‘Will you tell us why King’s Hall think they have a right to your grandson’s manor?’
‘We have known for years that there will be two claimants, should Henry die without issue: d’Audley, who is a snake but a Haverhill man; and Luneday, who is nicer but from Withersfield. We asked the priests – Neubold and Hilton – to determine who has the stronger claim. Unfortunately, not only did they discover that certain ancient marriages had not been legitimate, but they learned that a will made by Alneston – who founded this chapel – brought another contestant into play.’
‘King’s Hall?’
‘King’s Hall,’ agreed Agnys. ‘The whole situation is rendered even more confusing by the fact that certain documents are missing. Or are owned by Luneday, who cannot read and who will not let anyone else see them. He is afraid of being cheated, which is understandable enough – d’Audley is vicious and will do anything to harm him, while King’s Hall seem somewhat unscrupulous, too.’
‘Is this why King’s Hall want Alneston Chantry?’ asked Bartholomew. ‘To strengthen their claim on Elyan Manor – saying they already own property here, so they should have more?’
‘I cannot imagine why else they should want it,’ said Agnys, looking around in distaste. ‘It is a paltry place, and reeks of chickens for some inexplicable reason.’
‘But all this would be irrelevant if Henry had a child,’ mused Michael, regarding her thoughtfully. ‘Do you think d’Audley or Luneday went to Cambridge and gave Joan pennyroyal? You said she would not have swallowed it by accident, which only leaves two possibilities: she did it deliberately, or someone gave it to her.’
Agnys was unhappy. ‘I would hate to think so. However, when he heard Joan was in Cambridge, d’Audley left Haverhill, saying he was going to visit kin. Luneday’s woman was also mysteriously absent at the pertinent time. And the men of King’s Hall were there already.’
‘King’s Hall will not have harmed Joan,’ said Bartholomew, thinking of Paxtone, Warden Powys, and other scholars he knew and liked there. Then a picture of Shropham sprang unbidden into his mind, a man who was in prison for murder.
‘I would have said the same about d’Audley and Luneday,’ said Agnys grimly. She shook her head slowly. ‘I admit my initial assumption was that Joan had killed herself – yet she was happy about the child, even in the last few weeks when she became unaccountably troubled. Meanwhile, the notion of her swallowing pennyroyal by accident is preposterous. So that leaves murder. And I have just decided that you two are going to help me find the culprit.’
There was a silence after Lady Agnys made her announcement. Bartholomew’s heart sank, and he wished Michael had held his tongue over something that was – after all – none of their business.
‘And how do you propose we do that?’ asked Michael eventually.
Agnys smiled. ‘Oh, I expect a cunning fellow like you will think of a way, especially if I offer you information in return. You mentioned a man called Wynewyk earlier. My ageing memory needed a while to work, but I do recall a fellow of that name visiting my grandson in August.’
‘Do you know why?’ asked Michael. ‘Or what was discussed?’
‘No, but I can find out.’
Michael regarded her suspiciously. ‘You would pry into your kinsman’s affairs on our behalf?’
Agnys’s grin became slightly malevolent. ‘Henry will not have done anything untoward. However, d’Audley had a very curious reaction to the name, and I would enjoy discovering something to discomfit him. You may think me unneighbourly, but I cannot abide the fellow.’
‘We think your grandson sold Wynewyk some coal in August,’ said Michael. His tone was cautious. ‘But Hilton maintains he does not have enough of it.’
Agnys shrugged. ‘Henry imports it from Ipswich for local needs, but the discovery of a seam on our land means he hopes to hawk more in the coming years. Perhaps Wynewyk’s purchase was for coal to be delivered in the future.’
Michael was about to ask more, but the door banged open and Cynric hurried towards them. The Welshman’s face was grim as he pulled Bartholomew to one side.
‘I have been making friends in taverns,’ he said in a low voice. ‘And two have just told me that they were paid to dig a secret grave, up by the mine. In the summer.’
Bartholomew winced. ‘That is unpleasant, but not our affair.’
‘They said the body belonged to a stranger.’ Cynric’s expression was deeply troubled. ‘A young man. And they described an unusual black garment over his tunic and hose.’
Bartholomew stared at him. ‘You mean like an academic tabard?’
Cynric nodded soberly. ‘That is what it sounded like to me. Kelyng always wore his tabard, because he was proud of it – and you know I think Wynewyk hired him for protection.’
‘You think it is our missing Bible Scholar in this grave? That is not very likely, Cynric.’
‘It is if you think about it,’ pressed Cynric urgently. ‘Kelyng went missing in August, after Wynewyk had made that suspicious journey to see his sick father. And while the rest of you assumed Kelyng had fled his debts, Wynewyk never did.’
‘But if this is true, and they were attacked, Wynewyk would have told us–’
‘Would he?’ interrupted Cynric. ‘Even though it would have meant admitting that he did not travel to Winwick, but went to Suffolk instead? And would have to tell you why?’
Bartholomew shrugged. ‘Perhaps you are right, but I do not see how we will ever find out.’
‘I do. I got precise directions to this tomb, and I know where I can borrow a spade.’
‘No!’ Bartholomew was horrified.
But Cynric was adamant. ‘I liked Kelyng, and his parents have a right to know what happened to him. I will do it alone, if need be. But it will be easier with two of us.’
‘When?’ asked Bartholomew heavily.
Pleased, Cynric gripped his shoulder, warrior fashion. ‘At midnight. When else?’
Lady Agnys declared she was thirsty when Bartholomew returned, and asked him and Michael to join her for an ale at the Queen’s Head. It was an unusual invitation, because taverns were rarely frequented by ladies. First, they were the domain of men, and second, those women who did venture inside tended to be prostitutes.
Michael was grinning as they followed her out of the chapel. He admired doughty old ladies, and liked the fact that Agnys was prepared to ignore convention and do as she pleased. Bartholomew would have preferred to sit by himself and consider Cynric’s theory about Kelyng, but Agnys was astute, and he did not want to arouse her suspicions by asking to be excused.
The Queen’s Head was neat, clean and smelled of the new rushes on the floor. The landlord did not seem surprised when Agnys sailed into his establishment; he only doffed his cap and ousted three patrons so she could sit by the fire. When Michael started to ask for claret, Agnys stopped him.
‘The Queen’s Head is noted for its ale, so you will have ale. And it is famous for its roasted pork, too, so we shall have a plate of that, as well. You look like a man who appreciates his food, Brother.’
‘I am not fat,’ said Michael immediately. ‘Matt tells me I have unusually heavy bones.’
‘Actually, that is something you invented of your own–’ began Bartholomew.
‘I have heavy bones, too,’ said Agnys, with a conspiratorial wink as she patted her own ample girth. ‘God made the ones in my hips out of lead.’