Bartholomew glanced at the door, and saw that Edward and Julianna were not the only ones who had left the family squabble to see to their guests. Behind Edward, short and stocky in scarlet cote-hardie and matching hose, was Constantine. His face was flushed and he seemed out of sorts. Thomas was next to him, a goblet clasped in his hand. His red-rimmed eyes possessed a glazed, dull sheen that indicated he had been drinking most of the day. Bartholomew scowled at him: he had not forgotten what the man had done to Isnard. Raised voices continued to echo from the adjoining chamber, where uncles, aunts and cousins declined to allow the unannounced arrival of visitors to prevent them from finishing their quarrel.
‘Quite a gathering,’ said Michael. ‘Are they here to see what Edward has inherited?’
‘We have come to offer our condolences to Julianna,’ said Constantine. ‘And I have no need to assess Deschalers’s property. We were neighbours for decades, and I know exactly what he owned.’
‘Then who will inherit?’ asked Michael bluntly. ‘How many people will benefit from his will?’
‘Two,’ said Edward. ‘He left a chest to his scribe, but, other than that, Julianna has everything – this house, two properties on Bridge Street, a shop near Holy Trinity, his business and all his money.’
‘Of which there is a great deal,’ slurred Thomas, leering at Julianna. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘No reason,’ lied Michael. ‘What is the name of this scribe? And why was he singled out for such a lordly prize, when none of the apprentices were remembered?’
‘A box is scarcely a “lordly prize”, Brother,’ said Julianna. She looked the monk up and down. ‘Well, it might be for someone like you, I suppose.’
‘I could say that how Deschalers chose to dispose of his worldly goods is none of your affair,’ said Edward, cutting across Michael’s indignant response. ‘And I would be within my rights to do so. However, we have nothing to hide, so we will answer you. Deschalers did not like his apprentices. He considered them lazy.’
‘Then why did he keep them on?’ asked Michael, glaring at Julianna. He was the son of a minor Norfolk nobleman, and considered himself a cut above merchants, so found her comments highly insulting. ‘There are plenty of honest, hard-working lads who would relish an opportunity to train as grocers.’
‘He did not want the bother of educating more,’ said Constantine. ‘And it has not been easy to find good workmen since the Death. They either died or became too expensive.’
‘I own the business now,’ said Edward, oblivious to the furious glance shot in his direction by Julianna. She clearly disagreed with the law that a wife’s inheritance became the property of her husband. ‘And Deschalers was right: they are lazy. I have dismissed most of them.’
‘This scribe?’ pressed Michael. ‘Does he have a name?’
‘Not one I remember,’ said Julianna. She frowned. ‘It is odd, actually, because Uncle did not like him any more than he did his apprentices, and I do not know why he was singled out for reward. Perhaps it was because he always came the moment he was summoned.’
‘So Deschalers left this lucky man a chest,’ said Michael. ‘A chest of what?’
‘Just a chest,’ replied Julianna. She gestured to a substantial wooden affair under the window. ‘There it is – just a piece of furniture. Uncle said he wanted the scribe to have it, so the fellow could lock away his possessions when he finally earns some.’
Bartholomew inspected the box without much interest. Plain and functional, it was not an attractive piece. The only noteworthy thing about it was its sturdy – and extremely greasy – lock, which comprised a complex system of iron rods. Julianna raised the lid, to show them it was empty. It went through Bartholomew’s mind that selecting the clerk to be the recipient of such a reward might be Deschalers’s way of insulting him.
‘Uncle said it needed a thorough clean,’ she said, wrinkling her nose. Bartholomew knew what she meant: an unpleasant odour hung around the box, as though it had been used to store something nasty. ‘He planned to do it himself, but died before he got around to it. Still, I am sure the scribe will not mind spending a few moments with a rag.’
‘You seem very well acquainted with the contents of your uncle’s will,’ said Michael. ‘I thought lawyers took their time over such matters, particularly when large sums of money are involved. After all, the King will want his share.’
Edward looked smug. ‘Full inheritance of Deschalers’s goods is part of my pardon. The King’s clerks said it would serve as part-compensation for the suffering I endured in exile. They plan to reclaim death taxes from the town instead. So, Brother, you will be paying the King, not me.’
He began to laugh, and Bartholomew gaped at him, scarcely believing his ears. Not only was a killer walking free and unrepentant, but he was even making the town pay for the privilege.
‘But it is not right, Edward,’ said Constantine unhappily. ‘My fellow burgesses will never agree to give the King what he should have had from Deschalers. It will cause all manner of strife. If you want to live here unmolested, you should do the honourable thing and pay it yourself. After all, you have plenty. Deschalers left Julianna a large fortune.’
‘It will not be large once you have stolen my house,’ snapped Edward.
‘But that is my privilege,’ objected Constantine. ‘I am still out of pocket from buying your pardon.’
‘That is not my problem,’ snarled Edward. ‘If you had been a proper father, I would not have been obliged to go to France in the first place. I owe you nothing.’
‘One can never have enough money,’ said Julianna comfortably, oblivious to the simmering emotions that boiled around the Mortimers. She sauntered across to the dish of dried fruits and, finding it empty, began to look under the table, as if she imagined they might have fallen there. ‘But we have been through this before, Constantine: the King absolved Edward from paying death taxes on Uncle’s estate, and wants the town to pay instead. There is no more to be said on the matter.’
‘But it is not wise to antagonise the other merchants,’ pressed Constantine. He appealed to his brother. ‘Tell him, Thomas! Do you want to pay the King on Edward’s behalf?’
Thomas shrugged, and almost overbalanced. He took a gulp of wine to steady himself. ‘I will have won the mill dispute by then, so will have funds to spare. Edward should keep the money and the other merchants be damned. After all, look what Bernarde, Lavenham and Cheney are doing to me. I hate the lot of them. They should pay.’
‘But it will cause bitterness and resentment,’ cried Constantine, becoming desperate. ‘We cannot run a decent business if everyone is against us.’
‘I disagree,’ said Thomas, tottering to the table where a jug and matching goblets stood on a tray. He poured himself a generous dose. ‘All the merchants are against me, and I am doing rather well.’
‘Edward!’ pleaded Constantine. ‘This is not right, son.’
‘Do not call me son,’ hissed Edward. ‘And do not expect me to believe that your motives were altruistic when you bought my pardon. It was not my name you wanted cleared, but that of Mortimer.’
‘But I did–’
His words went unheard as Edward stamped out of the room, slamming the door behind him. The glass in the windows rattled, and the fire flared and guttered in the sudden draught. Michael watched, his eyes alight with interest, while Bartholomew merely felt uncomfortable at having witnessed a family spat that should have been held in private.
‘Edward is very irritable these days,’ said Julianna, who did not seem at all embarrassed. ‘I cannot imagine why, when he has recently acquired me and a fortune. He has everything a man could possibly desire.’