A Vein of Deceit (32 page)

‘I questioned him at length about Joan, but my efforts
to catch him out were wasted. Perhaps he
was
telling the truth – I tended to disbelieve anything he said, but maybe I do him an injustice.’

‘You say Joan became troubled about something in the last few weeks,’ said Bartholomew, changing the subject back to his sister’s
hapless friend. ‘But you do not know what.’

A cloud passed over Agnys’s face. ‘I wish now that I had made more of an effort to find out – there is a fine line between
anxious concern and the interference of a husband’s grandmother, and I thought I was doing the right thing by recognising
her right to privacy. But …’

‘Your grandson can always remarry,’ Michael pointed out. ‘Joan’s death does not necessarily mean Elyan Manor will go to one
of these claimants.’

Agnys winced. ‘It took him twenty years to impregnate Joan, by which time we had all but given up hope. And to be honest,
I suspect she reverted to other measures in the end.’

‘Other measures,’ queried Michael innocently. ‘You mean the child was not his?’

‘I doubt it, although I shall deny ever saying so, should anyone ask.’

Bartholomew regarded Agnys thoughtfully, wondering why she had confided such a suspicion to strangers. She professed to be
fond of Joan, so why tell tales that implied she was wanton?

‘Is your grandson the kind of man to avenge himself on an unfaithful wife?’ he asked.

Agnys was silent for a long time before she replied. ‘No, I do not think so.’

But she did not sound convinced by her answer, and neither was Bartholomew.

*   *   *

‘Lord, Matt,’ breathed Michael, as they took their leave to walk through the marketplace. They were going to visit the Upper
Church, where Bartholomew hoped to examine Neubold’s body, preferably without an audience. ‘I wonder whether we are wise to
become embroiled in all this.’

‘In all what, specifically?’ asked Bartholomew. ‘Neubold’s murder?’

‘The various deaths that have occurred since Wynewyk decided to cheat Michaelhouse – his own curious demise, Joan’s poisoning,
Carbo’s stabbing and now Neubold’s hanging. I am sure they are all connected somehow.’

‘And Kelyng,’ said Bartholomew unhappily, and told him what his book-bearer had learned.

‘Cynric is right,’ said Michael, when he had finished. ‘We do need to excavate this grave. If it is not Kelyng’s, then it
can be refilled, and that will be the end of the matter. But if it is him …’

‘Then we shall have yet another mystery to solve.’

Michael nodded soberly. ‘Kelyng was Wynewyk’s student, and Cynric is correct in saying that he was handy with a weapon. Wynewyk
was not, and it makes sense that he should have hired himself a bodyguard. Kelyng would have been the obvious choice.’

Bartholomew was sceptical. ‘Then why was Wynewyk so concerned when Kelyng failed to arrive at the beginning of term? We all
assumed Kelyng had fled his debts, so why did Wynewyk keep worrying after him – if you are right, and he did drag the lad
to an early death here, then surely it would have been better never to mention him again? Your theory makes no sense!’

‘It does, if he “worried” as a sort of smokescreen. It means we would not look to him should Kelyng’s body ever be found –
he could say
he
was the one who was anxious, while the rest of us dismissed the lad as a debtor.

It is callous, but we are talking about a man who cheats his friends here.’

‘Wynewyk had nothing to do with Kelyng’s death because—’

‘I applaud your loyalty, Matt,’ interrupted Michael harshly. ‘I really do. But it is beginning to fly in the face of reason.’

‘Actually, Brother, I was going to say that Wynewyk had nothing to do with Kelyng’s death, because of something Hilton told
us earlier. He said there is a rumour that Carbo had killed a man by the mine, although he did not believe it. Well, perhaps
the tale is true, and the victim was Kelyng.’

Michael raised his hands in the air. ‘We are getting ahead of ourselves here – it is foolish to speculate who knew what about
Kelyng’s demise when we cannot even be sure if he is dead. Let us review what we
do
know, and see what headway we have made.’

Bartholomew took a deep breath and tipped back his head, looking up at the sky. It was iron grey, and he wondered whether
it would rain again. He hoped not, because it would make digging unpleasant, especially as Cynric had neglected to bring him
a change of clothes.

‘Neubold went to Cambridge to do business with King’s Hall,’ he said, trying to do as Michael suggested. ‘He took Joan with
him, and Carbo must have followed on their heels – we do not know why, but he was ill, so perhaps he simply chased after two
familiar faces.’

