‘I told you: it has yielded some excellent specimens,’ interrupted Elyan tightly. ‘And I used his money to pay guards and diggers, so do not expect it back. It is long gone.’
Bartholomew did not think he had ever seen Michael so full of rage. The monk leapt to his feet and treated Elyan to a stream of invective that would not have been out of place in a fish-market. Agnys’s eyes grew wide with astonishment, and Elyan eventually put his hands over his ears. It was something Wynewyk did when he thought his colleagues were being unnecessarily bellicose, and it sent a pang of grief stabbing through Bartholomew. When Michael saw the gesture, he faltered, too.
‘Wynewyk paid you with College funds,’ he said, temper subsiding as abruptly as it had risen. ‘Ergo, this arrangement is with Michaelhouse, not with him, and you are legally bound to honour it. I want our money back. Now. I refuse to wait years for these so-called profits to materialise.’
‘We signed no documents detailing our pact, and as he is dead, you cannot prove what he did or did not give me,’ snapped Elyan. ‘Your eighteen marks no longer exists, and neither does the seven he gave to d’Audley. Oh, damn it! Now look what you have made me say!’
Michael’s expression was cold and angry. ‘Tell me about d’Audley,’ he ordered softly.
Elyan was clearly disgusted with himself, but also seemed to appreciate that the time for subterfuge was over. He sighed irritably. ‘He had no spare cash of his own to invest in my scheme, so Wynewyk lent him some. In return, d’Audley was to supply him with free timber until the loan was repaid in full. Unfortunately for you, there is no written proof of his arrangement, either.’
‘I will find proof,’ warned Michael menacingly.
‘You will not – and we could not repay you, even if we wanted to. The money is spent.’
‘Squandered, you mean,’ said Agnys, regarding her grandson in disgust. ‘Joan was given pennyroyal for a reason, and I am beginning to think it is connected to this horrible mine.’
Elyan paled. ‘No! I do not believe that. She was murdered, as I have said from the beginning, but it has nothing to do with my coal.’
‘I imagine it has more to do with the fact that she was about to provide Elyan Manor with an heir,’ said Michael, ‘thus thwarting the hopes of three optimistic claimants. However, I understand the child may not have been yours.’
‘How dare you!’ shouted Elyan furiously. ‘Of course it was mine!’
‘You overstep the mark, Brother,’ said Agnys warningly. Her face was a mask of anger, furious that a remark made in confidence should be so bluntly repeated.
Michael ignored her, focusing his attention on her grandson. ‘You must feel vulnerable. Now she is dead and you are childless, d’Audley, Luneday and King’s Hall all eagerly await your death.’
Elyan’s expression was impossible to read. ‘If you think that, then you are a fool. The situation with my estates is murky, and no one claimant has a better case than the others. Lawyers are needed to sort it out, so no one wants me dead before the matter is resolved. I am safe until the clerks have finished wrangling – which will not be for years yet.’
Michael regarded him dispassionately. ‘You are the fool. Do you think a powerful foundation like King’s Hall, which bursts at the seams with clever minds, is going to wait years for a decision? And do you think a sly, greedy man like d’Audley will sit back and wait for them to best him?’
‘I disagree,’ said Agnys coldly. ‘Joan’s death is connected to the mine, not the inheritance issue.’
Bartholomew wondered why an astute woman like Agnys could not see what was so obvious. ‘But whoever wins the manor will get the mine,’ he pointed out. ‘The two are tightly interwoven. And Michael is right to warn you, Elyan: Neubold was involved in the case and he is murdered; Wynewyk invested in your mine and he is dead; Carbo advised you about coal, and he is stabbed – by someone from King’s Hall; and your wife is poisoned.’
‘You think I am in danger?’ Elyan looked bewildered. ‘But why strike now? I have been in this situation for years, and no one has tried to harm me before.’
‘Clearly, someone is growing impatient,’ replied Michael. ‘The claims on both your manor and d’Audley’s chantry are becoming more acrimonious, suggesting knives are being honed for battle.’
‘You are wrong,’ said Elyan unsteadily. ‘No one will try to kill me. If they do, I shall take another wife. That will put an end to such nonsense.’
‘Or result in another death from pennyroyal,’ said Michael harshly. ‘But why did Joan really go to Cambridge? She was heavily pregnant and not young. It was a risky thing to do, and I cannot believe she did it for ribbons.’
‘It was for ribbons,’ said Elyan firmly. ‘She told me the ones in Haverhill were dull and she wanted brighter colours. She was going to buy me a new hat, too.’
Bartholomew studied him thoughtfully, and concluded that whatever the reason for Joan’s sudden decision to travel, she had not confided it to her husband. She had invented an excuse she knew he would accept – inveterate clothes-lover that he was – and had pre-empted any objections he might have raised with promises of treats.
She had, however, taken care to leave at a time when Agnys was not there stop her. Why? Was it really because the old lady would have tried to dissuade her? Or was she running away from something in Haverhill, something Agnys knew all about? Agnys had denied knowing the cause of Joan’s recent unhappiness, but who was to say she was telling the truth? He turned to look at the old woman, but could read nothing in her face.
‘Perhaps she went to see the father of her child,’ suggested Michael. ‘Lady Agnys said she had been distant and distracted for a few weeks. Perhaps she wanted to tell him the good news.’
‘The brat was mine,’ said Elyan fiercely. ‘And if someone else did step into the breach, then so what? It would still have been born to my wife, and raised as my heir.’
‘D’Audley, Luneday and King’s Hall would not agree,’ Michael pointed out. ‘They only lose their rights if you provide a child: another man’s progeny does not count in the eyes of the law.’
‘Who was it, Henry?’ asked Agnys softly. ‘Joan is dead, so breaking her trust cannot matter now.’
‘I loved her,’ said Elyan in a strangled voice. ‘I will not…’
‘I know you did,’ said Agnys gently. ‘But people are being murdered, and it is time to put an end to it. Who do you suspect of obliging Joan?’
Elyan sighed unhappily. ‘Neubold said it was him. Joan claimed it was not, but I always assumed she lied because she did not want me to think less of her for selecting such a miserable specimen.’
‘Neubold accompanied her to Cambridge,’ mused Michael. ‘And it was there that she died of–’
‘Neubold would not have killed her,’ interrupted Agnys with conviction. ‘If he was the father, he would have wanted her and the baby alive, so he could reap the benefits. He would never have harmed her, not when there might have been profit in the situation.’
‘But Michael is right in that the father may live in Cambridge,’ mused Bartholomew. He thought, but did not say, that the University was awash with handsome men, most of whom would be only too pleased to provide their services to a desperate woman – Joan would have been spoiled for choice. ‘Edith is wrong to think the solution to Joan’s death lies here: it lies in the place where she died.’
It was mid-afternoon by the time Bartholomew and Michael left Elyan Manor, and the weather had turned chilly. It was not raining, but the clouds were low and menacing and it would not be long before there was another deluge. Michael complained bitterly, because it had been warm when they had set out on their journey, and he had not bothered to take his cloak. Now he was cold.