Study of Murder, The (Five Star Mystery Series) (14 page)

The next morning I rose early. Donald still snored in his chamber but Mariota was already dressed as “William.” I had it in mind to speak further with Phillip Woode and so, as the sun brightened, I walked along Canditch with “William” until I reached Balliol Hall. I said a silent prayer for my wife’s safety as she continued walking to Northgate, even as I cursed her stubbornness. Then I entered the college and set out to find Phillip Woode.

I found him still abed and deduced he had been at the drink the night before. He was unshaven and his chamber in disarray, with several books piled up untidily on a desk. There were no signs of Phillip’s roommate, although the room held two beds and two desks, and I judged that he was still absent from Oxford. I shook Phillip Woode on the shoulder but he only snored more loudly. I went to the narrow window and threw open the wooden shutter, letting in the morning sunlight and crisp air.

“Wake up,” I said, shaking him again. “I need to speak with you.”

Phillip stirred and opened one eye. “Muirteach, what is it you want?”

“I need to talk with you.”

“Now? I was late to bed.”

“Now.”

Phillip sat up and reached for his shirt, which was piled in a heap at the foot of the bed. “What is all this about?” he asked, his voice muffled by the garment.

“You know they’ve arrested Ivo for Clarkson’s murder.”

Phillip’s head popped through the neck of his shirt, his hair rumpled. “Aye, I had heard of that. Of course. There was talk of nothing else here yesterday.”

“Well, the night Clarkson was murdered, did you hear anything? What direction did Ivo come from when he unlocked the gate?”

“How am I to know,” Phillip returned as he pulled on his
braies
. “The gate was closed. You can’t see through.”

“Do you remember anything?”

“I was drunk, Muirteach. You know that, you yourself left me at the gate.” He stood up and poured some water into a basin and washed his face.

“Well, how long did it take for Ivo to open up?”

“It seems it took a good long time.” Phillip made a face. “Faugh! My mouth tastes like an old drain.” He rinsed his mouth and spat into the bowl, then reached for his hose that lay on the floor.

“It seemed a long time,” he repeated. “But his cottage is far in the back lot, so that would only be expected.” Phillip finished pulling on his hose and tying the points.

“But you heard no noise or such to tell you which direction he came from?”

“I might have heard a door slam. The door to the hall, perhaps. But I can’t really be sure.” Phillip turned to face me. “What is this all about, Muirteach?”

“I was just thinking perhaps you might have heard something that would clear the old man.”

“But the authorities have him in custody.” Phillip paused and stared at me a moment. “You don’t think he did it, do you?”

“He denies it.”

Phillip pulled his tunic over his shirt. “He’s always struck me as a harmless old man. He’s worked here for years, and seems to care for nothing but his cabbages. You’re right, it is hard to imagine him striking the master and murdering him. What would be the reason? His daughter? I heard something about that last night, and I also heard that fool Delacey had dismissed the poor girl. There were wild stories flying around. The tavern keeper at the King’s Lion was surly, and glared at all the students in the place as if we were about to ravish his daughters there on the table.”

I told him more about Avice.

“That explains the tavern keeper’s attitude. The townsfolk hate us, but depend on our business. It doesn’t take much to start trouble.” Phillip pulled his academic hood and cloak on over his
cotehardie
, deep in thought. “Ivo might well have killed Clarkson. I would, if it were my sister used in such a way. Ivo dotes on that girl. She’s still but a child.”

That was the same way I had felt, so I could not fault Phillip for that.

“But you did not like the man anyway. I myself heard you arguing.”

“Yes, my life is easier now that the man is dead,” Phillip mused. He could almost have been speaking to himself. “I think I might have a better chance with Master Berwyk. He might well approve me, should he become the next Master of the college. Then I could enroll in the medical lectures.”

“So you had reason to kill Clarkson.”

“Is that why you woke me up this morning? To accuse me of murder? Muirteach, I did not kill the master. I went right to my room, as I told you, and to sleep. I saw no one and heard nothing, and know nothing more about it.”

“But you have no proof. No one saw you come in.”

“Just Ivo, when he opened the gate, and he did not follow me to the hall. He went back toward his cottage. And according to the stories, Ivo said he found Clarkson dead earlier that evening.”

