‘Prioress,’ corrected Hagar. She thought for a moment. ‘I suppose that would be acceptable, although it will cost him. I want threepence, or he cannot come in.’
Reginald looked set to argue, but Henry raised his hand warningly and the cutler nodded reluctant agreement. Then Henry regaled Hagar with calming platitudes, while Appletre led Reginald towards the Abbey Gate. The skill with which they separated the combatants suggested it was not the first time they had intervened in spats.
‘We need to speak to Reginald,’ said Michael, setting off after the cutler and dragging Bartholomew with him. ‘I want to know what he and Robert discussed the day Robert vanished. Henry seemed to think it might be significant, so we had better see where it takes us. We shall tackle him in his home – where I will distract him while you have a discreet prowl.’
It sounded distinctly unappealing, but the monk’s grip was powerful and Bartholomew did not have the energy to fight free. They watched Appletre usher the cutler through the gate and then return to his waiting choristers. Once outside, Reginald scuttled towards his shop, and by the time the two scholars reached it, a rhythmic tapping could be heard from within.
‘What?’ Reginald shouted in reply to Michael’s knock.
‘We want to talk to you,’ called Michael. ‘About Abbot Robert.’
‘Well, I do not want to talk to you,’ Reginald hollered back, and there was another thud as a hammer came into contact with something. ‘Now go away. I am busy.’
‘You can spare a few moments for the Bishop’s Commissioners. Or do you have something to hide?’
‘Of course not, but it is late and I have work to do. Come back another time.’
There came the sound of a heavy bar being placed across the door, which gave the discussion a distinct note of finality. Irritated, Michael rapped again, but all he did was skin his knuckles and eventually Bartholomew pulled him away.
‘He is unlikely to be helpful if you force your way in. It is better to wait until he is in a more cooperative frame of mind.’
Michael nodded reluctantly, and they walked back to the abbey. As they approached the gate, Trentham stumbled out, sobbing almost uncontrollably.
‘Easy,’ said Bartholomew, catching him as he reeled. ‘Whatever is the matter?’
‘Lady Lullington is dead,’ wept the young priest. ‘I know it is a blessed release after all her suffering, but she was my friend. Abbot Robert rebuked me for growing too fond of my charges, but I cannot help it. I liked her.’
Bartholomew knew how he felt, as he had a tendency to form attachments to patients himself. ‘When did she die?’ he asked gently.
‘I left her when I went to soothe Prioress Hagar after the set-to with Reginald, and she was dead by the time I returned.’ Suddenly the young priest pulled away from him, and his face turned dark with bitter anger. ‘You could have cured her, but you let her die. You physicians are all the same – useless!’
Trentham’s hot words had struck Bartholomew where he had always been vulnerable, and it took him an age to fall asleep that night. He awoke the following morning feeling tired and out of sorts, and was unimpressed when he found himself between Ramseye and Welbyrn again for breakfast. The occasion was no more pleasant than it had been the previous day, although the victuals were still impressively plentiful.
‘There is an inn nearby,’ he said, when he and his colleagues were back in the guest house. ‘I think I shall stay there until you have finished your enquiries.’
‘Do not worry – we will not dine in the refectory again,’ said Michael. ‘We shall be too busy from now on. This is our third day here – our fourth if we count the one we arrived – and we have little to show for our efforts, mostly because you have been too busy to help me. Well, that changes today.’
‘Clippesby and I have worked very hard on your behalf,’ objected William indignantly. ‘We are not more interested in medicine than in learning who murdered Robert and Joan.’
‘No,’ conceded Michael. ‘And I appreciate your efforts. You have saved me hours of work by speaking to the servants.’
‘And the animals,’ added Clippesby. ‘I only wish they had more to report. But we shall soldier on again today, as I have not interviewed the sheep yet.’
‘Right,’ said Michael. ‘Matt and I will visit St Thomas’s Chapel again, to see whether we can glean any new evidence pertaining to Joan’s murder.’
‘And then we had better go to Torpe,’ said Bartholomew. ‘Aurifabro claims that Robert never arrived, but we should make an effort to see whether he is telling the truth by speaking to his household. We will have to find a way past the mercenaries, of course.’
‘Not today,’ said Michael. ‘Cynric has offered to go with us tomorrow, and he is a better spy than you or me. His sharp eyes will be useful.’
‘Why can he not go this afternoon?’
‘Because there is an important meeting he wants to attend with Spalling.’ Michael frowned worriedly. ‘He has always entertained seditious opinions, but until now it has been nothing but talk. Yet here is Spalling, prepared to act on these beliefs, and Cynric sees a kindred spirit. I hope Spalling does not lead him into trouble.’
Bartholomew hoped so, too. ‘Langelee will keep his feet on the ground.’
‘Langelee has his hands full with Spalling, especially now I have asked him to assess whether the man might be involved in Robert and Pyk’s disappearance.’
‘It is a good idea to concentrate on the Abbot.’ William nodded approvingly. ‘He is more urgent than Joan, given that we cannot leave until we discover what happened to him.’
‘Unfortunately, I think his fate and hers are connected.’ Michael hastened to explain when William opened his mouth to disagree. ‘Yesterday, several monks told me that they were lovers – so her death may well have a bearing on his.’
‘Joan and Robert?’ asked Bartholomew dubiously, trying to imagine what could have drawn the formidable bedeswoman to the unlovable Abbot, and vice versa.
Michael shrugged. ‘It seems they were close for years, which is why we must go to St Thomas’s Chapel today, where you will examine her body.’
‘But we have no jurisdiction here,’ objected Bartholomew. ‘I will be arrested. Or worse.’
‘Nonsense. We are the Bishop’s Commissioners, with authority to do whatever we deem necessary. Do not worry. Gynewell will support you if anyone makes trouble.’
Bartholomew was about to point out that Gynewell was in Lincoln and thus too far away to help if matters turned ugly, but a messenger arrived with a letter before he could speak. Michael’s jaw dropped in horror as he read it.
‘It is from my Junior Proctor. He says I shall not be needed when Winwick Hall’s charter is drawn up, because he plans to do it himself. Is he insane to think that he can oversee such a complex matter? Lord! I must be home by Saturday, or the results will be disastrous.’
‘Perhaps we should leave now,’ said William worriedly.
‘I wish we could,’ gulped Michael. ‘But the Bishop’s orders are quite clear: he wants the riddle of Robert’s disappearance solved, and we are to stay here until we have answers.’
‘Then we had better get on with it,’ said William grimly.
The scholars parted outside the guest house. William headed for the kitchens to interview more servants, Clippesby went off towards the water meadows, and Bartholomew followed Michael across the precinct to the Abbey Gate. The area had once been grassed, but hundreds of wheels, feet, claws, hoofs and paws had trampled it bald. They met Henry on the way.