewing and coming to join them. She knelt down and began to pet a cat that lay in front of the fire. Her attentions were rough, and the animal’s fur was vigorously combed the wrong way. It was not long before it fled to the sanctuary of Matilde’s lap. ‘Lynne is a dull youth. He lives with the Carmelites on Milne Street.’
‘What was he doing here the first time we came?’ asked Michael.
Eve’s expression was unreadable. ‘He came to visit his aunt.’
‘You mean he came to avail himself of your services?’ asked Timothy bluntly.
Eve smiled enigmatically. ‘He came to visit his aunt,’ she repeated.
‘I want to know more about these meetings that Walcote arranged,’ said Michael, seeing that Eve was not prepared to be more forthcoming about Lynne. ‘I want to know exactly how many of them there were, and I want to know exactly when they occurred.’
‘But I have told you all I know,’ said Eve with a sigh. ‘How many more times do you want me to say the same thing? Walcote hired our chamber eight or nine times. I observed several men whom I thought I recognised and whose names I have already told you. I do not know what they discussed, and I cannot recall specific dates.’
‘Dame Martyn did not tell the King’s Commissioners about the money Walcote gave her,’ supplied Tysilia helpfully. ‘She did not want to give them any of it for tax, so she never wrote anything down in case they saw it.’
‘Thank you, Tysilia,’ said Eve coldly. ‘Now be quiet, and do your sewing.’
‘Can you recall just one date?’ pressed Michael, turning his attention back to Eve.
Eve shook her head. ‘Although I would not have mentioned it myself, Tysilia is right. We did not record t
he money Walcote paid us, because we did not want to be penalised for it when the tax collectors come. Therefore we have no way to check dates and times. All I know is that the second one was around late November, because we had been able to mend the roof – using gold coins I grabbed from Master Runham’s icon. It was still leaking when he first came.’
‘And times?’ urged Michael. ‘How late?’
‘Well after dark, but not before matins. I suppose they were all some time between nine o’clock and midnight.’
‘And you never eavesdropped, to try to learn why the Junior Proctor and the heads of the religious Orders met here in the middle of the night?’
Eve shook her head firmly. ‘What if I had been caught with my ear to the door? Walcote would not have used our room again, and that money was very useful. Too much was at stake for me to risk it for mere curiosity.’
‘I listened,’ said Tysilia, beaming at them. She ignored Eve’s heavy sigh of exasperation at her orders for silence being disobeyed. ‘I wanted to know when they would be finished, so that I could be ready for them when they came out.’
Bartholomew saw Matilde hiding her laughter by pretending to inspect her sewing at close range, so that it covered her face.
‘They chattered endlessly about whether things have names, and they talked about mending the Great Bridge, because Prior Lincolne once fell through it,’ Tysilia went on. ‘He is a fat man, like you, Brother, and I expect he was too heavy for it.’
‘This is becoming intolerable,’ muttered Michael. ‘I am not fat.’
‘What else did you hear?’ asked Timothy, addressing her reluctantly.
‘Nothing. I was bored and went to bed,’ said Tysilia carelessly. ‘They were a lot of gasbags, repeating themselves and muttering about tedious things. The only interesting one was that young man with the nice fingernails. But he only came to the last meeting – the one that was held a day or two before Walcote died.’
‘And who might he be?’ asked Michael, trying to imagine which of the religious heads paid attention to his manicure. Neither he nor Bartholomew recalled any of them as notably clean.
‘He has good calves and a handsome face,’ offered Tysilia.
‘That is not very helpful,’ said Michael. ‘How are we supposed to guess who came to these meetings based on the fact that you found him attractive?’
‘Well, I suppose I could tell you his name,’ suggested Tysilia. ‘Would that help?’
‘For God’s sake, woman,’ snapped Michael, exasperated. ‘Tell us!’
‘His name is Richard Stanmore,’ said Tysilia, smiling her vacant smile.
‘What do you think, Matthew?’ asked Timothy as they left St Radegund’s Convent and started to walk along the causeway towards Barnwell Priory, where Michael suggested they might find Lynne. ‘Is your nephew the kind of man to embroil himself in a plot to kill Brother Michael the instant he arrives home?’
‘I have no idea,’ said Bartholomew bitterly. ‘I no longer know him. But when all is said and done, he loves his parents dearly, and I cannot see him becoming involved in something that might hurt them – as his being implicated in a murder certainly would. But I know that Tysilia is telling the truth when she says she knows him.’
‘She is?’ asked Michael, surprised. ‘How do you know?’
‘Because Richard had Matilde’s pendant,’ replied Bartholomew. ‘She mentioned last time that Tysilia had stolen it, and then I recognised it when Richard pulled it from his pocket in the Cardinal’s Cap this morning. Tysilia must have given it to him.’
Michael nodded slowly. ‘You are doubtless right.’
Bartholomew sighed as a few more pieces of the puzzle came together. ‘I should have seen this before. Eve said she took Tysilia to Bedford, to keep her occupied for a few days, and Bedford is between Oxford and Cambridge. We all know that travellers gather in large parties when they take to the roads. It is obvious that Richard joined Tysilia’s group, and that is how they met.’
‘Are you sure about this?’ asked Timothy uncertainly.
‘No,’ admitted Bartholomew. ‘But Eve told us Tysilia misbehaved on the homeward journey, which was about two weeks ago. Richard arrived in Cambridge at about the same time.’