“So you cannot clear the old man, and neither can he clear you.”

“That is true, Muirteach. But you must believe me. I did not kill Clarkson, and if Ivo did not, as you seem to believe, then who did?”

I had no answer for that. “What about Jonetta?” I asked.

Phillip sighed. “That again. Weren’t you satisfied with the answers I gave the undersheriff? I fancied her and she ran away with a chapman. At least that’s what I’ve heard. I know naught of her whereabouts, and I wish that I did. Now, you’ll excuse me. I have a lecture to attend on School Street.” Phillip brushed past me and left the room.

It seemed to me later that morning as I munched on a meat pastry I’d purchased from a street seller that everyone had reason to kill Master Clarkson. Phillip Woode had argued with him, Master Berwyk wanted his book back, Delacey was jealous and had wanted to be Master of Balliol himself, while Ivo had the best reason of all.

Although Master Berwyk seemed to be in the clear, since he had stayed that night with Mistress Bonefey. However, if Clarkson had indeed been dead earlier in the evening, as Ivo insisted, perhaps Berwyk had killed him earlier, just after the evening meal, and then gone to Torvilda’s. And if Berwyk had spent the night at Mistress Bonefey’s, then Delacey also had no one to vouch for his movements that night. Mariota thought the man had been dead for several hours before he was found.

The normal bustle of Oxford town seemed to have an edge that day. The pie man was sullen and glowered at me as he sold me my pastry. There seemed to be an undercurrent and as a group of students walked by, on their way to School Street, I overheard a voice whisper behind me, “There’s them that mistreat young girls.”

“Aye,” replied another voice. “It makes me sick to see it, those young clerks walking around, thinking they’re above the law. Minor orders, faugh.” I heard the sound of spitting.

I turned, curious to see who was speaking, but the owners of the voices had melted away into the crowd. Just then I saw Undersheriff Grymbaud approach, and I guessed that was why they had left.

“Muirteach,” Grymbaud greeted me.

“How is your prisoner?” I asked.

“He’s well enough. Safer perhaps in his cell than he would be at that college. What’s become of his daughter?”

I told the sheriff that Widow Tanner had taken in Avice.

“That’s good,” the undersheriff grunted.

“When will the assize be held?”

“I’m thinking we’ll wait and call it after things have settled down a bit here in the town. The High Sheriff will not be back from London for some time; he leaves most things to me. There are no Royal Assizes, so it is up to the Justice to call the assize when he wishes. We work well together; he will listen to me.” The undersheriff surveyed the townsfolk milling about the market. “I don’t like the feel of this crowd. It’s always the case, when something goes wrong at a college. Or in the town. It’s like living with cats and dogs, at each other’s throats. Even when things are calm it’s an uneasy peace.”

I thought things did not seem so calm today, and worried for my stubborn wife. And that made me think of Jakeson’s daughter. “What of Jonetta?” I asked. “Have you found them, or heard anything?”

“I’ve sent messages to the other large towns, to be on the watch for a chapman and a woman traveling with him. So far we’ve heard nothing.” He sighed heavily. “If these girls but knew the heartache they caused their parents, but they think of nothing but themselves.”

“Aye,” I agreed, in perfect sympathy with Grymbaud’s sentiments. “There’s no stopping a woman once she’s set on something.”

“Young people today think only of their own pleasure and show no respect for their elders. How is your pastry?” he asked, changing the subject abruptly.

“Not bad,” I replied.

“It makes me hungry. I’m on edge, I vow. It’s all this business with Clarkson. I’m hoping we’ll be spared a riot.”

I watched while Grymbaud bought a large pastry from the pie man. “It’s good,” he said, as he took a bite. I smelled a savory aroma of onion and meat and watched as Grymbaud licked a crumb from one of his fingers. “He swore it was rabbit,” the undersheriff said. “I hope so.”

I hoped so too, having by now finished my own pie, and decided to return to our lodgings, hoping that Mariota had returned safely from the lectures. Then I thought better of that and started walking toward School Street. Perhaps I could intercept her there and ensure she got home safely. I did not like the tenor of this crowd.

