The Habit of Murder: The Twenty Third Chronicle of Matthew Bartholomew (Chronicles of Matthew Bartholomew Book 23)

by Susanna Gregory

Chagrined, they did as they were told. Heselbech shook his head fairly quickly, but Langelee persisted, his face screwed up tight as he struggled with his memory. But eventually he opened his eyes and gave a regretful shrug.

  ‘All I can tell you for certain is that I delivered Heselbech to the chapel, where he rang the bell. But then he fell over and went to sleep on the floor, so I removed his boots, covered him with a blanket, and returned to our quarters in the priory.’

  ‘But that is untrue,’ said Michael. ‘If you had gone straight back, you would have arrived while I was saying nocturns. But you did not appear until at least half an hour after I had finished.’

  Langelee blushed and his eyes were furtive. ‘If you must know, I had to stop to be sick, but please do not tell anyone – we cannot have the world knowing that Michaelhouse’s Master cannot hold his drink. Our recent economies mean I am no longer used to large quantities of ale.’

  Michael turned back to Heselbech. ‘You know this castle and its people. What do you think happened here?’

  Heselbech stared at Margery’s cloak-covered form. ‘I really have no idea. However, I can tell you that she was the sweetest, kindest lady in the world, and whoever killed her will be damned for all eternity. I cannot tell you anything about Roos, because I had never met him before yesterday.’

  ‘There are faint marks on Roos’s arms and chest,’ said Bartholomew, ‘which suggest he may have been involved in some sort of tussle. However, it was not with Margery – her only injury is the single stab wound.’

  ‘Which means what?’ asked Michael.

  ‘That she was killed quickly and cleanly, but he was not,’ replied Bartholomew. ‘It appears that he tried to fight his – or their – attacker off.’

  ‘Did she have any enemies?’ asked Michael of Heselbech. ‘Anyone who was jealous of her popularity, or who resented her kindly nature?’

  ‘Margery was loved by all,’ stated Heselbech firmly. ‘So you will find that the motive for this horrible crime lies with Roos, not her. He was a member of Swinescroft Hostel, for a start.’

  ‘What does that have to do with anything?’

  ‘It is full of nasty, bitter old men – the kind who encouraged Badew to delay signing the Clare Hall quit-claim for ten long years. Poor Margery. All I can think is that she was in the wrong place at the wrong time.’ Heselbech glanced around him. ‘Very wrong. She should not have been down here with him or anyone else. It is dangerous.’

  ‘Is it?’ gulped Michael uneasily. ‘Why?’

  ‘It can flood suddenly if the valves on the roof are opened,’ explained Heselbech. ‘Fortunately, people know I am down here now, so we are quite safe.’

  Bartholomew was not so sure about that, given what had happened to the Austin’s predecessor. He took a step towards the stairs, thinking the cistern would be an awful place to die.

  ‘You say Margery should not have been down here, Heselbech,’ said Langelee. ‘But she was the steward’s wife – she could go where she pleased in his domain. Roos, however, should have been in the Bell tavern, so his presence is more of a mystery.’

  ‘True,’ agreed Heselbech. ‘However, Roos seemed to know his way around the castle yesterday – I saw him striding along inside the palace at one point – which suggests that he has been here before. But how could he have done? No one would have invited him, which leads me to wonder if he invaded on the sly – not just last night, but on other occasions, too.’

  ‘That is an interesting observation.’ Michael turned to Bartholomew. ‘Were they killed here or elsewhere?’

  ‘Here,’ replied Bartholomew. ‘If they had been carried down the steps, there would be bumps and scrapes on their bodies. The culprit dispatched them here, then shoved them in the water, expecting them to sink. Unfortunately, he chose the wrong spot to do it, because there is a sill just below this pavement. Look.’

  He took Langelee’s sword, and demonstrated that the water was only knee deep for the first two or three feet. Then the shelf ended, and it would be forty feet down to the bottom. It meant that the bodies had not sunk out of sight, as had evidently been intended, and the culprit was no doubt horrified that his crime had been discovered so quickly.

  ‘The boot,’ said Langelee in sudden understanding. ‘Roos was missing one. Is that what plugged the pipes and caused the alarm to be raised?’

  ‘Probably,’ said Bartholomew. ‘And thank God it did, or the bodies would have rotted in the water. You know from personal experience what a devastating effect that can have on the health of those who drink it.’

