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

by Susanna Gregory

  She and Michael had a lot in common, thought Bartholomew.

  ‘God the save Queen,’ declared Grisel when they arrived, then added hopefully, ‘Nuts?’

  ‘Margery’s funeral is today,’ said Katrina, paring an apple into thin slices, while three pairs of eyes watched in greedy anticipation. ‘I hope there is no trouble – she would not have liked it.’

  ‘Nicholas thinks it will pass off peacefully, out of respect for her.’

  ‘Yes, but that was probably before the Lady decreed that it should be the castle chaplain who conducts the ceremony, not Nicholas. The town will be affronted on their priest’s behalf.’

  ‘Van the bolt bring down,’ declared Grisel, accepting a piece of apple. ‘Queen the save God.’

  ‘They are fellow Austins,’ said Bartholomew. ‘Nicholas will not mind.’

  ‘Oh, yes, he will, and he will bray his indignation in no uncertain terms. Heselbech will decline the “honour”, but the Lady will insist, and Prior John will tell Heselbech to obey her – he has no choice, unless he wants to risk the money she gives his convent.’

  Slighting Nicholas was a bad move on the Lady’s part, and appeared to be deliberately provocative. ‘Why would she do such a thing?’ asked Bartholomew, bemused.

  ‘Because I think she aims to end the feud by forcing it to a head,’ explained Katrina. ‘It will result in a skirmish, which she will win, because she has armed troops at her disposal. Once the town is defeated, she can sue for peace on her own terms, and the conflict will end.’

  ‘But the townsfolk outnumber her soldiers by a considerable margin. She might lose.’

  Katrina grimaced. ‘Lichet told her she would not, and no one was there to challenge him – Marishal was drugged, Albon was investigating murder, and Lichet had given everyone else jobs to do. Prior John came to talk sense to her, but the Red Devil refused to let him in.’

  ‘Well, Marishal is back now. Lichet’s reign of ineptitude is over.’

  ‘But the damage is done. Worse, she ordered Heselbech to preside over the rededication ceremony, too. If Margery’s funeral does not ignite a riot, that insult certainly will. Still, at least she stopped Lichet from executing Quintone. I do not like Quintone, but he should not hang on evidence fabricated by the Red Devil. Besides, I am sure the murderer is Bonde.’

  ‘Why? Have you learned something new since we last spoke?’

  ‘No, but everyone knows that he has killed before. Besides, he is a monster and I hate him.’

  She spoke with such passion that Bartholomew regarded her askance. ‘Why do—’

  But Katrina raised a hand to stop him. ‘I have said too much already, and I can see Brother Michael down in the bailey, looking around for you. You had better go.’

  Bartholomew glanced out of the window, and saw she was right. ‘Please tell me what you know about Bonde,’ he said quietly. ‘It may help us catch Margery’s killer.’

  ‘I do not believe it will. However, I know one thing that might. It regards the priest who chanted the office of nocturns on the night of the murders …’

  ‘That was Weste. Heselbech was too drunk, so Weste did it for him.’

  Katrina nodded impatiently. ‘Yes, I know. I heard them discussing it while the trouble with Quintone was raging – it is what set me thinking. Weste recited nocturns, Langelee had gone, Albon knelt by the rood screen and I was at the back of the chapel. But what was Heselbech doing?’

  ‘Sleeping – Weste heard him snoring in a corner.’

  ‘But not for long, or Albon would have complained. Our noble knight is a pious man, and would not have tolerated a lot of snoring while holy words were being uttered. Which means that Heselbech spent part of the time doing something else.’

  ‘Or he shifted into a different position, where his throat did not vibrate so much.’

  ‘Maybe. But there was something about Heselbech’s eyes during his discussion with Weste … I cannot explain exactly, but you could do worse than speak to him again.’

  ‘God the Queen save,’ cawed Grisel, bobbing up and down. ‘Down bring the van hold.’

  Bartholomew and Michael found Heselbech in the castle chapel, kneeling by Margery’s coffin. It was draped in rose-coloured velvet, and surrounded by pots of wild flowers. The muddy footprints that trailed to it from the door suggested that a large number of people had already been in to pay their respects.