‘That sounds plausible,’ said Michael. ‘Then what?’

‘Then the three of them died – Joan of pennyroyal, Carbo of being stabbed by Shropham, and Neubold of hanging. And Wynewyk … I am still not sure what caused his demise. However, all four deaths are associated with coal: Joan’s husband has a mine,
Neubold was selling the
stuff to King’s Hall, Carbo was obsessed by it, and Wynewyk bought some for Michaelhouse.’

Michael began to list other points on his fat fingers.

‘Meanwhile, we have two lords of the manor with ample reasons for wanting a third one dead; we have a wife under pressure
to produce an heir; we have King’s Hall determined to inherit a distant manor; and we are nowhere near the truth regarding
Michaelhouse’s missing money.’

Bartholomew glanced at his friend, and saw that despite his discouraging words, the monk’s eyes gleamed in the way they always
did when faced with an intricate mystery. The physician did not feel the same way at all, and was beginning to dread where
their enquiries might lead them.

‘I hope we do not learn that King’s Hall has done something untoward to get this manor,’ he said uneasily. ‘I like Warden
Powys, and would hate to see him fall from grace.’

Michael made a disgusted sound. ‘Powys was hand-picked by the King himself, and such men do not “fall from grace”. They might
have mysterious accidents or take early retirement, but they certainly do not do anything that might suggest His Majesty made
an unwise choice.’

Bartholomew regarded him in horror. ‘If unravelling this mess might result in another murder, then I am stopping right now.
Powys is a—’

‘Powys is unlikely to be doing anything without royal approval,’ interrupted Michael. ‘So I very much doubt he will come to
any harm. However, the same cannot be said for us – we have been attacked once already, and I want to finish our enquiries
and go home as soon as possible. It is too late today, and you have a grave to despoil anyway, but we will be gone at first
light tomorrow. I am not missing Monday’s Blood Relic debate for anyone.’

‘I had forgotten about that,’ said Bartholomew. ‘Somehow, an academic gathering pales into insignificance when
compared to Wynewyk, Kelyng and whether we can leave Suffolk alive.’

Michael grinned. ‘We shall outwit these clumsy assassins, never fear. Better yet, we may uncover evidence to strengthen King’s
Hall’s claim, which will put Powys – and the King – in our debt.’

‘Christ,’ muttered Bartholomew, not liking the fact that the stakes had risen so high. ‘But here come Cynric and the students.
They can visit Elyan’s mine while we inspect Neubold; as I said, coal features large in our investigation, so we should try
to learn more about Elyan’s lode.’

Cynric and Valence did not mind being asked to explore, but Risleye and Tesdale were much less enthusiastic. Risleye said
he did not like the look of the weather, while Tesdale was appalled by the notion of doing anything as strenuous as a walk
followed by a loiter in the woods.

‘It is a long way,’ he complained pitifully. ‘And I am very tired.’

Valence punched him playfully. ‘It will be fun to visit a mine – I have never seen one before.’

‘I have,’ said Risleye sullenly. ‘They are nasty, dirty, dangerous places, especially in the rain.’

Valence raised arch eyebrows. ‘Will you let a bit of drizzle prevent you from seeing patients when you are qualified? You
will ignore their summons, lest you get wet?’

‘That will depend on what they agree to pay me,’ replied Risleye, quite seriously. He smiled at Bartholomew. ‘Are you offering
to recompense me for this jaunt? That will put a different complexion on matters. I will go anywhere for silver!’

‘Well, I will not,’ said Tesdale miserably. ‘I had a bad dream about a mine last night.’

‘In that case, you can find out whether there is an apothecary in Haverhill,’ said Bartholomew, reluctant to
exacerbate the lad’s nightmares. ‘If there is, ask who has bought pennyroyal oil recently.’

‘Pennyroyal oil?’ asked Tesdale, startled. ‘Do you think Joan was killed with supplies purchased in Suffolk, then? I assumed
she came by hers in Cambridge.’

‘Well, if she did, then it was not from Doctor Bartholomew’s storeroom,’ said Valence. ‘Because Deynman has already confessed
to borrowing that.’

‘This is grossly unfair!’ cried Risleye, when Cynric indicated he was ready to go. ‘Tesdale does not have to traipse up to
this wretched colliery, so why do I?’

‘Because Doctor Bartholomew has asked you to,’ said Valence virtuously. ‘Do not glower so! We shall be back long before it
rains.’