  Michael stared hard at Heselbech. ‘A killer stalks your town, and his victims now include not only a fellow Austin, but a lady everyone loved. You must have some ideas as to suspects.’

  ‘Several,’ shrugged Heselbech. ‘But none whose guilt I can prove. The squires, especially Nuport, are vicious louts who need a stronger man than Albon to tame them. Then there are Thomas and Ella, whose pranks often end in tears—’

  ‘They certainly ended in tears for Talmach,’ remarked Langelee. ‘Her unloved husband.’

  Heselbech nodded. ‘You might want to look at Bonde as well – he is an evil fellow, who has committed murder before, while the Red Devil should never have been allowed to gain such a firm foothold at the castle. But accusations are nothing without evidence, which I do not have.’

  When Bartholomew and Heselbech manoeuvred Margery up the steps and out into the bailey, it was to find a guard of honour waiting to receive her. Servants and courtiers alike hurried forward to take the body from them and lay it gently on a bier, after which it was borne away in respectful silence. Then the three Michaelhouse men retreated to a quiet spot behind the kitchens to discuss what they had learned and how they should proceed.

  ‘I know you want to catch Roos’s killer, Brother,’ said Langelee worriedly, ‘but can you not forget your responsibilities, just this once? An enquiry will damage our chances of winning benefactors, because we cannot recruit them and chase murderers. There is not enough time.’

  ‘Then you concentrate on winning new patrons while Matt and I find the killer,’ determined Michael. ‘I cannot return to Cambridge without at least having tried to see justice done.’

  ‘But what happens if I worm a donation from someone who then transpires to be the culprit?’ objected Langelee. ‘It would break my heart to give it back.’

  ‘You would have to,’ said Bartholomew firmly. ‘It would be tainted, and would almost certainly come back to haunt us in the future.’

  ‘I agree,’ said Michael. ‘Which is another good reason for investigating – so we can lay our hands on our hearts, and say we did our utmost to ensure that any money we take home is clean. So let us begin. What more can you tell us about the bodies, Matt? Start with who was dispatched first.’

  ‘It is impossible to say. However, the stab wounds are identical in size and shape, which suggests the same weapon was used. It is indicative of a single assailant.’

  ‘Anything else?’

  ‘We all saw Roos and Margery talking to each other yesterday. I thought it odd at the time that one of the Lady’s most bitter enemies should hobnob with the wife of her steward …’

  ‘It looked to me as though they were arguing,’ said Langelee. ‘Perhaps Roos killed her, then dispatched himself from remorse.’

  ‘Never,’ said Michael, shaking his head. ‘I knew Roos – he was not a remorseful man.’

  ‘I want to say that they cannot possibly share a connection to each other,’ said Bartholomew. ‘Not just because they hailed from different sides of a bitter feud between the Lady and Badew, but for their characters – hers as a kindly soul, and his as a nasty old lecher …’

  ‘I sense a “but”,’ said Michael.

  Bartholomew nodded. ‘But I found something that suggests they knew each other rather well. She wore an onyx ring engraved with a bird. Here it is.’

  ‘You took it?’ gulped Michael in alarm. ‘Lord! I hope we are not accused of t
heft.’

  ‘I was afraid it would fall off when we carried her up the stairs. You can give it back to Marishal now. However, before you do, look at what I found on a cord around Roos’s neck. I removed that for safekeeping, too.’

  He held both items in the palm of his hand. Michael and Langelee peered at them.

  ‘But they are the same in every detail,’ breathed Langelee. ‘Why did you not mention it at once? Why wait until now?’

  ‘Because we were not alone when I made the discovery,’ replied Bartholomew soberly, ‘and it is difficult to know who to trust in this place.’

  ‘You mean Heselbech?’ asked Langelee, startled. ‘He is all right.’

  ‘I agree with Matt,’ said Michael. ‘It is wise to be cautious until we know more about what is happening. However, the man who makes me uncomfortable is Nicholas. I disliked the way he drooled over your letter-opener the other night. It is inappropriate for a priest to covet a weapon.’

  ‘Of course he admired it,’ said Langelee impatiently. ‘He is an ex-warrior who knows a good blade when he sees one.’

  Michael was disinclined to argue, and returned his attention to the rings. ‘So what do these mean? That Roos and Margery were lovers, and these are tokens of their shared affection?’

