‘I wonder whether all our concerns and problems are connected,’ mused Michael, joining him in the yard. ‘Thorpe and Mortimer return to Cambridge and begin to meddle in matters that they know will cause ill feeling between town and University. We have the “Hand of Justice” discussed on every street corner, and a brewing row about who should own it.’
‘Then we have Deschalers and Bottisham dead in suspicious circumstances, and Deschalers bequeathing his fortune to his niece, who just happens to have married Edward Mortimer,’ continued Bartholomew.
‘But they were betrothed before his exile,’ said Michael, turning his face towards the bright sun as he stretched his large limbs. ‘They have only done what their families originally intended, and I do not see their wedding as anything significant.’
‘I disagree. Originally, Julianna despised Edward so much that she considered Langelee a viable alternative.’ Bartholomew gestured to the barrel-shaped Master, who was steaming towards the gate, wearing his best Sunday hat and swinging his beefy arms. ‘Why did she change her mind?’
‘Because Edward is no longer a gangling, awkward boy. He is a man who knows his mind and who has an air of danger about him. Julianna seems to like that sort of thing, and I am not surprised she fell for his “charms”. But let us continue with our list of recent events and coincidences. We have Edward inheriting the murdered Deschalers’s wealth. And we have the murdered Deschalers involved in a conflict between rival mills.’
‘We should not forget the fact that Deschalers’s house was burgled the night he died, either,’ said Bartholomew. ‘I saw someone there, and so did Una.’
‘But what Una saw does not match your account,’ said Michael dismissively. ‘Her intruder left through the front door, while you chased yours through the back window. Una likes her wine, and we know she had some, because you treated her for a sore stomach the next day. But I do not think the burglary is important. The whole town was buzzing with the news of Deschalers’s death – including the forty felons who are repairing the Great Bridge – and no self-respecting thief would have passed up such a golden opportunity.’
‘Julianna would disagree. She believed the burglary was significant, because documents were rummaged through, even though nothing was stolen.’
‘How could she tell whether anything was stolen?’ argued Michael. ‘She did not live with her uncle, and was not in a position to know what valuables he happened to leave lying around that night.’
Bartholomew wavered, not sure what to think. ‘What about the possibility that Deschalers made another will? Laying claim to that sort of document would be a strong motive for breaking into his house the moment he died.’
‘Edward and Julianna did not need to burgle Deschalers’s home looking for a will that disinherited them. They could have gone any time, quite openly. She was his niece and only kin.’
‘It would be useful to know the identity of Deschalers’s scribe,’ said Bartholomew. ‘He must have written the document in the first place, and will know if there is more than one will in existence.’
‘You are chasing clouds,’ said Michael impatiently. ‘Everyone knew – and expected – that Deschalers would leave all his money to Julianna. The deed was no surprise to anyone.’
Bartholomew supposed he was right, but thought it unwise to dismiss the burglary until they were certain it was irrelevant. He turned his mind back to their list of odd coincidences. ‘Edward told Thomas to take the mill dispute to the King – on learning that the Millers’ Society intended to burn Mortimer’s Mill to the ground – and then they secured the services of Gonville’s lawyers to represent them. Bottisham was one of those clerks, but then he was murdered.’
‘Or he committed suicide,’ said Michael. ‘The most likely explanation is still that Bottisham and Deschalers met, one killed the other and then took his own life in a fit of remorse. It was our original conclusion, if you recall.’
‘But we deduced that when we trusted what Bernarde told us. Now we are not so sure, because we have caught him out in lies. We cannot discount the possibility that Bernarde killed the Mortimers’ lawyer first, then murdered the man who is related to the Mortimers by marriage and who spoke out against burning his rival’s mill.’
‘True,’ admitted Michael. ‘Although I really did believe Bernarde’s boy when he corroborated his father’s story about the various thumps in the engines. But Bernarde is not our only suspect. We know Thomas Mortimer does not hesitate to kill – he dispatched Lenne with callous abandon. He is a drunkard, and it would not surprise me to learn that he had committed the murders in a fit of wine-fuelled rage.’
‘Why? Even wine-fuelled rage needs something to set it off.’
‘He may have slaughtered Deschalers and Bottisham without knowing what he was doing, so his family dumped the bodies in the King’s Mill to throw us off the scent – to protect him.’
Bartholomew shook his head. ‘I think Bottisham and Deschalers were killed where they were found. And a nail in the palate is not something that happens by chance. Both Deschalers and Bottisham were killed with ruthless efficiency, and I am not sure Thomas possesses the clarity of mind to carry out such a task. Besides, his involvement leaves your theory with an awkward question: why would he be in the King’s Mill in the middle of the night?’
‘We do not know what Bottisham and Deschalers were doing there, either,’ Michael pointed out. He sighed heavily. ‘We have answers to virtually none of our questions. However, I recommend keeping an open mind as far as all our suspects are concerned. And speaking of open minds, I have not discounted the possibility that Bess is involved, either.’
‘I tried to catch her out once or twice, to see whether her rambling wits are carefully cultivated to fool us. But I have not succeeded.’
‘That may mean she is just more clever than you,’ said Michael bluntly. ‘She is still the person most likely to have killed Bosel.’
Bartholomew was uncertain. ‘She had a fortune in gold, but someone took it from her in exchange for information she never received. Do you really think a cunning manipulator would blithely hand over all her money, in return for nothing but vague promises and lies?’
‘And finally, we have Warde,’ said Michael, declining to acknowledge that the physician might have a point. ‘One of the King’s Commissioners. Rougham denies sending him the Water of Snails, but Warde received and drank it, and now the Commission is down to three members. Warde had taken it upon himself to put the Mortimers’ side of the argument – since Bernarde and Lavenham were out to represent their own interests. That means one of the Millers’ Society might have had him killed.’
‘You think Warde was murdered?’ asked Bartholomew, startled. ‘But the claim of foul play was just Rougham being unpleasant towards me. There is no evidence to suggest he was wrongfully killed.’
‘No evidence yet,’ corrected Michael. ‘But again, we shall keep open minds. I do not believe in sinister coincidences, and you said yourself that Warde’s cough should not have killed him. But something did. You may be right, and Warde’s heart may have failed from the effort of continual hacking. Or perhaps he had a natural aversion to Water of Snails – which you tell me contains powerful herbs, as well as boiled garden pests.’
‘Or Lavenham made a mistake with his ingredients, or Rougham in his instructions. There is no end to the possibilities, and I do not see how we will ever learn the truth.’
‘Lavenham,’ mused Michael, his eyes gleaming, so that he looked like a fatter, younger version of his grandmother. ‘The apothecary who made up the potion, who is also a member of the Millers’ Society, and who has a vested interest in ridding himself of a pro-Mortimer Commissioner.’
‘Master Thorpe also refuses to accept the Millers’ Society’s side of the dispute without demur,’ said Bartholomew tiredly. ‘He agreed to remain neutral, while Warde put the Mortimers’ case. If you are right about what happened to Warde, then you should warn Master Thorpe to be on his guard against mysterious potions sent from the apothecary.’