Chapter 11
Bartholomew did not want to visit Clare Hall and ask questions about where Gille might have gone, lest he ran into Donwich who was sure to be hostile, so he dragged his feet all along Milne Street. As he passed Edith’s house, she hurried out to take his hand and kiss it.
‘Thank you for saving Philip yesterday,’ she said, tears in her eyes. ‘He says he would have drowned if you had not raced to the rescue.’
Bartholomew had hardly raced, and was uncomfortable with her gratitude. He tried to resist when she drew him inside her house, but she was insistent. Once through the door, he breathed in deeply, savouring the comfortingly familiar scents of baking cakes, herbs and the cloth in the warehouses behind the house. It reminded him of his happy childhood, when Edith had been more mother than sister, and he had not been obliged to dabble in the murky business of murder.
She led him to the solar, where he was pleased to see Matilde, although he was less delighted to note that Lucy and Chaumbre were there, too. The women were sitting at the table, and Lucy explained that they were discussing a new dress for Edith. Chaumbre looked on indulgently, while Matilde’s eyes twinkled with humour at the seriousness with which her friend was taking the subject.
‘But Edith has several dresses already,’ said Bartholomew, bemused. ‘Why would she need another?’
‘To wear to our wedding, of course,’ explained Matilde gravely, although he could see she itched to laugh. ‘Obviously, none of us want to clash.’
‘No,’ agreed Lucy fervently. ‘So this is important.’
Bartholomew glanced at Chaumbre, who lounged in a cushion-loaded chair, being fussed over by servants. He saw the retainers were genuinely fond of him, perhaps because they knew who had stepped in to save them when Edith’s son had sold the roof from over their heads.
‘I shall never forget what you did for me yesterday, Matt,’ the dyer said, coming to clasp Bartholomew’s hand, although the physician managed to snatch it back before he could follow Edith’s example and kiss it. ‘Thank God Shardelowe is rebuilding the bridge, because I shall never set foot in a boat again.’
‘Good,’ said Edith, squeezing his arm affectionately. ‘I could not bear to lose you.’
At that moment, there was a tap on the back door, and a maid came to say it was a carter wanting payment for bringing a load of alum.
‘Where is my purse?’ asked Chaumbre, patting around his belt before giving a grimace of annoyance. ‘Damn, I keep forgetting! It is at the bottom of the river, along with everything else I collected from my Girton hoard. Do you have a few shillings I can borrow, Matt?’
Bartholomew had the money from the anonymous benefactor, but he could hardly part with that, as it was not his to lend. Fortunately, Matilde was able to oblige.
‘I will give it back on Friday,’ promised Chaumbre, beaming at her. ‘The monks at Ely have promised to pay me for thirty ells of cloth then. I shall be rolling in money.’
Uneasily, Bartholomew wondered if Morys was right to claim that Chaumbre was not as rich as everyone thought, and hoped Edith had not married a man who would exacerbate, rather than alleviate, the financial difficulties arising from Richard’s profligacy.
‘How are your murder enquiries proceeding, Matt?’ asked Edith conversationally.
‘Slowly,’ he replied, and glanced hopefully at Chaumbre. ‘I do not suppose you saw what happened at the bridge, did you? You are the only one I did not ask yesterday. You seemed too shocked to talk.’
‘I was too shocked,’ averred Chaumbre. ‘However, before I nearly died, I noticed a lot of children racing around.’
‘The builders are sure they did not push the stone. None are strong enough apparently.’
‘Yes,’ acknowledged Chaumbre. ‘But I did not say I saw a child push the stone – I said they were racing around. Some were on the ponticulus, while others lobbed mud and bits of wood. It was very distracting. And it all happened at once.’
He gave Bartholomew a meaningful look, all pursed lips and waving eyebrows.
Bartholomew frowned. ‘Are you claiming that their antics were a diversion – one to let the culprit kill Elsham?’
‘Yes,’ replied Chaumbre. ‘It did not occur to me at the time, but with hindsight, I see that was precisely the plan. But what makes you think Elsham was the target? I cannot imagine it is easy to direct a large lump of rock with any degree of accuracy.’
‘Well, who else could warrant that sort of attention?’ asked Bartholomew. ‘The other passengers on the ferry comprised two nuns and the town’s surgeon, so I doubt it was them. Or are you suggesting that you were the target?’
‘Of course not,’ said Chaumbre indignantly. ‘I am not the one investigating murder.’
‘You think Matt was the intended victim?’ cried Matilde, and turned to him in alarm. ‘You must promise to keep Cynric with you until the villain is caught, because I do not want to be a widow ere I am wed.’
‘Like me,’ muttered Lucy gloomily, before Bartholomew could tell her that Cynric was too busy protecting the College from a pair of warlocks. ‘I am a widow in all but name.’
‘You seem to have found solace in Donwich’s arms,’ said Chaumbre baldly, although his smile was amiable enough.
‘Not his arms,’ corrected Lucy stiffly. ‘His company. We are just friends.’
‘It is more than that for him,’ said Chaumbre. ‘He is besotted with you.’
‘And Chancellor Aynton was so concerned about the liaison that he followed Donwich the night he was killed,’ said Bartholomew. ‘It is why he was out alone.’
Lucy sniffed. ‘Well, he need not have bothered. My relationship with Master Donwich is entirely innocent, much as he might wish it was otherwise.’
‘What will you say if he offers to marry you?’ asked Edith curiously. ‘He may, because Philip is right to say he is in your thrall. I suppose you could do worse. He is wealthy, reasonably attractive, and would at least try to make you happy.’
‘And I doubt any other suitor will be brave enough to take you,’ put in Chaumbre bluntly. ‘Not after seeing your litigious brother destroy Narboro.’
Lucy’s smile was pained. ‘Your observations are irrelevant, because Donwich does not want a wife. He loves University life too much to give it up for marriage.’
‘He would rather have a mistress, would he?’ asked Matilde. ‘I suppose he thinks that once he is Chancellor, he will abolish the statute that keeps scholars away from women.’
‘He will never be Chancellor,’ said Lucy, surprised she should think so. ‘The vicars-general will confirm Michael’s election, and poor Donwich will retreat to Clare Hall to lick his wounds. He is not like you, Matthew – prepared to sacrifice an academic career for love.’
She turned away to hide the tears in her eyes. Matilde went to comfort her, and for a while there was a tense silence. Eventually, Chaumbre broke it.
‘Narboro had two black eyes when I saw him earlier,’ he said conversationally. ‘I thought someone had punched him, but he claimed he had fallen down my dye-pits again.’
‘He is a liar,’ declared Edith. ‘Ignore him, dearest. Now, tell us about these murders, Matt. Who are your suspects?’
Bartholomew listed them, although he omitted Brampton out of courtesy to Lucy.
‘Donwich is not a killer,’ objected Chaumbre, startled to hear his friend on the list. ‘He is rude and conceited, but I do not see him resorting to violence. Of course, he did associate with Gille and Elsham, who are not very honourable. Thieves, in fact.’