  ‘That does not sound very likely,’ said Bartholomew. ‘I seriously doubt she could have been tempted by anything Roos had to offer.’

  ‘I agree,’ said Langelee. ‘Besides, I know women, and she was not the sort to break her wedding vows.’

  ‘Then maybe she and Roos were kin,’ suggested Michael. ‘Do not forget what Heselbech said – that Roos seemed to know his way around the castle. If Roos and Margery were related, he may have been a regular visitor here.’

  ‘If so, he would not have told Badew and Harweden,’ predicted Langelee. ‘Familial ties to the wife of the Lady’s steward? They would have denounced him on the spot!’

  ‘They would,’ agreed Michael, taking the rings from Bartholomew and slipping them in his scrip. ‘So perhaps they found out yesterday, and promptly killed them both.’

  ‘Maybe,’ said Bartholomew. ‘Although if Roos was a regular visitor, you would think that someone would have mentioned it by now – as far as I can tell, everyone here considers him a stranger. Yet he did slip away from his cronies yesterday, to end up in a quiet room in the palace with Margery …’

  ‘And Badew and Harweden were irked about it,’ recalled Michael thoughtfully. ‘So I say we put them at the top of our list of suspects. Right after Nicholas.’

  ‘Just because he likes my knife?’ asked Langelee irritably. ‘I hardly think that is a reason—’

  ‘I have a nose for these things, and there is something distinctly awry about that vicar,’ argued Michael. ‘For a start, he is enamoured of his anchoress. I heard him call her “sweetest love” yesterday, which is no way to address a holy woman.’

  Bartholomew laughed. ‘Even if he is smitten, there is nothing either can do about it, given that she is walled up inside a cell. Unless he owns a sledgehammer.’

  Michael eyed him balefully. ‘You mock, but I am right. Marishal also goes on the list. He was Margery’s husband, and may have objected to her relationship with Roos – whatever that transpires to be – so he killed them both in a fit of rage.’

  ‘Then we should include Thomas and Ella for the same reason,’ said Bartholomew. ‘Along with the fact that they are no strangers to murder, if the gossip is to be believed.’

  ‘Which it should,’ said Langelee. ‘A frayed strap, a jaunt in bad weather, a carelessly carried blade … It is too good to be true when we have a young woman and an unwanted older husband.’

  ‘I agree,’ said Michael. ‘I do not suggest we investigate Talmach’s peculiar demise, but we shall certainly bear it in mind, along with the four other suspicious deaths that have occurred here since February – Roger, Wisbech, Charer and Skynere.’

  ‘We have been told that the squires might be responsible for some of those,’ said Bartholomew. ‘It would not surprise me – Albon does not have them under control. So they are next on our list. Perhaps they objected to Roos fraternising with the mother of one of their friends.’

  ‘I say we consider Donwich and Pulham, too,’ said Langelee. ‘They are frantic to keep the Lady’s good graces. Perhaps Roos’s relationship with Margery threatened that in some way.’

  ‘The same is true of Lichet,’ said Bartholomew. ‘He will go to any lengths to safeguard his position here, but it is possible that Roos and Margery knew something to see him ousted. Moreover, he lives in the Cistern Tower, where they died …’

  ‘True,’ acknowledged Michael. ‘And we shall finish the list with Bonde, who should have been hanged for murder, but was saved by the Lady’s purse.’

  ‘The list is not finished yet,’ said Langelee. ‘What about Mayor Godeston and Barber Grym? I did not take to them, and if you can include Nicholas on the grounds of dislike …’

  ‘But Godeston is carried everywhere on a litter,’ Bartholomew pointed out. ‘He could never scale a ladder. And Grym would not fit down the shaft – it was a tight squeeze for Michael, and Grym is much fatter.’

  ‘I am not fat,’ objected Michael, offended. ‘I just have big bones.’

  ‘What about Albon, then?’ asked Langelee. ‘He pretends to be a knight, but he is all hot air and glorious finery. Such men think nothing of slaughtering old men and women.’

  ‘Very well,’ said Michael, although without conviction. ‘So there is our rogues’ gallery: Nicholas, Badew and Harweden, Marishal and his brats, the squires, our colleagues from Clare Hall, Lichet, Bonde and Albon. Now we must set about narrowing it down.’

