When Langelee had said a final grace in his appalling Latin, which, as usual, entailed leaving out words he did not like the look of or substituting for them ones of his own devising, the Fellows adjourned to the conclave, leaving the hall to the students. Neither gathering was very merry.
‘I will ask the rats about the accounts, Brother,’ offered Clippesby. Bartholomew could see a whiskery nose protruding from the Dominican’s sleeve, and hoped he had not brought one to the conclave. He did not mind most of Clippesby’s ‘friends’, but he drew the line at rats. ‘They have an eye for figures, and will prove Wynewyk was doing no wrong.’
‘You think everyone is good, Clippesby,’ said Michael. He made no comment about the rats’ fiscal abilities – he had learned it was best to leave such declarations unchallenged, because acknowledging them invariably resulted in a rash of theories and remarks that should have seen the Dominican incarcerated for his own safety. ‘But the world is a wicked place.’
‘People are wicked,’ corrected Clippesby. ‘Animals are not. Incidentally, the spiders did not see anyone steal your pennyroyal, Matt. You asked me whether I knew anything about it.’
‘Lord!’ breathed Thelnetham. He was still not used to Clippesby, and found him unsettling. ‘You talk to spiders? I thought you confined yourself to creatures with fur or feathers.’
‘Spiders have fur,’ averred Clippesby. ‘Next time you meet one, have a closer look.’
Thelnetham shuddered and made no reply.
Bartholomew was usually tolerant of Clippesby’s idiosyncrasies, far more so than the other Fellows, but he was not in the mood for them that night. He made his excuses to Langelee, and left the College. He was worried about his sister, and wanted to make sure she had not mounted her own investigation into Joan’s untimely death.
‘I cannot stop thinking about her,’ said Edith without preamble when he arrived. She was sitting by the fire, shivering, even though the room was hot. ‘She was murdered. Why will you not believe me?’
Bartholomew regarded her unhappily. ‘You have let her husband’s claims unsettle you. Elyan was upset and angry, and said things he did not mean. You heard what his grandmother–’
‘He is right to be suspicious. Someone gave Joan pennyroyal, encouraging her to drink it by saying it would strengthen her blood or some such nonsense. She took it in good faith, and died for her trusting nature.’
‘But she did not know anyone in Cambridge,’ Bartholomew pointed out reasonably. ‘Other than you. Why would she drink a potion offered by a stranger?’
Edith glared at him. ‘If you gave me a tonic, telling me it would benefit my well-being, I would swallow it without question. So would any of your patients, whether they are intimately acquainted with you or not.’
‘You think a physician hurt her?’ Bartholomew was shocked. ‘Paxtone or Rougham? Or me?’
‘Of course not, but there are plenty of other folk who dabble in matters of health – witches, wise-women, midwives, apothecaries and even priests. Perhaps one of them did it.’
‘But why? Joan came to Cambridge to buy ribbon. Surely she cannot have made enemies–’
‘She did not have enemies. But Elyan might have done – perhaps someone wanted to ensure he never had his heir.’
‘So the culprit followed Joan all the way from Haverhill, with the express purpose of damaging her unborn child?’ asked Bartholomew doubtfully. ‘That does not sound very likely.’
‘Or perhaps the priest did it,’ Edith went on, ignoring him. ‘Neubold. Why else would he fail to come to her deathbed? Because he killed her!’
‘Easy,’ said Bartholomew, thinking she was letting her imagination run riot. ‘No one killed Joan, and there will be a perfectly rational explanation for the absence of this cleric.’
‘How do you know?’ demanded Edith angrily. ‘You have no idea what kind of life Joan lived in Haverhill. She and Elyan might have accrued some very dangerous foes.’
‘Did she mention any?’
‘No,’ admitted Edith. ‘But perhaps she was oblivious to the malice they bore her. She was a kind, loving person, always eager to see the good in people. She even said nice things about Osa Gosse, and we all know he does not deserve it.’
‘She knew him?’ asked Bartholomew uneasily, thinking about Michael’s notion that Gosse might have stolen the missing pennyroyal.
‘She recognised him as an inhabitant of Clare, which is not far from Haverhill, apparently. They exchanged words.’
‘Hostile ones?’
‘No. It was mostly pleasantries about the weather and Cambridge’s pretty churches, but then Gosse began to hint that he wanted her to buy him some Market Square trinkets – for his sister, he said. He is not poor, and I did not see why she should buy him anything.’
‘Then what?’ asked Bartholomew, when she paused.
‘It does not matter,’ said Edith, looking away. ‘You have enough to worry about.’
‘Then what?’ repeated Bartholomew.
Edith sighed. ‘I shall tell you, but it really was nothing, and I do not want you doing anything you might later regret. Gosse and Idoma frighten me, and–’
‘Edith!’ said Bartholomew, exasperated. ‘What happened next?’
Edith sighed a second time. ‘I took her arm and pulled her away, to bring an end to the discussion. Gosse objected, presumably because he thought Joan was about to capitulate, and he … found a way to express his disappointment.’
‘How?’ asked Bartholomew, feeling anger begin to boil inside him. It was one thing for Gosse to corner him in secluded alleys, but another altogether to pick on his beloved sister.
Edith took his hand. ‘It was nothing, Matt. He grabbed a handful of mud and threw it. But it contained pebbles, and hurt when it struck my head.’
‘He lobbed stones at you?’ demanded Bartholomew, fury erupting. He stood abruptly, with the wild notion of racing out to find Gosse there and then, and showing him what happened to thieves who dared harm Edith.
‘Pebbles,’ she corrected. She indicated he was to sit again while she finished her tale. ‘I complained to Constable Muschett, but he said there was nothing he could do because there were no witnesses. But there was a witness – Valence saw what happened.’ ‘My student?’ asked Bartholomew, startled. ‘He mentioned none of this to me.’
‘I ordered him not to, because I knew how you would react. Meanwhile, Muschett said Valence did not count as a witness, because of the Stanton Cups – he thinks Michaelhouse will go to any lengths to get them back, including accusing Gosse of other crimes, to discredit him.’
‘Muschett thinks we are dishonest? That we would lie?’ Bartholomew was offended.
‘I shall be glad when Sheriff Tulyet comes home,’ said Edith, ignoring his questions. ‘He will not be intimidated by Gosse. Did you know the Frail Sisters often see Gosse prowling the streets at night? And that the next day there is always a burgled College or hostel? It is obvious he is the culprit, but everyone is too timid to challenge him.’
‘Because he won a lawsuit against the town,’ explained Bartholomew, deciding not to ask how she was acquainted with what prostitutes did. He was sure her husband would not approve if she had decided to take up where Matilde had left off, and act as their advocate. ‘The burgesses were obliged to provide compensation, and no one likes paying the villain who stole from them. I imagine most people would rather stay low until he moves on.’