‘I should have seen it weeks ago,’ Michael went on. ‘Someone clever ordered Holm to befriend Hugo – watching Potmoor through his son is not something our silly surgeon would have thought of doing himself. Moreover, Julitta also asked about my investigations every time we met. I thought it was polite interest, but she was actually fishing for information.’
‘She questioned me, too,’ said Bartholomew wretchedly. ‘I probably did all manner of harm by confiding in her.’
‘Unlikely,’ said Michael kindly. ‘We spent most of the time floundering around in the dark, so you had very little of value to pass on. And she deceived everyone, even me, so do not feel too badly about it. Incidentally, she left you a letter.’
He held out a folded piece of parchment with Julitta’s neat roundhand on the front – letters Bartholomew himself had taught her to make. Then he noticed that the seal had been broken.
‘It tries to justify what she did,’ said Michael. ‘And promises you a warm welcome if you ever visit Paris. I should avoid the place if I were you.’
‘How does she justify it?’ Bartholomew felt no compunction to read the missive himself, and did not care that Michael had opened something that was very clearly marked ‘private’.
‘By saying that she and Holm aimed to help the University by spying for Bon and urging the Guild to divert its charity to our newest College. She denies making more than ten marks from the arrangement, although Bon’s records suggest otherwise. He paid a fortune for her help.’
‘She was not always a bad person,’ said Bartholomew unhappily. ‘Earlier this year, she was generous, good and gentle with the wounded soldiers at the castle.’
‘That was to impress Holm, to ensure he married her. Once she had him, she reverted to her true self – ruthless, scheming and greedy, just like her father.’
Bartholomew recalled her sweet face, and the intimate evenings they had spent together when Holm had been out. It was difficult to accept that it had all been part of a grubby plan to draw him into her confidence and allow her to monitor the Senior Proctor.
‘She told some shocking lies,’ the monk went on. ‘Holm was never burgled; Lawrence never had a serious row with Hemmysby – a tale spread by her puppet husband; Nerli never practised swordplay with Potmoor; Lawrence’s incompetence did not kill the Queen and nor did he poach patients, introduce Holm to Hugo, or exert influence over Potmoor. Moreover, she encouraged Weasenham to gossip about Tulyet’s “execution”, rather than ordering him to desist as she claimed…’
‘Yes, Clippesby told me. He also says it was her and Holm who came to steal the Stanton Hutch from Michaelhouse. He recognised the cloaks they wore, which were left behind in the race to escape. Which means that they also stole William’s tract…’
‘Of course! It had to be someone who knew where Langelee kept the key to the cellar. Did she worm the information out of you?’
Bartholomew nodded miserably. ‘Ylaria and Verius knew what sort of person she was. They guessed exactly why she had appeared to “help” with his thumb, and we should have listened.’
‘And her motive was money and power, as promised by Bon. Yet I doubt Hemmysby knew that she and Holm were the ones charged to invade us, although his suggestion to look in Winwick Hall for the culprit tells me that he might have suspected Bon.’
‘I cannot believe she gave him William’s tract,’ said Bartholomew bitterly. ‘She must have known what he would do with it. I thought she harboured some affection for Michaelhouse – and for me. Yet she was willing to see us excommunicated for her ambition.’
‘Well, she is foiled on that front. Langelee found the work in Bon’s room and we burned it.’
‘But the damage has been done – relations between us and the Dominicans are damaged–’
‘Not so.’ Michael smirked. ‘I used Weasenham’s penchant for gossip to say that the essay was not by William at all, but by Bon. The Dominicans have apologised for thinking badly of us, and we are friends again. The matter is closed.’
‘Thank God! I like the Dominicans, and do not want them to be enemies.’
Michael nodded at the letter. ‘This contains a lot of claptrap about love, and how Julitta thinks Michaelhouse’s disgrace would have been good for you. In her eyes, the University is holding you back from reaching your full potential as a physician.’
Bartholomew grimaced. ‘She would not think that if she knew what I did to Hemmysby and the others in the name of justice – with the Senior Proctor’s connivance.’
‘Yes, – thank heavens you did not confide that little secret! Of course, the business with the tract was your fault. If you had not taught her to read, she would never have known that it was something worth stealing.’
‘Holm probably wishes she had stayed illiterate, too,’ said Bartholomew wryly. ‘It was because of her skill with letters that she found the loophole in her father’s will – the one that allows her to control the marital finances. I doubt he would stay with her if the money was his.’
‘No,’ agreed Michael, not mentioning that a letter informing the surgeon that Julitta had made a mistake in her interpretation was already on its way to Paris. It was revenge of sorts, as Holm would certainly act on it. ‘You do know she was only pretending to be stunned when you hit her? She sat up very quickly when you announced an intention to stay. She wanted you gone, so she could escape. She knew Bon’s plans were falling apart, and that flight was the only option.’
‘Founding a College should be a noble feat, yet so much evil has come from it – Felbrigge shot; Elvesmere, Knyt and Hemmysby poisoned with dormirella; Ratclyf given medicine that stopped his weak heart; relations damaged between University and town, perhaps irreparably; Illesy, de Stannell, Eyer and Potmoor killed at Winwick Hall…’
‘Along with Goodwyn, who was looting when it collapsed. He was paid to insinuate himself into Michaelhouse, you know. Or rather, he was told that if he enrolled, he would be rewarded ten times what he forked out in fees. The same happened in other Colleges, where young men had a remit to cause trouble, learn our secrets and spread discontent.’
‘Who told you that, Brother?’
‘Documents in Bon’s room. Richard was not the only one recruited to bring friends here – at least another dozen men did likewise. Losing his sight has turned Bon bitter and vengeful, because he thinks it encourages people to undervalue his intellect – which caused him to be overly devoted to the one College that was willing to accept him.’
‘He is wrong to blame our low opinion on his hypochyma. The truth is that he is just not a very good scholar, as evidenced by his dismal performance in two debates.’
‘Yes,’ sighed Michael. ‘And it is a pity he escaped.’
‘You still have not found him?’
‘Not yet. I shall send his description to all four corners of the kingdom and he will not stay free for long. He cannot – until he is caught, I dare not eat gifts of cakes, lest they are poisoned.’
‘A fine reason for wanting to snare a killer,’ said Bartholomew, although the remark made him smile. Then he became sombre again. ‘Marjory Starre said there would be a fierce gale, and that a good man would die. She was right.’
‘She was not,’ countered Michael. ‘No one who died on Tuesday was good, and there are often strong winds in October. There was nothing magical about her prediction.’
‘What about Potmoor? He was innocent of the burglaries, and after his resurr– after his bout of catalepsia, he did try to make amends for his past.’
‘It was too little, too late. Moreover, we might have solved the case a lot sooner if he had confessed to his affair with Olivia Knyt. Is she better, by the way? I heard you were called out to tend her last night.’
Bartholomew nodded, but said no more. Olivia’s first reaction on discovering that she was carrying her lover’s child had been to dose herself with bryony root and get rid of it, but then she had changed her mind. Unfortunately, the herb was still going about its business, and it had taken the combined skill of two midwives, Marjory Starre and Bartholomew himself, to reverse the process.