  ‘Her funeral is in an hour,’ said Heselbech shortly, glancing up at the two scholars, but declining to rise. ‘And I am ordered to conduct it, so I cannot talk now. I must prepare.’

  ‘Do you mind taking Nicholas’s place?’ asked Bartholomew. ‘Knowing it will cause resentment among the townsfolk?’

  ‘Of course I mind,’ snapped Heselbech. ‘It is a stupid decision. Lichet’s no doubt, as the Lady seems to listen to every damn fool word that spills from the fellow’s mouth.’

  ‘Perform the rite together,’ suggested Bartholomew. ‘Then you cannot be accused of disobeying orders, and Nicholas’s pride will remain intact. It might ease the situation.’

  ‘Or make it worse,’ grumbled Heselbech. ‘The town will complain that he had an inferior role, while the castle will think that he refused to let me do my duty. But it is worth a try, I suppose. If we can put on a show of unity …’

  ‘It is worth a try,’ insisted Michael. ‘Or you may find yourself officiating over a brawl.’

  ‘Very well.’ Heselbech turned back to the coffin. ‘Now please leave me alone.’

  ‘Just one quick question: why did you lie about sleeping all through nocturns on the night of the murder? We know you did nothing of the kind.’

  It was not quite what Katrina had reported, or what Bartholomew had told Michael, but the bluff made Heselbech’s eyes widen in alarm.

  ‘Says who?’ he demanded.

  ‘This castle is home to three hundred people,’ Michael told him sternly. ‘It is impossible to do anything without being seen. So what happened? You slept while Weste prayed, but then something woke you and you went outside. What was it?’

  ‘A call of nature,’ replied Heselbech shortly. ‘We rarely drink to excess nowadays, so I am out of practice. That is what roused me. Then I came back in and nodded off again. Your witness will confirm that I was out only for the time it took me to relieve myself.’

  Michael glanced at Bartholomew, who shrugged to say it was possible – Heselbech might have snored to begin with, but had fallen silent after he had made himself comfortable.

  ‘So what did you see out there?’ pressed Michael. ‘Or rather, who?’

  ‘A shadow,’ replied Heselbech reluctantly. ‘By the Cistern Tower, although I thought nothing of it at the time. Why would I? As you said, there are three hundred souls here, and there is always someone wandering about, even in the dead of night.’

  ‘But you recognised the person, of course,’ said Bartholomew, watching him closely. ‘As chaplain, you know everyone here. So who was it?’

  ‘I could not tell – just someone in a cloak. His hood was up, because it was raining, so I did not see his face. All that I can tell you is that he ran away from the cistern.’

  ‘In other words,’ said Michael harshly, ‘you saw the killer and decided not to mention it. Why would you do such a thing?’

  ‘We cannot know it was the killer,’ said Heselbech defensively. ‘Not for certain.’

  ‘Of course we can.’ Michael was angry and exasperated. ‘Who else would be racing away from the scene of the crime at the salient time? So what more can you tell us about the villain, other than that he wore a cloak?’

  ‘Nothing. It was only a fleeting glimpse, and I was drunk.’

  ‘But it was definitely a man?’ pressed Bartholomew.

  Heselbech nodded. ‘It was too large for a woman, and the gait was masculine. But he was too far away for me to notice anything else – and it was very dark.’

  ‘But you must remember something useful!’ cried Michael. ‘This is the man who slaug
htered Margery and an innocent scholar, and you saw him. Surely you want him brought to justice?’

  ‘Of course I do,’ snapped Heselbech crossly. ‘But there is nothing more I can tell you. I wish there were – Margery was a good woman, and the castle will be poorer without her – but all I had was a quick glimpse of a cloaked figure haring away into the night.’

  ‘Was it Quintone?’ asked Bartholomew, unwilling to give up. ‘Or Bonde?’

  ‘Not Quintone – someone bigger. But I cannot talk now. I have a saint to bury.’

  ‘He knows more than he is saying,’ growled Michael, as he and Bartholomew left the chapel. ‘He is holding something back.’

  ‘Holding what back, though? The identity of the killer?’

  ‘I think he is telling the truth about not seeing the man’s face, but it is patently obvious that he has his suspicions about the culprit’s identity – he saw enough to be sure it was not Quintone, which means he witnessed more than he is prepared to admit. I shall tackle him again later. Perhaps the funeral of one of the victims will prompt him to do the right thing.’

