Study of Murder, The (Five Star Mystery Series) (7 page)

I felt my stomach roil and prayed I would not vomit then and there. I took a few breaths to steady myself while I observed. Masters Delacey and Berwyk stood in the room, staring at the corpse in silence. A large and heavy pewter candlestick, the base of which was covered in blood and brains, lay on the wooden floor. Some blood seeped down from the corpse’s head and pooled beneath it. My stomach heaved again.

“We haven’t moved him,” Master Delacey stated.

“Shouldn’t you send for Grymbaud? Or the coroner?” I asked.

“No, no, not until we know more. It is a matter for the hall at this point,” Master Delacey responded hastily. I looked away from the gruesome body and watched the two men. Delacey’s complexion was not so red now, his face ashen as he surveyed the corpse. I wondered what Delacey intended to do with the body, but Master Berwyk interrupted.

“Julian, it is foul murder. We must send for the coroner. And the chancellor of the university.”

Reluctantly, Delacey agreed and a messenger was sent to rouse the men, leaving Master Berwyk and myself with the unpleasant duty of guarding the corpse. I swallowed bile and tried to control my responses while I faced Master Berwyk.

I had not met Master Berwyk before. He had a quiet and calm manner in spite of the dismay he must surely have been feeling to see his colleague lying there dead.

“It is a shocking and foul thing—unthinkable,” he murmured to me. “I scarce know what to say.”

I did not know what to say either. After a few more words we fell into an uncomfortable silence while I wondered if Berwyk had murdered Clarkson. Berwyk’s nose looked as though it had once been broken, despite his seemingly gentle demeanor, and he was tall and strong.

It was not too long before Chancellor deWylton and the town coroner, Thomas Houkyn, arrived accompanied by Grymbaud. The officials looked at the body and, most perceptively, agreed it was murder. Houkyn left to assemble a jury and the chancellor conferred with Masters Delacey and Berwyk outside the chamber, but Grymbaud remained behind and spoke with me a moment. “Muirteach, these university men won’t look kindly on outsiders investigating here. The man was killed, and by one of their own, I’d warrant.”

“He is most certainly dead,” I observed.

“Aye, and the college gates locked up, so no one could enter nor yet leave. It’s a bad business, and those university men will close ranks tighter than a choirboy’s bum when it comes to the coroner or myself investigating. I’m but the undersheriff, for all that the High Sheriff is seldom here. He spends time with the rich and mighty in London town, and leaves the rough work to me.”

I said nothing, and Grymbaud continued. “And to add to that, we’ve still seen no sign of that girl, Jonetta. I’ve no doubt she’s run away with some tinker, but her father still insists that cannot be. The end of it all is that I need an extra man, someone neutral, with no close ties to the town or the university. Will you look into things here for me? I’ll speak with the chancellor and make it right with him. You’ve some connection with the university so he’ll likely approve it. This nasty case falls under his jurisdiction; town justice counts for nothing with these scholars.” I think the man would have spat on the floor, except he remembered where he was and the dead body that lay a few feet distant. “The inquest will be called for tomorrow, I’d think.”

“What of the coroner? Won’t I be poaching on his jurisdiction?” I protested. I did not want this charge. I did not know the ways of this land, their laws or customs. It was not my affair.

“I’ll speak with him as well. Houkyn and deWylton are like two tomcats fighting, there’s been bad blood between them for years. Houkyn will know he won’t get too far investigating things at the college. He’s a practical man; he’ll agree to it.” Sensing my hesitation, Grymbaud continued. “I need your help. It was a foul slaying, and the bastards are like to go free of it. Look there.”

I followed his gaze, to the bloodied corpse of Master Clarkson still lying ignominiously on the floor. Clarkson had seemed a good enough man, and yet he lay murdered. So I in turn agreed, despite my misgivings, and Grymbaud left after speaking with the masters and the chancellor.

Master Delacey strode over to where I was standing, followed by Master Berwyk and Chancellor deWylton. “So, he’s made you his lackey.”

“You sent for me first,” I said mildly. “I’ve some experience in these matters.”

“Well enough, you can have the mess and welcome to it,” Delacey muttered brusquely, and stalked away. My hands clenched as I watched him leave the room.

