Study of Murder, The (Five Star Mystery Series) (10 page)

“I hope so, and I hope he treats her kindly,” said my wife, mirroring my earlier thoughts.

I sat down next to Mariota on the bench and rubbed her shoulders, inhaling her elderflower scent. “What are you studying now? Can you not put out the candle and come to bed? It’s late.”

“Aye,” she sighed and rubbed at her eyes. “I had hoped to study more tonight.”

“There’s no rush, is there,
mo chridhe
? Come to bed.”

For a moment I thought Mariota looked as though she was going to say something, but she did not speak. She turned and raised her lips to mine, and she smelled of elderflowers, her breath tasting of sweet cloves and cinnamon. I pinched out the candle between my fingers, oblivious to the brief pain from the hot wick.

The next morning Mariota and I rose early and went to attend on Master Clarkson’s funeral mass. The masters of the college looked fatigued, as all had kept vigil for their departed colleague. I thought I saw Master Berwyk nod off at one point and all looked relieved when the mass was over and the mortal remains of Master Clarkson interred in the vault below the chapel.

As Mariota and I left the service, she left me to return to the Widow Tanner’s. I saw another figure heading up the street, toward the wastelands north of the town. There were some old buildings there, past the Benedictines’ college, left empty for several years since the days of the plague. The widow had said the town council wanted them torn down, but the heirs, who lived in London, had not agreed, and the buildings were falling down where they stood. Beggars and such like squatted in the structures, I’d been told.

I headed for the college, to speak with Master Berwyk. I thought perhaps news of his
Isagoge
might prove illuminating. There was to be meal, after the mass, and most lectures had again been cancelled. I hoped the younger students would not take it upon themselves to murder their teachers for the sake of cancelled lectures.

I met Master Berwyk as he was leaving the hall. His brown eyes looked sad and troubled. “It is a wicked thing,” he said, “and a sad reminder of our own mortality. We never know when our end will come.”

“Indeed,” I said, and added, “I spoke with the bookman yesterday. He has your
Isagoge
. Master Clarkson pledged it for a loan.”

“But it was not his to pledge!”

“Whether it was or not, it is there. And I doubt the bookman will release it until he gets his money.”

“That book never belonged to the college. I bought it with my own money, money my poor father, God rest his soul, had given to me. If the man wasn’t dead already, I swear I’d kill him.” He stopped and laughed. “There, now I am the wicked one, am I not? God forgive me, the man is barely settled in his grave.”

“Why would Master Clarkson do such a thing?”

“He seemed to think little of others—it was always the college.”

“But what would he have needed the money for?”

Berwyk shrugged.

“I heard he was speaking with someone about heresy at the college. Do you know anything of that?”

Berwyk shrugged again, impatiently this time. We’d spoken of heresy the day before. “I’d heard nothing of that, as I’ve told you. And Wycliffe is long gone, as I told you yesterday. He’s no Lollard, although some here might be. Well, I am off to the bookman’s to see if I can redeem my book. Or at least to see what he wants for it. Perhaps I can persuade him to let me redeem it little by little. I must have my book back.”

“I’ll go with you,” I offered.

The streets of town were full, as crowds of students headed toward High Street from School Street. Most walked in groups, boisterous and loud, as they headed for ale-houses. I noticed one youth walking alone, wearing a hood and a blue tunic, who seemed to glance at me and then walk quickly to the other side of the street, as though wanting to avoid me. There was something familiar about the lad.

We saw him again as we neared the bookseller’s stall. The boy seemed about to approach, but then he saw us and began walking quickly away.

“I will leave you,” I excused myself to Master Berwyk. “I must attend to something.”

Leaving him, I walked rapidly after the boy, who darted into an alley off of High Street. I ran after and caught up with him, grabbing him by the arm.

“Let me go, sir,” protested the youth.

“Indeed I shall not.”

“I was doing naught to you. Let me go.”

“I think not.” I kept my hold on the lad’s arm and turned him around to face me. “Mariota, what are you doing here?”

The hood fell back, and I looked into the lovely blue eyes of my wife.