  ‘There is another possibility,’ said Bartholomew. ‘Namely that he is the culprit.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Michael softly. ‘It had crossed my mind.’

  The parish church was packed to overflowing and the atmosphere was tense, particularly at the front of the nave, where wealthy merchants jockeyed with courtiers for the best places. There was a buzz of agitated conversation, most of it revolving around the fact that the Lady had slighted Nicholas by refusing to let him conduct a ceremony in his own domain. The townsfolk were livid, and the castle people were smugly delighted, an attitude that promised to cause yet more bad feeling.

  But Clare’s feuding factions flew from Bartholomew’s mind when he entered the church. The scaffolding had been removed from the chancel – although the nave was still full of it – allowing him his first real glimpse of the finished ceiling. It was even more glorious than he had anticipated, and all he could do was gaze upwards in admiration, until Michael brought him back to Earth with an irritable pinch.

  ‘You are supposed to be watching our suspects and witnesses, not gawping like a halfwit,’ he hissed. ‘Or do you want to return home and tell our colleagues that Michaelhouse will close at the end of the year, because we failed to win that hundred marks?’

  Bartholomew dragged his eyes from the splendours of Cambrug’s creation, and fixed them on those who were assembling below it instead.

  Albon had arrived with the squires. He removed his beautiful hat with an elegant flourish, and strode to the rood screen, his bearing regal. Paycock stepped forward with the obvious intention of preventing him from taking a place so near the front, but the squires were quick to form a protective cordon around their hero. Thomas was with them, and Bartholomew could not help but notice that the others stood closer to him than to Nuport, who alone had refused to exchange his outlandish clothes for ones that were more suitable for the sombre occasion.

  Ella was with her father, whose face was pale and waxy. He was clutching her arm almost desperately, but she was more interested in nodding greetings to the people she knew. Clearly, providing filial comfort was not high on her list of priorities that day. The Lady was behind them, leaning on Lichet’s shoulder for support. When Ereswell tried to speak to her, the Red Devil shoved him back, which drew smirks from the watching townsfolk, particularly Grym, who was resplendent in robes of pale green and gold that gave him the appearance of a large pear.

  ‘The Queen will be impressed by that ceiling,’ muttered Langelee, joining Bartholomew and Michael because all the wealthy merchants he wanted to target for donations were currently jostling for space in the nave, leaving him with nothing to do. ‘But there are some huge cracks. You could not see them when the scaffolding was up, but you can now.’

  ‘I asked Nicholas about those when I went to ask if he minded being barred from taking the leading role at a ceremony in his own church,’ said Michael. ‘He told me that they will all be filled with glue soon, so will not show.’

  ‘Does he mind being publicly slighted?’

  ‘Oh, he is furious. However, in the interests of peace, he has agreed to work with Heselbech, so let us hope his parishioners are equally magnanimous.’

  Heselbech’s opening speech was a masterpiece of conciliation and forgiveness, which he claimed was what Margery would have wanted. He gave it in Latin, French and the vernacular, to ensure that everyone understood, after which he and Nicholas began the funeral rite. Even so, there were angry murmurs from the castle contingent whenever they heard Nicholas’s voice, and grumbles from the town whenever Heselbech spoke.

  It was over eventually, and the more important members of the congregation traipsed to the chancel to see Margery interred. It was then that the brewing trouble erupted.

  ‘Wait a moment!’ cried Paycock in angry disbelief. ‘That spot is where I am going to be buried when I die. I paid for it in advance, and I have a letter from the Bishop to prove it.’

  ‘Lord, so it is!’ muttered Nicholas, flushing red with embarrassment. ‘It slipped my mind in all the turmoil of the last few days. But there is nothing we can do about it now, Paycock. Margery is here and the vault is open so—’

  ‘But it is the best place in the entire church,’ protested Paycock, livid. ‘Which is why I want it for myself. I am sorry, Nicholas, but you will have to make other arrangements for Margery.’

  ‘He will not,’ said Marishal dangerously. ‘She goes in the place that was promised.’

  ‘You can have the porch instead, Paycock,’ called Thomas provocatively.

