‘Then let us hope that one of us solves the mystery today, Brother, because there are only five days left before term ends. I would rather spend them teaching.’
‘You and me both,’ muttered Michael.
It was another swelteringly hot day, and Henry the peacock coped by remaining inside the porter’s lodge, where there was a cool stone floor to sit on. The bird stirred himself when a delivery arrived for Cynric, though, and the yard rang with his shrill cries.
‘It is a spell from Margery Starre,’ Cynric told Zoone and Bartholomew, both of whom had come running to see if Michaelhouse was about to be invaded by Stasy and Hawick. ‘To change the weather.’
‘You should have saved your money, Cynric,’ said Zoone. ‘Because it will rain tomorrow anyway. And as it is St Swithun’s Day, the downpour will continue for forty days.’
‘Exactly!’ said Cynric. ‘We do not want floods on the heels of a drought, so this spell will make sure we get a nice gentle drizzle, not a ferocious deluge.’
‘Regardless, rain of any description will hinder progress on the bridge,’ said Zoone. ‘Such work is always more difficult in inclement weather. When I was building a drain in Linton … well, you do not want to hear about slippery planks and watery cement.’
‘Linton?’ pounced Bartholomew. ‘Did you meet a glazier there, who makes mirrors?’
‘I did,’ said Zoone. ‘He is reputed to be the best in the country. Why? Do you want one for Matilde as a wedding gift? If so, you have left it too late – they take a while to craft.’
Bartholomew told him about Narboro’s alibi for Huntyngdon’s murder, and was pleased when Zoone offered to write to the glazier for confirmation of the tale. Then Michael bustled up, all angry indignation.
‘I shall have to accompany you to the Brazen George, Matt,’ he said crossly. ‘Agatha has just confessed to polluting my morning pottage with vegetables.’ He shuddered. ‘I cannot manipulate the vicars-general with that rubbish inside me. I need meat.’
‘What is wrong with vegetables?’ asked Zoone, bemused.
‘They are dangerous,’ stated Michael in a tone that brooked no argument. ‘They fester in the heat and have a tendency to explode.’
Bartholomew laughed. ‘Where do you get these “facts”, Brother?’
Michael elected not to reply, and shouted for William instead. The friar was informing the undergraduates that he could have won the debate on gluttony the previous day, if he had not been tricked into admitting that he committed each different kind on a regular basis.
‘What?’ barked William, irked to be summoned while correcting the misunderstanding that caused students to smirk and pat their stomachs whenever they saw him.
‘Something urgent has come up,’ lied Michael. ‘So you must preside at breakfast.’
‘Good,’ said William grimly. ‘Then we shall see who is a glutton.’
The Brazen George was a cut above most Cambridge taverns, because its food and ale were of high quality, and Landlord Lister only served patrons he deemed to be respectable. It was Michael’s favourite establishment, and because he was such a regular customer, a chamber was set aside for his exclusive use. It was a convenient perk, as it was difficult for the monk to fine other scholars for frequenting taverns if he was seen doing it himself.
Grumbling that the ground was so hot that it was burning through his sandals, Michael hurried to the High Street, Bartholomew at his side. He glanced around to make sure no one was looking, then slipped down the lane that led to the tavern’s back door. Once inside, he opened the door to his private room – and stopped dead in his tracks.
‘I thought you would be unable to resist the lure of this place for long,’ drawled Donwich, who had made himself comfortable in Michael’s favourite chair.
Lister stood behind him, wringing his hands in distress. ‘I am sorry, Brother. I tried to stop him, but he shoved past me.’
Donwich smirked nastily. ‘I wanted to see your nasty little den for myself, so I can report every detail to the vicars-general. Teofle, Ely and Tinmouth will have plenty to say about your hypocrisy, I am sure.’
Michael smiled sweetly. ‘Perhaps, although you should be aware that it was Teofle’s idea. He has an identical arrangement in Canterbury – a tavern that is always available for confidential meetings or solitary contemplation. He recommended years ago that I should do the same here, and maintains it is the only way busy men can keep their sanity.’
Donwich’s face underwent a gamut of emotions within a very short space of time: astonishment, shock, anger and disbelief. ‘You lie,’ he said eventually.
‘Then ask him,’ shrugged Michael. ‘But be careful how you do it, because he will not take kindly to sanctimonious criticism. Well? What are you waiting for? If you leave now, you will catch him breaking his fast in King’s Hall.’
Donwich stood reluctantly. ‘I …’
‘Is there anything else or may Matt and I discuss how to proceed with these nasty murders? Aynton and Elsham were members of your College, so you must want answers.’
‘You will not talk about that,’ sneered Donwich, struggling to regain his composure. ‘You are just here to gorge. And while we are on the subject of Elsham, let me tell you now that he had nothing to do with Huntyngdon’s unfortunate demise. Bartholomew fabricated this so-called confession to embarrass Clare Hall.’
Manfully, Bartholomew fought down his indignation at the insult. ‘He knew details about the crime that only the killer could have had.’
‘Now we must identify the “friend” who urged him to do it,’ said Michael, and eyed Donwich meaningfully.
‘Well, it was not me,’ said Donwich firmly. ‘I barely knew Huntyngdon.’
‘Then tell us about the night that Aynton died. You cannot prove your whereabouts, although we understand that you returned to your College in a state of high agitation.’
‘I did not kill Aynton,’ declared Donwich, growing angry. ‘I liked him.’
Michael raised his eyebrows. ‘But he offended you by refusing to support your candidacy for the chancellorship, and he went out the night he died to catch you in a compromising position with Lucy.’
‘My relationship with her is chaste,’ snapped Donwich, although he blushed like a schoolboy at the mention of her name. ‘And my personal life is none of your business, so keep your vile insinuations to yourself. Brampton will be livid when I tell him you besmirch his sister’s good name.’
‘I do nothing of the kind,’ said Michael irritably. ‘I merely remind you that Aynton knew about your friendship with her, and he was killed when he went out to expose it.’
‘Have you had any thoughts about where Gille might have gone, now you have had time to reflect?’ asked Bartholomew, when Donwich had no reply.
Donwich regarded him with dislike. ‘If I had, I would not tell you. You will concoct lies to see him accused of crimes he did not commit, too.’
‘We have no need to concoct lies,’ said Michael sharply. ‘Not with the evidence he left behind in his room. And do not accuse Matt of planting it there – most of it was found by your own Fellows. Or are you saying that they are dishonest, too?’
Donwich scowled. ‘I shall dismiss the lot of them when I am Chancellor. And the vicars-general will uphold my challenge – I have never been more sure of anything in my life. If you have any sense, Brother, you will resign before they oust you in disgrace.’
Amusement sparked briefly in Michael’s eyes. ‘We shall see.’
Donwich regarded him suspiciously. ‘Yet you do not respond by suggesting that I withdraw instead. Why not? What are you plotting in that sly mind of yours?’