A Vein of Deceit (21 page)

‘I was sorry to hear about Wynewyk, Doctor,’ said Yolande, when the students had gone. She ladled stew into three bowls, and
indicated that Isnard and Bartholomew were to join her at the table; evidently, her contract with the bargeman entailed being
fed for her labours. ‘He was a good man, although he was never one of my regulars – I only saw him occasionally.’

‘Did you?’ asked Bartholomew, startled. ‘I thought he preferred men.’

‘Oh, he did,’ said Yolande. ‘But we all like a bit of a change from time to time.’

To stop himself wondering whether Wynewyk had financed his frolics with Yolande by cheating Michaelhouse, Bartholomew concentrated
on the stew instead. It was delicious, and he realised how much he missed decent food. Matilde had been an excellent cook,
and had often fed him when the College was going through one of its lean phases. As usual, thoughts of his lost love deprived
him of his appetite. He set down his spoon.

‘I have never heard of anyone dying of laughter before,’ said Isnard, grabbing the physician’s bowl and finishing it himself.
‘Does Brother Michael not think Wynewyk’s death suspicious?’

‘It brought on a seizure,’ explained Bartholomew hastily, aware that Isnard and Yolande were both rather keen on gossip. ‘It
is sad when it happens to a man in his prime, but it is not unknown.’

‘It is odd he talked to that priest, though,’ said Yolande. ‘Now
he
is dead, too.’

‘What priest?’ asked Bartholomew.

‘The Dominican,’ replied Yolande. ‘He called himself Carbo, although it was not his real name.’

Isnard looked interested. ‘Do you know his real name? Only Brother Michael came to ask if I knew it yesterday, and I wish
I could have told him. I like helping the man who conducts my choir.’

‘
Your
choir?’ asked Yolande, amused. Then she frowned as a thought occurred to her. ‘Can my husband join? He cannot sing, but the
free bread after rehearsals would be very welcome.’

‘I will speak to Brother Michael,’ promised Isnard grandly. ‘I am sure there will be a place for Robert among the tenors.
They cannot sing, either, so he will be in good company.’

Bartholomew had no doubt at all that Blaston would be accepted, regardless of his musical abilities or lack thereof. Michael
had a soft heart when it came to the poor, and it was common knowledge that the choir’s entire membership comprised men and
boys – and even a few women – who desperately needed the post-practice refreshments. It was not common knowledge that he often
paid for the victuals himself, however.

‘Tell me about Carbo and Wynewyk,’ prompted Bartholomew.

‘I saw them chatting together,’ obliged Yolande. ‘They were with Powys, Shropham and Paxtone from King’s Hall. Do you think
Shropham killed Carbo, by the way? I do not – he is too meek.’

Bartholomew’s thoughts were a chaotic jumble as he tried to make sense of what she was telling him. ‘The King’s Hall men said
they had never met Carbo.’

‘Then they were not telling you the truth,’ said Yolande firmly. ‘Although they were talking like acquaintances who meet by
chance, not like friends. I was touting for business, hoping Paxtone might hire me, and I edged quite close to them – close
enough to hear what they were saying. They were going on about the weather and the price of coal. It was rather stilted, actually.’

‘Did Shropham look as though he knew Carbo? asked Bartholomew. ‘Address him by name? Or did Wynewyk?’

‘Not that I heard. Later that day, I saw Wynewyk with your sister’s friend, too – Joan. He was flirting with her in the Market
Square, and they were laughing over ribbons.’

Bartholomew was about to say that Wynewyk would not have flirted with a woman, but then he recalled Edith telling him the
same thing. And there was Yolande’s earlier testimony to take into account – that Wynewyk liked the company of a lady on occasion.
It made Bartholomew question how well he really had known his colleague, despite all the time they had spent confiding in
each other.

‘Carbo and Joan travelled here together from Haverhill,’ Yolande was saying.

‘Carbo was Elyan’s priest?’ asked Isnard. ‘Then I
do
know his name! It is Neubold – Carbo Neubold, perhaps. I met him in the Brazen George, and we chatted for a while. You had
better tell Brother Michael right away, Doctor. He is going to be pleased with me.’

‘He is,’ agreed Bartholomew, although the discovery raised more questions than answers. How could Elyan have employed such
a fellow to represent him to King’s Hall? Or place his heavily pregnant wife in such hands? Of course, it explained why Joan
was so eager to stay with Edith: Carbo had reeked, and would not have made for pleasant company. And that was before the lingering
symptoms of his head injury were taken into account.