Michael thought for a moment, then said, ‘This means that Tysilia met Richard at least twice – once in Bedford and once when he attended Walcote’s last meeting here. However, you treated Dame Martyn for drunkenness the morning after Walcote was killed, and Tysilia was there. Surely you would have noticed had they recognised each other?’
‘Then there are two possibilities,’ said Bartholomew, after a moment of thought. ‘First, it may suggest that Tysilia and Richard did not acknowledge their prior acquaintance for sinister reasons. Or, second, it may be because Richard wore a scarf over his nose to mask the smell of pigs; Tysilia did not see his face and so did not recognise him.’
Timothy raised his eyebrows. ‘The first theory suggests she is your cunning demon; the second that she is even more lacking in wits than I imagined.’
Michael frowned. ‘If Richard had tampered with her on their Bedford journey, he would not want Tysilia squealing a delighted greeting in front of all those disapproving nuns. It would be in his interest to keep himself hidden.’
‘It sounded to me as though Richard had considerable knowledge of St Radegund’s,’ said Timothy thoughtfully. ‘This morning he referred to the nuns as sirens, about whom he had heard rumours. I deduce that Tysilia is telling the truth, and that Richard is more familiar with the convent than he wants us to know.’
‘But why would Richard be involved in these meetings?’ asked Bartholomew, not liking the notion of his nephew being involved in the plot. ‘Everyone else was the head of a religious Order. Richard is certainly no cleric.’
‘No,’ said Michael. ‘But it seems he was involved in these meetings some way or another. We shall just have to leave it to him to tell us why. And there is something else I want to know, too. Ever since he arrived, he has been showing off his new clothes and his new horse. I want to know how he pays for all these things.’
‘The proceeds of crime,’ said Timothy darkly. ‘But I do not think his offences are related to Walcote’s murder. I remain certain that the motive for his death was theft. Someone stole his purse, which was later recovered empty. What more evidence do you need?’
‘What about the meetings?’ asked Bartholomew.
‘A group of religious heads chatting about the Great Bridge and philosophy?’ countered Timothy dismissively. ‘How can such things result in murder?’
‘But Morden said they also discussed the plot to kill Michael,’ said Bartholomew. ‘And what about this alleged theft from the Carmelite Friary? That was mooted, too. Perhaps Walcote was using it to discredit Michael so that he could be Senior Proctor instead.’
‘I do not believe that,’ said Michael immediately. ‘Walcote did not have sufficient presence to take on a man of my standing in the University. Who do you think people would follow: a weak Austin, who is pleasant but ineffectual; or me, who has been Senior Proctor for years and whom everyone likes and respects?’
‘I am not sure everyone would see the alternatives quite in those terms,’ said Timothy diplomatically. ‘They may have seen it as a choice between a weak man, who could be manipulated to their advantage, or a man with known connections to Oxford, who is planning to give away our property to further his own career.’
‘That is not why I am dealing with Heytesbury—’ began Michael angrily.
Timothy patted his arm reassuringly. ‘I am merely voicing an opinion that may be expressed by others. Your years as Senior Proctor have not made you popular with everyone. You have made enemies as well as friends.’
Michael knocked at the gate of Barnwell Priory, and the three men were admitted by Nicholas, who was still ravaged by grief for Walcote. His red-rimmed eyes indicated that he had been crying, and the dirt that was deeply impregnated in his skin and under his fingernails sh
owed that he had been engaged in manual labour in the gardens, perhaps to secure himself some privacy and be alone with his unhappiness.
‘Just the person I wanted to see,’ said Michael, taking the man by his arm and leading him to a quiet corner. ‘I am no further forward in catching Walcote’s killer. I know you two were close, and I want you to tell me anything – no matter how small or insignificant it may seem – that may help us.’
‘I have told you all I know,’ said Nicholas miserably. ‘I have no idea what business Walcote was involved in, which is just as well, given what happened last night.’
‘Why?’ demanded Michael. ‘What happened?’
‘Someone gained access to our grounds,’ explained Nicholas. ‘It must have been nearer to dawn than midnight, because our cockerel had already started to stir. But it was still an hour or two before we were due to rise.’
Michael exchanged a significant glance with Bartholomew. Their own intruders had been busy during the first part of the night, and now it seemed others had been in the Austin Priory near dawn. Were they the same people?
‘And?’ pressed Michael. ‘What did this intruder do?’
‘A lay-brother was stabbed,’ said Nicholas. ‘He is in the infirmary being cared for by Father Urban from the leper hospital.’
‘We will speak with this lay-brother,’ declared Michael, still holding Nicholas’s arm as he began to walk. ‘Take us to him.’
‘I am not sure whether you will be allowed into the infirmary,’ said Nicholas, alarmed by the way he was being steered in a direction he did not want to go. ‘It is full of sick people.’
‘I will be admitted,’ said Michael confidently, dragging the unhappy Nicholas along with him as he made his way through the church. ‘Now, tell me what this intruder did.’
‘He entered Prior Ralph’s solar, and ransacked the chest where we keep all our valuable documents,’ said Nicholas. ‘And then he left.’
‘Was anything stolen?’ asked Bartholomew.
Nicholas shrugged. ‘Prior Ralph says not. But although we own land, we are not really wealthy and we do not have much gold and silver for thieves to take.’
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