‘Is that it?’ asked Michael, stepping out from behind one of the pillars. Hilton jumped violently, and clutched his chest, to indicate he had been given a serious shock. Michael ignored his reaction. ‘Are you in such a hurry that you cannot do more for your colleague’s soul?’
‘I will return later, and perhaps keep vigil tonight. But I am in a hurry to leave. Lady Agnys ordered me to look into Neubold’s death, and I must do as she says, because she is inclined to be testy when people ignore her instructions. And I do think Neubold was unlawfully killed, because of his tied hands – Elyan is wrong to say he committed suicide.’
‘How do you plan to proceed?’ asked Michael.
Hilton did not look happy. ‘By visiting the barn at Withersfield – the last place he was seen alive.’
‘Someone must have let him out,’ mused Bartholomew. ‘The door was barred from the outside, so he cannot have left without help. However, the question is, was he killed by his so-called rescuer, or did he return to Haverhill and meet his murderer here?’
Hilton nodded slowly. ‘You have put your finger on the crux of the matter. Unfortunately, it does not help me – I still have two villages full of suspects, because a lot of people disliked Neubold.’
‘Why was he so unpopular?’ asked Bartholomew.
Hilton raised his hands. ‘Where do I start? He neglected his religious duties – bodies left unburied and weddings postponed, which is inconvenient if you are about to have a child. He manipulated the law to secure favourable verdicts for anyone who could pay. He undertook spying missions for Elyan. He dabbled in market business, by brokering deals and negotiating contracts. Indeed, there was little he would not do if the money was right.’
‘I understand you and he were looking into the matter of who will inherit Elyan Manor,’ said Michael. ‘Do you think that earned him enemies?’
‘I hope not!’ exclaimed Hilton, horrified. ‘Because that means I might be in danger, too.’
‘Can you name any good suspects for Neubold’s death?’ asked Bartholomew, feeling they were beginning to go around in circles. ‘There must be a few who stand out from the masses.’
‘Not really. I do not think you understand the extent to which he was held in contempt.’
Michael sighed. ‘Then let us eliminate a few. I think we can discount Elyan: first, he admired Neubold’s cunning ways with the law, and second, there cannot be many men who would agree to act as pig-rustlers on his behalf.’
‘But Neubold failed to get Lizzie,’ Hilton pointed out. ‘Worse, he was caught, bringing embarrassment to his employer. Moreover, ever since Neubold abandoned Joan in Cambridge, Agnys has been telling Elyan to dispense with his services – perhaps this is Elyan’s way of obliging her. And finally, I am suspicious of his insistence that Neubold committed suicide. So, you see, we cannot discount Elyan.’
While Michael and Hilton continued to debate potential culprits, Bartholomew edged towards the north aisle. He glanced at Michael, and saw the monk take Hilton’s arm and draw him outside, ostensibly for air. Suspecting he would not be left alone for long, so should complete his examination as quickly as possible, Bartholomew removed the pall and stared down at Neubold’s body.
The priest did not look any more pleasant in death than he had in life, and his narrow, pinched features had a bluish sheen that made him look dirty; Bartholomew was starkly reminded of Carbo. Another similarity was their stained hands, although the blackness of Neubold’s could be attributed to ink, whereas Carbo’s had been just plain filthy.
There was a red ring around Neubold’s wrists, showing he had struggled against his bonds. A rip in his tunic and the cut on his head were further evidence that he had fought his attacker. The cause of death was strangulation – Bartholomew supposed he had been hauled up by the neck and left to asphyxiate. There were no other injuries, so he replaced all as he had found it, and hurried outside.
‘Did you like them, Matt?’ asked Michael innocently. Hilton was regarding the physician warily. ‘I have just been telling our friend here about your penchant for garishly painted saints. He does not believe me, and is under the impression that you lingered inside for some other purpose.’
‘The statues are very colourful,’ said Bartholomew sincerely, thinking he had never seen such a gaudy collection, not even in France.
‘Now, Father,’ the monk said briskly, cutting across a remark Hilton started to make about physicians with peculiar tastes in sculpture, ‘you were telling me how Neubold’s body was found.’
‘Folyat discovered it,’ replied Hilton, dragging his wary gaze away from Bartholomew. ‘He said he came to tell me first, although I suspect he shared the news with those he passed en route. Neubold cannot have been there for long, because I said a mass for Alneston at dawn, and I assure you I would have noticed, had Neubold been present. His feet would have been in my face for a start.’
‘Well?’ asked Michael of Bartholomew, when Hilton had gone. ‘Were my lies in vain, or have you discovered something useful from the corpse?’
‘Hilton says Neubold was not in the chantry at dawn, which is strange: estimating a time of death is not an exact science, as you know, but I would guess he died last night. So, if Hilton is telling the truth, it means Neubold was killed elsewhere, then strung up in the chapel this morning.’
‘Why would anyone do that?’ asked Michael, puzzled.
‘I really have no idea.’
Michael did not want to discuss Neubold’s murder where they might be overheard, so he led the way to the marketplace. Stone benches had been placed around its perimeter, some with straw thatches, so that potential buyers could sit out storms and sun and would not be tempted to leave before they had spent all their money. The monk selected the one that was farthest from the bustling stalls and sat, indicating Bartholomew was to perch next to him. It might have been pleasant, watching the lively hurly-burly of the traders, had their minds not been full of murder.
‘If you are right in saying Neubold has been dead for some time,’ said Michael, ‘then it means he was murdered in Withersfield. And his body transported to Haverhill to be hung like a piece of meat.’
‘Not necessarily. For all we know, he was rescued within moments of the barn door being barred. Ergo, he could have been wandering around Haverhill for hours before he was killed.’
Michael frowned. ‘So he was hanged in Haverhill, then? How do you know?’
‘I do not know, Brother – I am just trying to note all the possibilities. However, since you ask, I am inclined to say he died in Withersfield. The barn looked as though it had seen a struggle – we saw no blood, but I imagine we would find some, were we to look under all the hay.’
‘Very well – I accept your reasoning so far. However, do you not think it would be risky to bring a corpse all the way from Withersfield? How would it get past Gatekeeper Folyat, for a start?’
‘William told us he relaxes his guard after dark, when the market is closed. And he said Margery came to Haverhill last night – perhaps she carried Neubold on her horse.’
‘That cannot be true. First, if William saw enough to be able to identify Margery as the rider, he would have noticed a priest-shaped bundle behind her saddle. And second, Hilton has just informed us that there was no corpse in Alneston Chantry when he arrived at dawn.’