“It’s nothing to you, Muirteach. I was attending the lectures,” Mariota said, quickly pulling the hood back over her head and tucking her hair back inside. “Medical lectures.”

“But
mo chridhe—
”

“What, Muirteach,” my wife hissed in a low voice, and I could tell from the edge in it that she was annoyed. I myself had to restrain the urge to throttle my spouse. “Am I to just sit and sew with our landlady all the day? I shall go mad. And to be so close to all this knowledge and not be able to hear some of it—what else would you have me do?”

“But what if they find out?”

“No one will find out,” she pointed out, “unless you tell them. I enrolled as William, from Uist. It’s the back of beyond. No one will think to question it. And I just attend the lectures and go back to the widow’s. I won’t be idling in the ale-houses, unlike most of my peers.”

“Does she know of this?”

Mariota nodded, her chin thrust forward defiantly. “Aye. I had to tell her, as I have to leave in men’s garb. She helped me. If any one inquires, she will tell them that a William lodges there. And now, sir,” she continued in a louder voice, as two men started down the alley toward us, “I must be on my way. Good day to you.”

I walked with her. “I am not letting you walk alone through these streets. It isn’t safe.”

“It certainly won’t be safe if you expose me. Muirteach, let me be.” And with that she walked rapidly to High Street and left me standing, dumbfounded, in the alley.

I stalked home, furious. Scarlet anger coursed through my veins. As I walked, dodging the filth in the streets and the occasional chamber pot emptied from upper stories, I cursed my wife, my charge and my overlord who had insisted we come on this foolish journey. As I crossed through the Northgate and passed Old Balliol Hall, I cursed all academics foolish enough to get themselves murdered, and every student in the town for good measure.

My mood did not improve when I entered our lodgings and heard Donald plunking away at his damned lute. He should have been studying. It was all I could do not to barge into his chamber and break the hideous instrument over the lad’s head. I briefly considered what a nice fire the wooden instrument would make. Where had he gotten it? I remembered the shop and mulled the possibility of taking the lute and breaking it over the shopkeeper’s crown instead.

“William” had not yet arrived home and I went to find Widow Tanner. I charged into the kitchen and found my landlady seated at a table in the kitchen shelling beans.

“Where’s ‘William’?” I demanded.

Widow Tanner’s face blanched paler than the white beans she was shelling. “William?”

“My wife, damn it. Where is she? What were you thinking of to aid her in this harebrained scheme?”

Widow Tanner stood upright. “And is it so wrong for her to want to study?”

“Can’t you see it is not safe? The town is full of murderers. Not to mention licentious students!”

“She’ll be safe enough,” the widow protested.

“Do you really think she’ll be safe if the masters discover she’s not a lad? Or those students?”

“Sir, she was determined. I could not dissuade her. Nor do I think it so very wrong.”

“Aye, so you colluded with her. Where is she?”

“She’s returned safe enough and went to your chamber to change her garb.”

I had not looked in our chamber, incensed as I was. Now, feeling somewhat foolish as well as furious, I left the kitchen and threw the door of our room open. Mariota was just closing the lid of the chest, now dressed in her own long shift and kirtle. She turned to face me, biting her lip. “Muirteach, I know you’re angry—”

“And why should I not be?”

“Muirteach, can’t you understand? It’s the only way I can attend the lectures; that’s why I wanted to accompany you! That’s why I came on this journey.”

“Just to hear lectures? Not to be with me?”

“Well, of course I wanted to be with you,” Mariota amended, unconvincingly I thought. “But now that I’m here, how can I just sit and sew with the widow? I want to learn, Muirteach. Surely you can see that and not hold it against me?”

“And surely you can see that there’s a murderer running loose in town and a missing woman who has yet to be found! Think about what you’re doing,
amadain
!”

Calling my wife a fool did little to improve the tenor of our conversation. Mariota turned away from me, her back stiff, took her medical text and went over to the table. She sat down and began to read.

“Mariota, you must see reason about this. It isn’t safe!”

My wife did not answer and continued looking at her book. Through the wall I could hear the discordant sounds of Donald’s lute playing and I realized he had probably heard every word.