The Upper Church comprised a nave with an apsidal end and two flanking aisles. It was ancient, built in the sturdy manner
of the Normans, and reminded Bartholomew of the abbey at Peterborough, where he had gone to school. There was a low tower,
decorated with blind arcading, and its thick walls were pierced at regular intervals by roundheaded windows. Inside the church,
every available surface had been daubed with energetic murals. The result was disquieting, especially when the statues were
taken into account: they had been provided with the most vivid colours imaginable for their robes, and Bartholomew had never
seen so many intense blue eyes.

As he and Michael walked towards the north aisle, where Neubold had been deposited, they found Hilton ushering the last of
his inquisitive parishioners away, leaning forward to rest a hand on their heads in blessing as they went. When he thought
he was alone, he crossed himself, muttered a very brief prayer and headed for the door.

‘Is that it?’ asked Michael, stepping out from behind
one of the pillars. Hilton jumped violently, and clutched his chest, to indicate he had been given a serious shock. Michael
ignored his reaction. ‘Are you in such a hurry that you cannot do more for your colleague’s soul?’

‘I will return later, and perhaps keep vigil tonight. But I
am
in a hurry to leave. Lady Agnys ordered me to look into Neubold’s death, and I must do as she says, because she is inclined
to be testy when people ignore her instructions. And I
do
think Neubold was unlawfully killed, because of his tied hands – Elyan is wrong to say he committed suicide.’

‘How do you plan to proceed?’ asked Michael.

Hilton did not look happy. ‘By visiting the barn at Withersfield – the last place he was seen alive.’

‘Someone must have let him out,’ mused Bartholomew. ‘The door was barred from the outside, so he cannot have left without
help. However, the question is, was he killed by his so-called rescuer, or did he return to Haverhill and meet his murderer
here?’

Hilton nodded slowly. ‘You have put your finger on the crux of the matter. Unfortunately, it does not help me – I still have
two villages full of suspects, because a lot of people disliked Neubold.’

‘Why was he so unpopular?’ asked Bartholomew.

Hilton raised his hands. ‘Where do I start? He neglected his religious duties – bodies left unburied and weddings postponed,
which is inconvenient if you are about to have a child. He manipulated the law to secure favourable verdicts for anyone who
could pay. He undertook spying missions for Elyan. He dabbled in market business, by brokering deals and negotiating contracts.
Indeed, there was little he would not do if the money was right.’

‘I understand you and he were looking into the matter
of who will inherit Elyan Manor,’ said Michael. ‘Do you think that earned him enemies?’

‘I hope not!’ exclaimed Hilton, horrified. ‘Because that means
I
might be in danger, too.’

‘Can you name any
good
suspects for Neubold’s death?’ asked Bartholomew, feeling they were beginning to go around in circles. ‘There must be a few
who stand out from the masses.’

‘Not really. I do not think you understand the extent to which he was held in contempt.’

Michael sighed. ‘Then let us eliminate a few. I think we can discount Elyan: first, he admired Neubold’s cunning ways with
the law, and second, there cannot be many men who would agree to act as pig-rustlers on his behalf.’

‘But Neubold failed to get Lizzie,’ Hilton pointed out. ‘Worse, he was caught, bringing embarrassment to his employer. Moreover,
ever since Neubold abandoned Joan in Cambridge, Agnys has been telling Elyan to dispense with his services – perhaps this
is Elyan’s way of obliging her. And finally, I am suspicious of his insistence that Neubold committed suicide. So, you see,
we cannot discount Elyan.’

While Michael and Hilton continued to debate potential culprits, Bartholomew edged towards the north aisle. He glanced at
Michael, and saw the monk take Hilton’s arm and draw him outside, ostensibly for air. Suspecting he would not be left alone
for long, so should complete his examination as quickly as possible, Bartholomew removed the pall and stared down at Neubold’s
body.

The priest did not look any more pleasant in death than he had in life, and his narrow, pinched features had a bluish sheen
that made him look dirty; Bartholomew was starkly reminded of Carbo. Another similarity was their stained hands, although
the blackness of Neubold’s could
be attributed to ink, whereas Carbo’s had been just plain filthy.

There was a red ring around Neubold’s wrists, showing he had struggled against his bonds. A rip in his tunic and the cut on
his head were further evidence that he had fought his attacker. The cause of death was strangulation – Bartholomew supposed
he had been hauled up by the neck and left to asphyxiate. There were no other injuries, so he replaced all as he had found
it, and hurried outside.