Chancellor de Wylton, a lean man with a saturnine complexion and a growth of unshaven beard on his chin, spoke, breaking the somewhat unpleasant silence left in Delacey’s wake. “Grymbaud says you’ve solved mysteries before.”

“Aye, I have,” I replied. “For my lord back in the Isles in the north.”

“Perhaps that is to the good. You’ll see the situation with fresh eyes and not have too many preconceptions of the scholars here. Yes, it will be well for you to look into this.”

Good for everyone but myself, I thought, but did not voice that. And it had been a grievous murder. It would be good to bring the killer to justice.

“Who found the master?” I asked.

“Ivo, the gardener and gatekeeper, came in to light the fire, as he does everyday. It was he that found him,” Master Berwyk replied. “Then he raised the cry.”

I had seen Ivo out in the back garden, the day before as I waited for Donald.

“Send for him, let me speak with him,” I said, “and send for my wife. She is at our lodgings, at the Widow Tanner’s. Leave everything in the chamber as it is for now.”

“But we must lay out the body,” said Brother Eusebius, who had appeared in the doorway while we were speaking. “It is unseemly.”

“Let my wife examine it first. She is a physician, in our country. There may be signs that will point us to the killer.”

“But women are not allowed in the lodgings,” Eusebius protested, “and women cannot be physicians. The whole idea is preposterous.”

“Her father is a noted healer,” I retorted. “And she herself has some skill. Now, are you wanting me to help you solve this murder, or not?” There is nothing so dithering as academics.

“Perhaps, in this case, an exception can be made,” Chancellor deWylton suggested.

Berwyk nodded. “Crispin, run back to Widow Tanner’s and get the mistress. Bid her make all haste.”

While I waited for Mariota to arrive, I looked around the room. A pile of disarranged parchments lay on a wooden table, along with several books. A horn inkwell and a quantity of quills sat on the table as well. A few more books were piled up on the floor. Not surprising, for a studious master.

A chest, unlocked, stood against one wall. I opened it and saw a few tunics,
braies
, and two changes of linen; again, nothing unexpected. A pitcher and bowl for washing stood on another small table, and the narrow bed stood under a wooden crucifix on the wall.

I stepped around the body to examine the books. Aristotle’s
Priora Analytica, Posteriora Analytica
, and
Sophistica Elenchi
, along with Aquinas’s
Summa theologica
. The parchments all seemed to be parts of some writing Clarkson had been working on; at least all were in the same hand, and seemed to deal with theological questions.

The door to the chamber opened and Phillip Woode stuck his head in. “Sir, we’ve fetched Ivo to see you.”

I looked at the bloody corpse. “Perhaps we could use another room. Is there anything suitable?”

“I think the small room downstairs that they use for disputations would be free. Come this way.”

Donald, who had followed me to the college, still loitered outside the chamber door, craning his neck to see inside. I motioned to the lad. “Donald, you stay in front of this door. Let no one in until Mariota arrives. Then send for me.”

Donald nodded, and I followed Phillip and Ivo down one flight of stairs to a smaller room off the main hall. There was a table inside, along with two stools and a bench. “This will suffice.”

“I will send for some ale,” Phillip volunteered, and he left us to our business.

Old Ivo was tall but broad-shouldered, somewhat stooped over, with long graying hair that hung down around his cheeks. His clouded green eyes looked troubled.

“It is a wicked thing,” he said without waiting to be asked. I agreed that indeed it was.

“How long have you served here?”

He blinked, as if surprised by my question. “A good long time, since I was but a lad. And my wife too, rest her soul, we served here together. She cooked for the scholars, before the plague took her, the second plague, that were some thirteen years ago.”

“Where do you bide?”

“I have a small cottage at the end of the backlands. I sleep there, and my daughter as well.”

“You have a daughter?”

“Aye, my little Avice. Although near a grown girl she is now. She works here. In the kitchens,” he volunteered.

“And it is your custom to light the fires for the masters.”

Ivo nodded. “Aye. For Master Clarkson, and Masters Delacey and Berwyk. They all four have braziers in their rooms. Brother Eusebius, though, he does not often use his. He seems not to feel the cold.”

“So you went in to light Clarkson’s brazier this morning?”