I tried another tack and lowered my voice. “
Mo chridhe
, it’s not that I’m angry with you.” This last statement may not have been entirely true.

“No?”

“Of course not. But you must see it isn’t safe.”

“But Muirteach, you are not being logical. I’m dressed as a lad, not a lass. So therefore, I should be quite safe from kidnappers of women.”

“Curse logic! Suppose you are found out.”

“I won’t be discovered.”

“But what if you are?”

“It is not against the law to dress in men’s garb.”

“But I am very well sure that to lie about your identity and falsely enroll in the university may well be against the law—or certainly against the statutes of the university!”

“Well, we shall see. But I am not intending to be discovered.”

“Mariota, I forbid it!”

“You cannot stop me, Muirteach. Do not even think of trying to.”

I judged it foolish to continue our conversation. With great effort, I shut my mouth tight and stalked out of the house, ignoring the anxious looks of Widow Tanner. I had it in mind to go into town and get very drunk at Master Jakeson’s tavern, but that made me think of the still-missing Jonetta and as I walked, I decided I did not wish to visit there. So I walked the short distance to Old Balliol Hall, thinking perhaps Master Berwyk had returned from the bookseller’s with news of his
Isagoge
. I entered the hall and went to the room Master Berwyk shared with Master Delacey and knocked.

The door opened and Master Delacey stuck a truculent face out.

“I’m seeking Master Berwyk. Is he within?”

“No. He’s not returned from town. He’s probably with that whore of his, Torvilda.”

“And where does she lodge?”

“I’ve no idea. Pennyfarthing Street, I think I’ve heard him say. Near St. Ebbe’s. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve studies to attend to.”

His tone irked me but I was in none too patient a mood after my conversation with my wife. “Well, when he returns, tell him I need to speak with him.”

Delacey perked his ears like a hound scenting prey. “Oh? And why would that be?”

“That is my affair, not yours.” With that I left him and stalked out of the hall. In the backlands I noticed Ivo tending some cabbages in the garden. I walked over to where he labored. The cabbages and leeks looked green and healthy and I surmised the scholars would be enjoying a great deal of them in the days to come.

“Ivo.”

The old man stood up and stretched his back. “Aye?”

“I wanted to ask you something. About the night Master Clarkson was murdered.”

“Aye?” The old man brushed the dirt from his hands. “I’ve already told you what I know.”

“You said you had locked the gates. But I was with Master Woode and when we returned to the college the gate was already locked.”

“Aye, it were. I heard him banging on it and roused myself up and let him in, then locked it up again, tight enough. No one else came in.”

“So it must have been someone from the college. Unless someone came in earlier and hid themselves. But then how did they leave?”

“Well, they weren’t getting out by the gate. That were well locked up.”

I looked at him. “You’ve worked here a long while.”

“All my life,” Ivo returned, “since I were a lad. But I told you that afore.”

“So you know the masters well.”

Ivo shrugged and scratched absent-mindedly through his tunic at a spot on his arm. “I’m but a servant.”

“Yes, but still you know the place.”

“Happen that I do.”

“Do you have any idea who might have done this thing? Do you know of anyone with a grudge against Master Clarkson?”

“He were a hard man. Strict-like. But them students need a strict hand. Young lads and such they are, always rowdy and carousing, not attending to their studies. They’d play ball back here and trample the cabbages with not a care for the garden, nor for them that works it.”

I nodded. “But are you thinking any of the scholars killed the master?”

Ivo shook his head. “I’ve no way of knowing that. I know he had words with that Phillip Woode. I heard them, so I did.”

I had heard them too. “Have you ever noticed Phillip Woode to have a bad temper? A violent disposition?”

Ivo shook his head again. “No, I never did. He’s a friend to many of the younger lads and likes his ale, but I’ve never known him to fight. He be a kind man, at least I’ve never seen him in a temper—except for the words I heard with the master.”

“And others? Who else might have a temper?”

Ivo stretched his back again and reached for his hoe. “That Master Delacey. He did fight and argue in years past. But not so much now as in former times. He’s on his dignity, he is now. Thinks he’s better than the others and wanted to be master of the college himself. But the other scholars voted for Clarkson.”