‘What happened?’ blurted Bartholomew, when the man turned his head towards him and he saw his face. ‘Did someone hit you?’
‘That bad?’ whispered Narboro miserably. ‘Lord! What shall I do? I cannot go out looking like this. People will think I have been brawling.’
Bartholomew sat next to him. ‘Who punched you?’
‘No one – I fell down one of Chaumbre’s pits. It is his fault that I am bruised and bloody, and I am going to sue him for every penny he owns. You can tell him that.’
‘Best not,’ advised Bartholomew. ‘His lawyers will request the opinion of a medicus, and any physician will testify that you cannot have suffered this injury from a fall. You will be dismissed as a liar.’
Narboro deflated. ‘Damn! Getting free money from Chaumbre seemed like the answer to all my problems, because unless I can pay off Brampton, he will destroy me. Very well. The truth is that I butted a tomb with my face.’
Bartholomew blinked. ‘What for?’
Narboro shot him a nasty glance. ‘It was not deliberate, I assure you. If you must know, it was after Elsham died yesterday. I saw his body carried past and I thought I might be sick, so I ran to the nearest open space – St Clement’s cemetery. As my head went down to vomit, my nose smacked into a grave.’
Bartholomew’s first inclination was to laugh, and his second was to treat the tale with a healthy dose of scepticism. Elsham had not been an especially terrible sight, and it occurred to Bartholomew that the only person it might disturb was a guilt-stricken culprit. He struggled to keep his expression professionally noncommittal. ‘Do you usually have such extreme responses to the dead?’
‘Always,’ declared Narboro. ‘I am sensitive, not like the ghouls who surged forward for a better look. I do not know how you could bear to touch the thing. I hope you washed your hands afterwards.’
‘Many times,’ Bartholomew assured him. ‘The University is determined to catch Elsham’s killer. What do you know about what happened to him?’
Narboro appeared to consider the question carefully. ‘Well, I saw Donwich watching events unfold with unseemly interest, but he cannot be the culprit, because he liked Elsham. Indeed, there were tears in his eyes when he learned the identity of the victim.’
‘Why mention him in particular?’
‘Because he was whispering with Mayor Morys shortly before the incident, and as I was sure they were up to no good, I tried to eavesdrop.’
‘Why on Earth would you want to do that?’
‘I hoped they might say something that would allow me to blackmail them,’ replied Narboro bluntly. ‘I am so desperate for funds to give to Brampton that I will stoop to any depths to get some. But Morys’s cousin John feinted at me with a knife, so I beat a hasty retreat.’
‘So you do not know what they discussed?’
Narboro smirked. ‘I do, actually, because John did not notice me immediately. In essence, Morys was paying Donwich for speaking at the guildhall. Apparently, his remarks forced Michael to contribute a lot more towards the bridge, and the whole “disagreement” was part of a plan devised by Morys to make our University do what he wanted.’
‘We suspected as much,’ said Bartholomew. ‘Although your testimony is proof of it.’
‘And that is not all. Donwich will use the incident to show the vicars-general that it makes Michael unfit to be Chancellor. When they appoint him instead, he will force Michaelhouse to pay the University’s entire contribution on its own.’
Bartholomew made a mental note to warn Michael. ‘So will you use all this to extort money from Morys? Or Donwich?’
‘I tried, but they both threatened me with violence, so I decided to leave it. Perhaps I should invent a yarn about them dispatching Elsham instead, and you can buy my testimony. They cannot hurt me if they are hanged for murder, can they.’
‘We would rather have the truth,’ said Bartholomew coolly. ‘So, speak honestly now: did you hear anything to implicate them in Elsham’s death?’
Narboro grimaced. ‘No, not a thing, unfortunately.’
Bartholomew was growing exasperated. ‘Look, Narboro, this is important: we know Huntyngdon was murdered – by Elsham – after Aynton gave him a letter for you. You must have some idea what it was about.’
Narboro sighed irritably. ‘But I do not! How many more times must I say it? All I can think is that he wanted me to get him a Court post for when he retired. It is normally the sort of favour one begs in person, but I was away when you say he gave Huntyngdon this letter, so he must have decided to write instead.’
Bartholomew frowned. ‘You have not mentioned this before. Where were you?’
‘On a personal errand,’ replied Narboro haughtily. ‘Which is none of your business.’
‘Then you can sit in the proctors’ gaol until you tell me,’ blustered Bartholomew. ‘This is a murder enquiry. It is no time for secrets.’
‘You cannot throw me in a cell,’ cried Narboro, alarmed. ‘I have done nothing wrong!’
‘Then tell me where you were.’
Narboro scowled. ‘If you must know, I went to Linton to order a new mirror. You see, Lucy spotted me using the one she gifted me ten years ago, and it made me feel like a scoundrel. So I decided to replace it.’
Bartholomew had no idea if he was telling the truth. ‘Is that all? I thought it was something important.’
‘It is important,’ declared Narboro indignantly. ‘The situation with Lucy is delicate, and not just because her brother aims to ruin me. I cannot have her thinking that I might change my mind about marrying her, just because I am attached to a present she once gave me. I ordered another mirror – without her painting on the back – and was home four days later.’
‘Four days?’ echoed Bartholomew in disbelief. ‘For a journey to Linton? You could have been there and back in a quarter of that time.’
‘There were decisions to be made,’ said Narboro stiffly. ‘I had to choose the wood, the design and the size. Besides, I was glad to get away from Cambridge, to be frank. I am tired of Brampton glaring at me every time our paths cross. I would have stayed away longer but the glazier needed his spare room back.’
‘Can you prove you were away all that time?’
Narboro pondered. ‘Well, Aynton saw me leave, although he is not in a position to say so, regrettably. I ran into him by the Barnwell Gate, and he asked why I was leaving during term. To avoid him reporting me – I cannot afford a fine – I confided my tale.’
Bartholomew narrowed his eyes. ‘You told the Chancellor that you were breaking University rules to buy yourself a new mirror, and he just let you go?’
Narboro looked sheepish. ‘Actually, I told him it was for the King, who wanted it urgently. He believed me, thankfully.’ He brightened. ‘It will be ready soon, and I shall go to Linton to collect it.’
‘But, as you pointed out, Aynton is dead, so cannot confirm or deny your tale.’
‘No,’ sighed Narboro, ‘which is why I did not bother telling you in the first place.’
‘What about the glazier?’ asked Bartholomew. ‘Will he verify your claims?’
‘Bartholomew, you are a genius!’ cried Narboro. ‘Why did I not think of that? Of course he will! I stayed with him for three nights, so he will remember me well.’
He provided the glazier’s name so readily that Bartholomew was sure he was telling the truth. And if he had been away when Huntyngdon had been dispatched, the chances were that he was innocent of murdering Aynton, too. Bartholomew had eliminated another suspect, but the mystery of the letter remained, and he was not sure how to resolve it.