‘Carbo – it suits him better than Neubold – gave Paxtone some lovely little rocks,’ said Yolande chattily. ‘Paxtone told me
they ease the pain of childbirth, so I filched one when he was not looking.’

‘You stole from him?’ asked Bartholomew uneasily, watching her rummage in her purse for it.

‘Borrowed,’ she corrected. She shrugged when she saw his expression. ‘He rarely treats pregnant women, whereas I encounter
them all the time. Who do you think will get more use out of it?’

The stone she showed him was similar to the ones Bartholomew had inadvertently knocked out of Paxtone’s cupboard, and he wondered
why the King’s Hall physician should have felt the need to lie when asked whether he had ever met the man Shropham was accused
of killing.

He walked home in a thoughtful frame of mind. Carbo’s real name was Neubold, the letter in his habit said he was from Withersfield,
and he was Elyan’s priest and possibly Gosse’s lawyer. He had coal secreted in his robes, and Wynewyk had bought coal from
Elyan. He had been seen talking to Shropham, who had later killed him. Connections were beginning to form thick and fast,
and Bartholomew only hoped Michael would be able to make sense of them all, because he could not.

The next day saw an improvement in the weather. The heaviest clouds lifted, and a frail, silvery light trickled through the
few that remained. Bartholomew was heartened by the watery rays that illuminated the east window of St Michael’s Church, and
began to hope that the rain and wind of the last few weeks were coming to an end.

‘I do not want to go to Suffolk,’ grumbled Michael, as Langelee led the procession back to the College for breakfast.

‘I do,’ said Bartholomew. He found he was looking forward to a respite from demanding students and too many patients. And
there was the added bonus that he would be able to ask questions about Joan for Edith, which might make her less inclined
to launch an investigation of her own.

‘But Suffolk is such a long way,’ moaned the monk.

‘Seventeen miles – half a day’s ride.’

‘Only if the roads are good, and they are probably knee deep in mud after all this rain. I know thirty marks is a lot of money,
but is it worth our lives? Langelee wants us to leave today, you know.’

‘Tomorrow,’ corrected Clippesby, coming to walk next to them. He had the College cat in his arms, which looked none too pleased
to have been plucked from its domain and forced to spend part of its morning in church. ‘He has hired you horses from the
Brazen George – stronger and younger than the College nags – but they are not available today.’

‘I suppose it gives us time to organise our teaching,’ said Michael. He glanced at Bartholomew. ‘And for you to warn your
more grubby patients not to inflict themselves on Paxtone or Rougham in your absence. It would be a kindness – and not just
to your colleagues.’

‘The Brazen George horses are experts on financial matters,’ said Clippesby. His hair was on end that morning, and his habit
was not very clean. Wynewyk’s death had upset him badly, and Bartholomew suspected he was likely to be odder than usual until
the shock had worn off. ‘They will advise you on the best way to reclaim the lost money. They told me.’

‘Lord!’ breathed Michael, as the Dominican stopped to exchange pleasantries with a dog. The cat decided this was too much,
and freed itself with a hiss. ‘Should we really
let him loose on students? God knows what he might teach them – he told me the other day that there is a good chance that
St Paul was a donkey, and that he wrote his Letters in a stable. That is verging on heresy.’

‘He was amusing himself at your expense,’ said Bartholomew, hoping it was true and that the unpleasantness of the last few
days was not going to precipitate a more serious ‘episode’.

‘If you say so,’ said Michael, unconvinced.

‘I am taking Risleye, Valence and Tesdale to Suffolk, by the way,’ the physician went on. ‘Risleye is too quarrelsome to leave
unsupervised, while Tesdale is too lazy – at least if he is with me, I can make sure he learns
something
to help him through his disputations.’

‘And Valence?’

‘I need him to keep the peace between the other two. Besides, he has worked hard since that exploding-book incident, and it
would be unfair to take Risleye and Tesdale, but leave him behind.’

‘But they are your most senior students.’ said Michael. ‘Who will mind the others?’

‘Deynman. He is quite capable of keeping a class in order, and Clippesby has offered to do the reading. It will do them good
to spend a few days re-hearing some basic texts.’

