‘Then he engaged the waterwheel and threw the bodies into the machinery to muddy the waters even further. But how did he escape without being seen by Bernarde? Or do you think Bernarde did see him, but declined to mention the fact? We will never know, now he is dead.’
‘But we know why he is dead,’ said Michael. ‘Quenhyth burned him to ensure he never told. It had nothing to do with the meeting of the King’s Commissioners, as everyone has assumed.’
‘The fire allowed him to kill Bernarde and prevent us from proving that three phials of Water of Snails and some henbane were stolen from Lavenham’s shop,’ said Bartholomew. ‘I doubt Quenhyth bought them, because Lavenham would have mentioned it last night. Besides, Quenhyth has no money.’
‘And we must not forget what Dick Tulyet told us, either,’ said Michael. ‘After the fire started, only one person was running in the opposite direction – someone in a scholar’s tabard.’
‘I thought he meant Wynewyk or Paxtone,’ said Bartholomew. ‘But it was Quenhyth. We know the fire was started using wood that Lavenham had been collecting. Quenhyth was with me the day I heard Isobel complaining about it, so he knew there was convenient kindling to hand. And, of course he killed Bess.’
‘Why? She was a lunatic.’
‘But she was a lunatic who had some connection to Quenhyth. I should have seen this days ago.’
‘How?’
‘Because of his reluctance to attend her requiem mass, for a start. And the way he did not want me to go near her, and kept drawing attention to the fact that she spoke nonsense – so I would not believe anything she said. When I pulled her away from the Great Bridge once, she addressed her questions to him, not to me. I thought she was simply deranged. But she was speaking to a man she thought might give her answers. He must have murdered Bosel, too.’
‘Because Bosel haunted the same places as Bess?’ suggested Michael. ‘She confided her story to him, and he threatened to tell? We know Bosel enjoyed blackmailing folk when he could.’
‘It was good luck for Quenhyth that Bosel was a witness to Lenne’s accident. We all assumed Thomas Mortimer had killed him. But Thomas had nothing to do with it, just as Constantine said.’
‘We have been pondering and floundering for days, and yet, within a few moments, we have many of our questions answered,’ said Michael wonderingly. ‘How has that come about?’
‘Because of an act of kindness to a child,’ said Bartholomew. ‘The rat Quenhyth made Dickon was covered in old fur, similar to that used to fill the glove masquerading as the Hand. It suggested to me that Quenhyth stole the relic. And the rest just … came together.’
‘Let us hope you are right this time,’ said Michael, standing up and preparing for a confrontation. ‘We do not want to accuse everyone of these crimes before we snare our culprit.’
Knowing that the Lavenhams did not intend to linger in Cambridge long, and sensing they might make a bid for escape sooner than they had promised, Bartholomew and Michael left the churchyard and headed straight for St Mary the Great. Father William was with Chancellor Tynkell in the room below, and waved to indicate they were to climb to the upper room without him. Lavenham and Isobel were still there, but they wore riding cloaks and brimmed hats that would hide their faces, and their saddlebags were packed. They were leaving.
‘It is not just the loss of your shop and the vengeful Mortimers driving you away, is it?’ asked Michael, leaning against the door jamb and presenting a formidable obstacle to their departure. ‘You have been careless, and you are afraid you will be held accountable for the consequences. Warde, Bosel and Bess are dead of poison, and that poison came from you.’
‘No!’ cried Lavenham. ‘We always careful in keys and locks.’
‘But you are not,’ said Bartholomew coldly. ‘I saw you pretend to unlock a cupboard that had been left open myself. You are not as cautious with dangerous substances as you should be.’ He recalled Dame Pelagia making off with something, too, to demonstrate how easily it might be done. It had not taken the old lady long to identify Lavenham’s laxness.
‘It is my fault,’ said Isobel in a tight, strangled voice. ‘But he seemed a nice fellow, and I have a soft spot for pretty young men.’
‘Quenhyth,’ said Bartholomew flatly. ‘What happened?’
‘He was interested in our work and, since he was going to be a physician, I showed him our workshop. It was only later that we missed a quantity of henbane and some concentrated poppy juice. At first I thought I was mistaken, and put the matter from my mind, but then I heard about Warde and I guessed what had happened.’
‘Then why did you not tell me?’ demanded Michael angrily.
‘We was feared,’ said Lavenham hoarsely, while Isobel started to cry. ‘We feared still. Quenhyth steal henbane. He use it in Water of Snails which he also steal. He care nothing that Isobel blamed.’
‘Why did he poison Bess?’ asked Michael, sounding disgusted. ‘Did she see him doing something to Deschalers, and was murdered for her silence?’
‘She was killed too long after Deschalers’s murder for that,’ said Bartholomew. ‘We have already said her death may hold the key to the mystery. I still think it does.’
‘Quenhyth knew her,’ said Isobel tearfully. ‘From home.’
‘Quenhyth comes from Chepe,’ said Bartholomew, ‘and Bess came from London, of which Chepe is a part. Were they lovers once? Matilde said she thought Quenhyth had been crossed in love.’
‘Then why did he kill her?’ asked Michael. ‘That is no way to deal with old flames.’
‘He always acted oddly around her,’ said Bartholomew, frowning. ‘And I would say, with the benefit of hindsight, that there was a vague recognition in her behaviour towards him. But it does not tell us why he might have killed her.’
‘We shall have to ask him ourselves,’ said Michael grimly.
They walked to Michaelhouse, with Michael urging Bartholomew to hurry so they could question Quenhyth before anyone else died, but the physician dragged his heels, loath to learn for a fact that he had harboured a killer. When they arrived at the College, Redmeadow was strolling in the yard with the Franciscan students, Ulfrid and Zebedee. Michael asked whether they had seen Quenhyth, but the three exchanged looks of disgust and said they would not willingly spend free time in his company, when all he did was accuse folk of stealing.
Redmeadow was not wearing his tabard, and his tunic was exposed. Bartholomew saw yet again the ingrained white substance on it, and recalled Matilde telling him that Redmeadow had appeared white and ghostly the morning after the murders in the mills. The student had told her the mess was the result of a practical joke. Then Bartholomew remembered how much flour dust had been caught in his own clothes when he had searched the mill for clues, and felt a sudden lurching sickness. Whoever killed Deschalers and Bottisham would also have been covered in dust. He pointed to the stains.
‘How did that happen?’ he asked flatly, wondering if all his reasoning had been wrong, and Quenhyth was innocent after all.
Ulfrid answered before Redmeadow could speak. ‘Do not start him off, Doctor. We heard nothing but gripes about the ruin of his favourite tunic all last week. He was furious that Quenhyth borrowed it without asking, and then returned it in such a state.’
‘Two Sundays ago,’ added Redmeadow angrily. ‘Agatha has been able to do nothing with it, and Quenhyth will not even admit that he was to blame! I cannot imagine what he did to it. Lady Matilde saw me in it the next day, so I fabricated a story blaming a practical joke – she caught me by surprise with her blunt question, so I said the first thing that came to my mind. I could see she did not believe me, and I felt a proper fool.’