‘Right,’ said Langelee, rubbing his hands together when he saw that all the participants were present at last. Powys grimaced when the Master indicated they were to take their seats: he still had not managed to speak to Shropham alone. ‘We should begin. Benedic nobis. Domine. That should do for a starting prayer. Now, who wants to go first?’
‘You do not tarry, do you?’ said Hilton in awe.
‘No,’ agreed Langelee amiably. ‘Luneday, tell me why Elyan Manor should be yours.’
‘I once had documents to prove my case,’ said Luneday ruefully. ‘At least, I assume I did – I cannot read, so it is difficult to be certain. But my woman made off with them.’
‘We retrieved them,’ said Michael, placing the bundle on the table. ‘Do not ask how.’
‘I like Michaelhouse!’ exclaimed Luneday approvingly. ‘You are amazing men, and I wish we had invited you into our affairs years ago. It would have saved a lot of trouble.’
Powys’s expression was unreadable. He leaned towards Shropham and tried to mutter something, but Langelee was speaking again and Shropham did not notice his Warden’s attempts to pass him a message. He merely lent his undivided attention to what the judge was saying, like any good lawyer.
‘Your claim, Luneday,’ prompted Langelee. ‘Outline why you should have the manor.’
‘Now d’Audley is dead, I am Elyan’s closest blood relative,’ replied Luneday. ‘Not counting his grandmother. We share a great-great-uncle.’
‘Fair enough,’ said Langelee. He looked at Powys. ‘What does King’s Hall have to say?’
‘We were left Elyan Manor by a man named Alneston,’ replied Powys, also setting a pile of writs on the table. Bartholomew recognised one as a copy of the early will. ‘Alneston’s son claimed it illegally after his death, and so the occupation by his descendants is similarly illegal.’
‘I have seen that particular will,’ said Hilton. ‘Lady Agnys has a copy of it, too. But I am sure there are more recent codicils that would–’
‘If they exist, then no one has found them,’ interrupted Powys smoothly. ‘And my inclination is to believe that they are figments of hopeful imaginations. Alneston’s will is unambiguous: Elyan Manor belongs to King’s Hall, and so does his chantry chapel.’
‘It is true,’ said Shropham with a shrug, picking up the relevant document. ‘As a lawyer, I would say this deed is as straightforward as any I have seen.’
Warden Powys beamed at his colleague. ‘Does anyone have anything else to add?’ he asked smugly. ‘Because if not, perhaps we shall have this speedy decision, after all.’
‘I cannot believe Alneston lived another fifty years without making some amendment to his testimony,’ said Hilton unhappily. ‘I have long wanted to peruse Luneday’s records, but–’
‘But I was not having Haverhill men poking about in my personal affairs,’ said Luneday firmly.
Powys continued to look smug. ‘And as no one can produce such a document, I submit it does not exist. The case is closed, and you may pass judgment, Langelee.’
Michael started to rummage through Margery’s pile, aiming to present the later deed and wipe the smile from Powys’s face, but Shropham was there before him. With a lawyer’s consummate interest, he had taken a handful of the deeds, and was leafing through them. When he reached Alneston’s second testament, he went still.
Powys noticed his reaction, and tried to see what he had found.
‘The priest is right,’ said Shropham, passing the deed to his Warden. ‘Alneston did make a–’
‘No,’ said Powys, screwing the parchment into a ball and tossing it over his shoulder. ‘This is a forgery, and prison has addled your mind.’
Shropham cringed, and looked as if he wished the floor would open and swallow him up. ‘Yes,’ he said in a small voice. ‘I am not well. It must be a fake, or it would have come to light before now.’
‘Not necessarily,’ said Hilton, retrieving the document and reading it for himself. ‘And it looks authentic to me – I am familiar with Alneston’s seal.’
Langelee was also rifling through the pile. ‘And here is a writ drafted by King’s Hall and signed by your predecessor, Powys. It relinquishes all claims on Elyan Manor and the Alneston Chantry in exchange for the sum of forty marks, which was paid in full twenty-five years ago.’
‘No!’ cried Powys. ‘That is a forgery, too. We must have what is rightfully ours!’
‘Must?’ pounced Michael. ‘That is a powerful sentiment, Warden.’
Powys reddened and turned away. ‘You know what I am saying.’
‘I am beginning to understand. You are interested in what the mine can offer. Not coal, but–’
‘Coal is a valuable commodity,’ snapped Warden Powys. ‘Of course we are interested.’
‘I do not care about the coal,’ said Luneday. ‘And if Elyan Manor comes to me, I shall fill in the mine and turn the land over to grazing for pigs.’
‘Then sell that particular wood to us,’ said Powys eagerly. ‘King’s Hall will take the coal.’
Elyan laughed softly. ‘I do not plan on dying very soon, Warden Powys. Do you think my mine will still have anything to interest you years in the future?’
Powys regarded him strangely. ‘I imagine it will. Why? Do you know different?’
Elyan shrugged. ‘I have spent more than fifty marks on the place – d’Audley and I borrowed twenty-five from Michaelhouse and twenty-five from you – and I have been digging for almost three months now. Something should have been unearthed in all that time.’
‘Diamonds,’ said Bartholomew, leaning against the wall as he gauged Powys’s reaction. ‘That is what you were expecting to find.’
‘Diamonds?’ echoed Agnys, regarding her grandson in stunned disbelief. ‘You have been mining for diamonds? You ridiculous boy! Diamonds do not occur in England.’
‘Carbo found them,’ said Elyan. ‘He showed me where he had prised them from the seam.’
‘You did not mention this the other day, Elyan,’ said Michael accusingly. ‘You only said your minerals were exceptionally hard and pure.’
Elyan looked shifty. ‘Diamonds are hard and pure. And it was none of your affair, anyway.’
Powys was glaring. ‘Are you telling me you have excavated nothing since August? That was not what Neubold told us. Only last week, he said the work was proceeding apace and that King’s Hall would soon begin to enjoy the profits from its investment.’
Langelee was growing bored with a discussion he did not understand. ‘You can chat about this nonsense later,’ he said. ‘Meanwhile, I have reached my decision: King’s Hall has no grounds to press its claim and d’Audley is dead. Ergo I declare Luneday to be the rightful heir.’
Luneday beamed at him, while Powys gaped in horror and Shropham looked as if he was ready to cry. Shropham tried to apologise, but his Warden was too angry to listen. He surged to his feet and left without another word, Shropham scurrying at his heels. Langelee raised his eyebrows, but did not seem overly concerned that he might have made an enemy of King’s Hall.
‘I knew a man who professes skill with pigs would see justice done,’ declared Luneday, tears in his eyes as he shook the Master’s hand. ‘Put your decision in writing, if you please. And while we wait, you can tell me more about this game of camp-ball. You say a pig is on one team?’
Pleased the matter had been resolved before his camp-ball game was due to begin, Langelee became magnanimous. He fetched wine from the kitchens, and began to pour generous measures into goblets. Elyan swallowed his thirstily, clearly glad the business was over, and held out his cup for more before the Master had finished distributing them around his other guests.