‘My grandmother would not demean herself by meddling with matters so far beneath her,’ said Michael loftily. ‘But I have the feeling her investigation is proceeding a lot faster than ours, and I do not want her to think I am an incompetent in my own domain. However, I can tell you that Bernarde has closed his mill because he is at a meeting of the King’s Commissioners in Lavenham’s shop. We should pay them a visit, to see what transpired at this momentous event.’
He threw Bartholomew his cloak and set off. On their way they saw Stanmore, who was standing outside Trinity Hall with Cheney and Mayor Morice. Their voices were lowered and they were evidently talking about matters they considered of some importance, if the solemn, intense expressions on their faces were anything to go by. Morice was uneasy, and kept glancing this way and that, as though anticipating some kind of attack. Bartholomew wondered whether he had cheated anyone recently and was afraid of their revenge.
He was about to walk past them when he glimpsed a black tabard out of the corner of his eye, and saw Wynewyk ducking down Water Lane. It looked as if he had been travelling along Milne Street to return to Michaelhouse, but had decided to take a diversion in order to avoid his colleagues. There was a flash of blue, too, and Bartholomew recognised the distinct colouring of a cloak from King’s Hall. He did not need to see its owner to know it belonged to Paxtone, and that the physician was as keen as Wynewyk not to be seen.
‘Matt,’ called Stanmore, when he spotted Bartholomew. The physician noticed that his brother-in-law was still taking no chances with his safety, and the tough-looking mercenaries loitered nearby, armed to the teeth. ‘We were talking about the Mortimers – trying to devise a plan to have Edward banished from Cambridge. It is all very well for the King to pardon him, but His Majesty does not have to live with his bad behaviour day in and day out.’
‘But that would still leave us with Thorpe,’ said Bartholomew. ‘And he was once your apprentice and a far greater danger to you than Edward.’
‘But Edward is damaging the town’s commercial activities,’ growled Cheney. ‘He has already destroyed Deschalers’s business, and he has only been in charge a few days! The fall of that empire affects us all – the sale of spices, flour and cloth, not to mention our investments and speculations. The whole affair is vexing, and I have been obliged to take two doses of strong medicine to calm my aching head.’
‘And me,’ said Morice, keen for everyone to know that the Mayor was also distressed about the town’s disintegrating financial situation. ‘My back always smarts when I am upset.’ He put both hands to his waist and flexed himself, wincing dramatically to illustrate the pain.
‘Most of us are more concerned that he might kill someone,’ said Bartholomew dryly.
‘He took so much water for fulling yesterday that Bernarde was forced to operate at half speed all day, and Ovyng Hostel took their grain elsewhere,’ said Morice, ignoring him. ‘This cannot continue.’
‘We must ensure he does not intimidate the Commissioners,’ added Cheney. ‘He has already hired Rougham to murder Warde, and we do not want Lavenham and Bernarde to feel vulnerable.’
‘Or Master Thorpe,’ said Michael, noting they were only concerned with the safety of the men who would further their own interests, not with the one who was neutral. ‘But this is a serious allegation – that Edward hired Rougham to kill Warde. Do you have evidence?’ He did not sound hopeful.
Cheney made an impatient gesture. ‘Why do you need evidence when you have common sense? You scholars are all the same, unwilling to recognise the guilty without a mountain of proof. That is why none of you will ever succeed in the world of commerce.’
‘They are meeting now,’ said Morice, jerking his head towards Lavenham’s shop. ‘The three surviving Commissioners. They are going to discuss what can be done to confound Mortimer and his evil ways. We are waiting to see what they have decided.’
‘Lavenham closed his shop for the occasion,’ added Cheney. ‘And Bernarde shut down his mill. So you can see how seriously they are taking this matter. No trader wants to inconvenience his customers, which is exactly what happens when you cease trading for an hour without prior warning.’
‘I want words with Bernarde,’ said Michael. ‘I intend to find out why Bess died after he availed himself of her services. Also, she had a phial in her possession similar to the one we found in his mill after the deaths of Deschalers and Bottisham.’
The merchants gazed at him in surprise. ‘I do not think Bernarde is your killer, Brother,’ said Stanmore eventually. ‘He is a miller.’
‘What does that have to do with anything?’ asked Michael, bemused. ‘He had good reason for wanting Bottisham dead: Bottisham was about to represent his rival in a court of law.’
‘Very well; we accept that,’ said Cheney, after a moment of thought. ‘But he had no reason to harm Deschalers. And I imagine not Bess, either. He was not alone in taking her for a tumble. Even Deschalers escorted her to his home once, and he was ill. And there were others.’
‘Who?’ demanded Michael.
‘She offered herself to me,’ said Morice, indicating to Bartholomew that the poor woman must have been desperate. ‘But I declined, because my wife does not approve of whores in the house.
‘She came to me, too,’ said Cheney. ‘She offered to do whatever I liked in return for information about her man. But I had nothing to tell her, so I decided against taking her up on her suggestion.’
‘Very noble,’ muttered Michael. ‘But what about Deschalers? Did he have information for her?’
‘None he shared with us,’ said Stanmore. ‘But you cannot seriously think Mad Bess is involved in this, Brother? Perhaps she just found this phial and drank its contents because she was too addled to know that consuming things you find in the street is unwise.’
Bartholomew was about to point out that henbane was expensive and Bess was unlikely to have discovered some by chance, when Paxtone hurried up to them. His face was bright with excitement as he took Bartholomew and Michael by the arms and dragged them away from the merchants. Bartholomew smiled warily, uncertain how to react to a man who had so recently darted down an alley to avoid meeting him. Paxtone did not seem to notice his distrust.
‘I analysed that phial you found, Matt. You are right: it did contain poison! As far as I can tell the compound is indeed Water of Snails – it contains blood and shell, not to mention part of a leaf that is definitely scabious. But I found something else too: henbane, just as you predicted. I believe it was boiled down to form a very concentrated poison, which explains why Bess sweated, was dizzy and complained of not being able to breathe – all symptoms of swallowing henbane, as you said. I sent one of my students to look it up in Gonville’s library. They have volumes on that sort of thing.’
‘You did not go yourself?’ asked Bartholomew, wondering whether he would admit to being seen with Wynewyk just a few moments before.
Paxtone looked puzzled. ‘No, why?’
‘You have been in King’s Hall since we last met?’ pressed Bartholomew. ‘The whole time?’
This time Paxtone’s expression was more difficult to read. ‘I was afraid one of my students would tamper if I left the experiment unsupervised. You know what these young men are like. God knows, Deynman, Redmeadow and Quenhyth are meddlesome enough.’
Bartholomew agreed, trying not to show that he found Paxtone’s prevarication deeply disturbing. Could he trust Paxtone’s analysis of the poison, when it was possible he had administered or created it himself. But, if that were the case, then why was he so willing to share his ‘findings’? Surely, the safest thing would be to deny it contained poison at all? Bartholomew exchanged a glance with Michael, and saw the monk was as confounded as he was.