Ivo nodded again. “I carried some coals from the kitchens. I knocked on the door like I do every morn, but there weren’t no answer. So I knocked again, louder.”

“And when was this?”

“Early, well before Prime. It was still dark, but the moon was setting.”

“And you saw no one leaving the grounds? And heard nothing unusual last night?”

Ivo shook his head no. “I locked the gate up tight last night, after dark, just as the moon were rising. No one could have gotten in.”

“So what happened? When you knocked?”

“I pushed the door open; I was thinking that the master might have fallen asleep at his desk. He sometimes stays up late, working. The door weren’t locked, it were easy to open.”

“And then—”

Ivo shrugged his broad shoulders. “He were lying there on the floor. It were clear he was dead. There were the blood, and he weren’t breathing.”

“So what did you do?”

“I went and fetched Master Delacey. That’s all.” He shook his head again. “Such wickedness, here . . .”

Just then Phillip knocked on the door with the news that Mariota had arrived, and it seemed I had learnt what I could from Ivo. I dismissed him and went to see Mariota. She stood, breathless, in front of Master Clarkson’s chamber.

“I came as quickly as I could,” she said. “What is it you are wanting?”

“Just for you to have a look at the body,
mo chridhe
, and see what you can tell us about it. I must warn you, though, it is an unlovely sight.”

“I’ve seen the dead before, Muirteach, as you well know.”

Indeed I did. One of the first times I had met my wife, she had been examining my father’s corpse. I motioned to Donald to open the door. He had not left his post, standing in front of the door like a gallowglass, and assured me no one had entered in the time I’d been speaking with the servant. Finally, he stepped aside and I pushed the door open.

We entered the room again, Donald crowding in behind us. I heard him gasp a little as he took in the scene. Mariota did not quail at the sight but bent to examine the body. It was cold, already stiffening, and I did not really need my wife to tell me what had caused his death. The heavy candlestick still lay on the floor, covered with congealed blood and other matter. It looked as though one strong blow had been struck, felling the master, and then another smashing the skull in to complete the deed.

“He was facing toward his table when he was attacked,” Mariota said. “And then he fell forward.”

“And the murderer struck again, to make sure he was dead,” I continued, trying to match my wife’s objectivity, and perhaps failing a bit in that if the queasiness that had returned to plague me was any sign of things. “How long ago do you think he was killed?”

“Perhaps five or six hours ago. The body is already stiff. Before Matins, I’m thinking.”

“Whoever did it might well have gotten some blood on his tunic.”

“Perhaps not,” Mariota responded. “His skull is bashed in, but there were not great gouts of blood flying when he was struck.” She sighed.

Donald watched with wide eyes. He picked up the candlestick. “It’s heavy. A good enough weapon.”

“And close to hand. Perhaps the killer did not come intending murder,” I said.

Donald put the candlestick down again. He looked quite pale. I judged that the presence of death subdued him somewhat.

“Why don’t you find Anthony and Crispin,” I suggested. I reached into my purse. “Here’s some coin—take yourselves into town and buy them a meat pie or something.”

Donald swallowed and looked torn.

“No doubt they’d want to hear of what you’ve seen. And perhaps they know something useful. You can ask them of it for me.”

Donald looked grateful at the excuse, took the coins and left to find the other lads.

“That was kindly done, Muirteach,” Mariota told me, and then she returned her attention to the corpse. “The killer must have been a tall man,” she said. “For Clarkson is not a short man, yet this blow came down on him.”

We rolled the body over, but there were no additional marks on it. Just the open eyes of Master Clarkson, staring with surprise. I remembered the fiction that the eyes of a dead man would show his killer, but Master Clarkson’s eyes showed us nothing.

Mariota picked up Clarkson’s hands and examined them. “There is no blood on his fingers, just ink. I do not think he fought back. He was struck from behind, unknowing.” She sighed. “Well, there is nothing else to be learned here.” She closed the eyes of the corpse. “They can call for the women who will do the laying out.” She made the sign of the cross and shivered. “It could have been almost anyone. But they would have had to have strength, and height.”

“Old Ivo swears he locked the gate last night. It must have been someone from the college.”

“One of the scholars?”