School Street was crowded with young men just out from their lectures. I failed to see Mariota but heard voices I thought I recognized and saw Donald, Anthony and Crispin ducking into a tavern. Apparently they had seen me and were hoping to slip away. I followed them in and saw them just sitting down at a rough wooden table.

“Best to return to your lodgings,” I told the boys as I joined them. “The townsfolk are still upset with Ivo’s arrest, and things could get ugly.”

“I’m not afraid of a few town folk,” Crispin declared defiantly as the landlord glowered at him.

“Come, let’s have some ale. Muirteach, aren’t you thirsty?” Donald wheedled.

“No, I am not, and neither are you. We’re leaving now.” I left a generous coin on the table and hustled the three boys out of the tavern and back toward Smithgate.

“We asked Master Berwyk about those parchments,” Anthony finally said as the three boys sullenly walked up the street with me.

“And what did he say?”

Anthony shrugged his bony shoulders. “He knew nothing of them. But he kept one and said he would show it to the other masters.”

“Aye,” Donald put in suddenly. “He kept one of the sheets with the plants and one with the writing.”

“He did not keep the one with the women on it,” said Crispin. “We didn’t show him that one.”

I grunted something by way of reply and decided to leave Crispin’s fixation alone. I also did not intervene when the boys stopped at a vintner’s and purchased a jug of wine, but I was glad to leave the walls of the town and enter the slightly less crowded suburbs, and even gladder to see the walls of the widow’s house as we approached. Let the lads drink themselves silly in the safety of Widow Tanner’s house; at least they’d not be in the midst of a riot. For I felt a storm was gathering, and I did not like the feeling.

The weather did not help, either. The day was unseasonably hot for so close to Michaelmas, the air sticky, and dark clouds hovered ominously in the sky. We passed Brother Eusebius walking toward Old Balliol Hall, coming the opposite direction from us down Canditch. He seemed intent on something and barely acknowledged us until I greeted him when we nearly collided with each other.

“Oh, excuse me,” he said. “I was pondering something—a tenet of natural philosophy.” He glanced at the boys’ jug. “And so you boys are off to study?”

“Indeed they are,” I assured him. “It does not seem a good day to be in town. The mood of the townsfolk is ugly. It is all this arrest of Ivo, and his daughter. And then the missing tavern girl, that makes it worse.”

“Ah yes, how was she called?”

“Jonetta,” Donald said. “Did Master Berwyk show you that strange parchment we found?”

Eusebius looked curious. “What parchment was that, young sir?”

“Master Berwyk has it,” Donald replied. “It has some strange drawings and words on it we could not decipher. It is very odd.”

“How did you come by it?” asked Eusebius.

“It is just a palimpsest, left on some used parchment we bought from the bookman,” I put in.

“Doubtless it is some scribbling or an old text,” Eusebius mused. “You said it was undecipherable?”

“We could make no sense of it,” I replied. “It is certainly not Latin, and my wife knows Greek, but she could make no sense of the writing either. It was written in none of those languages.”

“A mystery,” Eusebius said. “Curious. Well, I must be off to my studies. Good day to you, young sirs.” He wandered down the road, again lost in thought.

We had reached Anthony and Crispin’s lodging house by this time. Their tenement lay halfway down Canditch, close to the Widow Tanner’s. The boys went inside to put some gear away and left me alone standing in the middle of the street with Donald.

“Are you going to study?” I asked, eyeing the wine my charge was carrying.

“We can study and drink wine at the same time, well enough.”

The other two boys returned and I abandoned them at our landlady’s, with strict orders not to go into town. I turned my back on the house, hoping they would not disobey me. Perhaps they’d be drunk enough when they finished the wine that they’d have no desire to return inside the city walls.

Contemplating these happy thoughts, I walked back toward Balliol with the intention of talking to Delacey. Why had he lied about Berwyk’s presence at the hall the night Clarkson had been killed? That would be of interest. And I had not yet seen Mariota.

That concern at least was allayed when I spotted “William’s” blue hood and tunic on Canditch as my wife made her way back to Widow Tanner’s.

“William,” I called.

Mariota did not heed me. I crossed the street and planted myself in front of her. “William,” I repeated.

“Och.”
Mariota flushed when she looked up and recognized me. “Hello, Muirteach. You were calling me.”