‘It is a bad time for me to leave,’ said Michael, more interested in his own concerns. ‘I still do not know who attacked Langelee.
I have failed to discover who took your pennyroyal, although Risleye assures me it was a servant. The Stanton Cups remain
missing. And Bene’t College was burgled last night – Gosse, most likely, although I cannot prove it. Again.’

‘We will not be gone long, Brother. Three days at the most.’

‘Moreover, King’s Hall is not happy about me keeping Shropham in gaol,’ Michael went on, declining to be appeased. ‘But what
else can I do? I can hardly release him, when he will not speak to defend himself. What message would that send to criminals?’

‘Yolande said she saw Carbo talking to three King’s Hall men on the High Street.’ Bartholomew hesitated before adding, ‘She
said Wynewyk was with them.’

Michael gazed at him. ‘What do you think that means?’

‘That King’s Hall is keeping something from you – something relating to why Shropham killed Carbo. However, Wynewyk had taken
to socialising with Paxtone and Warden Powys in the last few weeks, so I do not think his presence at this gathering was significant.’

‘He cheated his College in the last few weeks, too,’ Michael pointed out. ‘Do not be too ready to dismiss the facts, Matt.
But this means I should visit King’s Hall today. I understand Shropham lying – felons do that when they are in a tight corner
– but it is unacceptable for his colleagues to indulge their penchant for fabrication at such a time.’

‘Perhaps you should wait. Your various investigations – Carbo’s murder, Wynewyk’s business, and even Joan’s death – have links
to Suffolk. Our journey there may provide answers, and it would be a pity to have made accusatory remarks to members of a
rival foundation if it transpires to be unnecessary: King’s Hall’s association with Carbo may be innocent.’

Michael did not look as though he thought it would, but he accepted the physician’s point about acquiring ammunition. ‘Carbo
is puzzling. I find it strange that he should know two people – Joan and Wynewyk – who are both suddenly dead.
And
that he is Gosse’s lawman.’

‘Coal,’ mused Bartholomew. ‘Wynewyk bought some we
never saw; Carbo had a piece sewn in his habit; Joan’s husband sells it; and it was discussed by Carbo, the King’s Hall men
and Wynewyk before any of them were dead. Coal is a clue, I am sure of it. And this coal is supposed to come from Haverhill.
It is something else we must investigate while we are there.’

When they reached the College, Michael waited like a vulture for Cynric to ring the breakfast bell, and Bartholomew went to
talk to his students. They had gathered outside the hall, jostling Deynman and some theologians and clearly intent on being
the first in. He wondered why they always felt compelled to race, when meals never started until everyone was standing at
his place anyway.

His announcement that he would be away for a few days was met with a variety of reactions. The more studious lads were disappointed,
the lazy ones looked relieved, Risleye was angry that he had paid for teaching that would now not be given, and Tesdale was
concerned.

‘It is a long and dangerous journey,’ he said. ‘You may not come back, and then what will happen to us? Paxtone will not accept
us, because he might think we are all like Risleye, while Rougham is too sharp and impatient a master for my taste.’

‘You are coming with me,’ said Bartholomew, a little dismayed that Tesdale should see his demise only in terms of the inconvenience
to himself; he had thought his students liked him. ‘So is Risleye—’

‘Me?’ cried Tesdale in dismay. ‘I cannot go! I do not want to!’

‘More importantly, neither can I,’ declared Risleye self-importantly. ‘
I
do not like travelling.’

Bartholomew was taken aback by their responses, recalling that
his
master had dragged him as far as Greece
and Africa when he had been a student. Suffolk was hardly in the same league.

‘You are coming,’ he said in the tone of voice that made it clear it was not a matter for debate. ‘So is Valence. And the
rest of you will learn—’

‘Really?’ interrupted Valence, his face alight with pleasure. ‘When do we leave? Is there time for me to say goodbye to my
grandfather? Shall I pack a medicine bag, like the one you carry? You never know when additional supplies might come in useful.
Can I borrow your spare cloak, Risleye?’

‘I suppose,’ replied Risleye unenthusiastically. ‘But what about your classes, sir? Who will teach the others, if we three
senior students are kicking our heels in some Godforsaken village?’

‘I will,’ offered Deynman eagerly. ‘I was a physician-in-training before I abandoned medicine in favour of librarianship,
so I know what needs to be done. I shall ensure they stay at their studies.’