  ‘Stop it!’ snapped Albon with stately authority when Paycock took an angry step forward, fists at the ready. ‘This is a church, not a tavern. Behave yourselves – all of you.’

  Paycock lowered his hands, but his protest was far from finished. ‘You cannot allow this, Nicholas! First, they foist their chaplain on us, and now they steal our best vault. Be a man, and tell them where to—’

  ‘Leave Nicholas alone, you,’ came a waspish voice from the squint. ‘And if your tomb is so important, why did you not come here earlier, to protect it?’

  ‘Because I did not think it was necessary,’ yelled Paycock. ‘How was I to know that the rats in the castle would stoop so low as to steal a man’s private burial space?’

  ‘No one stole anything,’ declared the Lady curtly. ‘Now step aside, Paycock. Your behaviour at the funeral of a good woman is disgraceful, and you should be ashamed of yourself.’

  It was one insult too many. Paycock’s friends objected heatedly and the chancel was suddenly full of clamouring voices, which Heselbech tried in vain to quell. Nicholas made no attempt to help his colleague, and instead went to stand near the squint, where Anne regaled him with her opinions about the situation.

  Hot words soon turned to shoves. Albon immediately whisked the Lady away, shielding her from buffets with his own body, although there was definite fear in his eyes as he did so. Most of the squires hastened to help, although Thomas was more concerned with protecting his sister. By contrast, Nuport was in the thick of the fracas and enjoying every moment of it.

  Then the Austins appeared, smoothly and professionally insinuating themselves between the warring factions. John nodded to Heselbech, who hastened to resume his prayers and lower Margery into the vault. The ceremony was over quickly then, and the friars ensured that the two sides dispersed in opposite directions. Even so, it was a tense business, and they heaved a collective sigh of relief when the last of the mourners shuffled out and peace reigned once more.

  ‘I am going to close my doors now,’ sniffed Nicholas, looking around at the aftermath of the scuffle in disapproval. The floor was strewn with items that had been dropped, including gloves, hats and the occasional weapon. It was also filthy from the mud that had been tracked in from the street. ‘It will take me ages to clean all this up.’

  ‘I will help,’ offered Heselbech generously. �
�It will take half the time with two of us at work.’

  Nicholas thanked him with a smile. ‘But once we have finished, the church will not reopen until the rededication. I do not want any more mess or fighting in here. Besides, I still have the nave scaffolding to pull down, which can be done more safely if the place is empty.’

  ‘I hope everyone will refrain from skirmishing when the Queen is here,’ remarked Michael. ‘Her ministers impose heavy penalties on those who break the King’s peace.’

  Then Grym waddled up, his amiable face creased with worry.

  ‘You must come at once, Prior John. Albon has made an announcement in the market square, accusing the hermit of killing Margery and Roos. The townsfolk are outraged.’

  ‘Jan is the culprit?’ came Anne’s voice. ‘I might have known! He always was a rogue.’

  ‘Are you sure, Grym?’ asked Michael, ignoring her. ‘Albon said nothing about having solved the case when he was here for the funeral, and that was only a few moments ago.’

  ‘Probably because he did not know then what he thinks he knows now,’ explained Grym. ‘Namely that Jan’s dagger was discovered in the cistern, next to the bodies. Lichet just told him.’

  ‘But that is untrue,’ objected Bartholomew. ‘We never found the murder weapon.’

  ‘I know that,’ said Grym impatiently. ‘But Albon swallowed the tale and acted on it, just as Lichet predicted he would. That Red Devil really is a poisonous snake, because when the story is proven to be false, no one will take any investigation conducted by Albon seriously again.’

  Prior John called his weary friars to order, and although they lined up gamely enough, it was obvious that most of them had hoped to repair to the priory for a much-deserved cup of ale and a warm supper. Ex-warriors they might be, but none were in their prime, and they had reached the age where they appreciated their creature comforts.

  ‘Some of you had better look for Jan as well,’ Grym told them. ‘Because Albon has just ridden off on his great white destrier with the avowed intention of hunting him down. He will not lynch anyone, but the squires are with him and they might. Moreover, they intend to start their search in Mayor Godeston’s woods – which is another insult to the town, as they have not secured the permission of his heirs.’