  ‘I suspect we are more likely to expand it,’ predicted Langelee glumly. ‘This is a nasty little town, inhabited by vicious people. I wish we had never come.’

  * * *

  They began their enquiries in the hall, where Lichet was playing his lute. Many of the women were crying, while their menfolk stood in subdued clusters, talking in low voices. Albon had taken a seat on the dais, looking splendid but preoccupied. Lichet strummed next to him, eyes closed in rapture at the sounds he was producing, although he was an indifferent performer at best. Quintone hovered dutifully nearby, ready to run any errands the Red Devil happened to devise.

  Then a door clanked, and the squires – minus Thomas – strutted in. They had used the intervening time to change their clothes, and the scholars were not the only ones who gaped at the result. They had kept their long-toed shoes, flowing sleeves and oiled beards, but had added harlequin hose to the ensemble. They swaggered to the dais, confident in the knowledge that every eye was on them. Lichet stopped playing mid-chord, while Albon was so astounded by their appearance that he almost toppled off his seat. When they had made their obeisance to him, they sat with calculated nonchalance on the bench at his side.

  ‘God’s blood!’ breathed Langelee. ‘Someone should tell them that they are making asses of themselves, as they seem to be incapable of seeing it.’

  ‘I doubt it was their idea,’ murmured Bartholomew. ‘Look at Thomas and Ella.’

  The twins were with their father, who was slumped, ashen-faced and unmoving, in a chair by the hearth. Their faces were sombre, but their eyes gleamed at the shock the squires had generated.

  ‘I would have thought they would desist from japes today,’ said Michael disapprovingly. ‘Do they have no sense of decorum?’

  ‘Margery seems to have been loved by everyone,’ whispered Langelee. ‘Even I am sorry she is dead, and I barely knew her. But her children have not shed a single tear that I have seen, and now they amuse themselves by playing jokes on their fellows. It reveals a cold-bloodedness that repels me – and I was once a warrior, used to a bit of ruthlessness.’

  ‘They are wild because they have a father who is too busy and a mother who was too gentle,’ said Bartholomew. ‘Margery admitted that Anne was the only person who could tame them, but now she is walled i
nside a church. And poor proud Albon is certainly not up to the challenge.’

  ‘They are not children,’ objected Michael. ‘They are adults in their twenties, and Ella has been married. It is too late for Albon – or anyone else – to mould them now.’

  ‘I could do it,’ bragged Langelee. ‘Perhaps I should offer my services to Marishal – to turn his spawn into sensible beings in exchange for a donation. What do you think?’

  ‘That we do not want them in Cambridge, thank you very much.’ Michael looked around quickly. ‘All our suspects are here, except Badew and Harweden, who we will corner at the Bell later. I suggest we interview everyone else right away.’

  ‘Lichet will stop us,’ warned Bartholomew. ‘He will view it as an affront to his authority.’

  Michael smiled thinly. ‘We shall see.’

  He strode to the dais. Albon looked up questioningly, but Lichet had resumed his strumming and pretended not to notice the monk. Michael climbed on to the platform, and addressed the whole assembly in a loud, clear voice that drowned out the Red Devil’s music.

  ‘On behalf of the Master and Fellows of Michaelhouse, I would like to offer my condolences to you all. Our College has many priests, and Masses will be said for Margery’s soul.’

  A murmur of appreciation rippled around the hall, although Lichet was indignant.

  ‘How dare you interrupt my playing to make stupid announcements,’ he snarled. ‘In future, you will apply to me before braying to all and sundry.’

  ‘I hardly think the care of Margery’s soul is “stupid”,’ countered Michael, a remark that drew a universal rumble of agreement. He turned from Lichet and addressed his audience again. ‘Her body lies in the chapel, available to anyone who wishes to pay his respects.’

  ‘All of us will go,’ said Albon quietly. ‘Although the squires must change first.’

  ‘Why?’ asked Nuport, startled. ‘Mistress Marishal loved bright things, as Thomas reminded us just an hour ago. We donned these colourful hose in her honour.’

  ‘They are colourful,’ acknowledged Albon in distaste. ‘But they are inappropriate in the black presence of Death. Besides, there is a difference between “bright” and “gaudy”, and you have not hit the right note at all. She liked pale, discreet shades, not scarlet, emerald and orange.’