‘I heard some of the bedeswomen talking,’ whispered Matilde, her lovely face anxious. ‘They said the visiting medicus had been poisoned, so I waited outside the abbey, hoping for news. Then I saw Clippesby, who smuggled me inside.’
‘Let us hope he can smuggle you out again,’ said Michael, glaring at the Dominican. ‘Women are not allowed in here, and breaking that particular rule would see us ousted for certain. Then I would never solve the Abbot’s murder.’
Matilde waved an irritable hand to indicate her disregard for what she deemed foolish regulations. ‘What about Matt? How serious is this poison?’
‘It was delivered in Lombard slices,’ explained Michael. ‘An unpardonable sacrilege, which makes me even more determined to catch the culprit. Fortunately, Matt only ate one, and I imagine we could wake him now if we shook him hard enough.’
‘No,’ said Matilde hastily. ‘Let him rest.’
‘When he told me that he had seen you, I assumed he had imagined it.’ Michael’s expression was reproachful. ‘As used to happen several times a week when you first left.’
Matilde winced. ‘I am travelling north. It is bad luck that put us together now.’
‘He will be glad to have you back,’ said Clippesby warmly. ‘He was never the same after you left.’
‘That is not why I am here,’ said Matilde. ‘Michael understands – I explained it to him when we met in Clare last summer.’
Clippesby gaped at the monk. ‘You knew where she was, but did not tell Matt? I hope you had a good reason, because that is not the act of a friend. Indeed, not even a goat would do it, and they are notoriously unromantic.’
‘He did it because I asked him to,’ explained Matilde, when Michael made no attempt to defend himself. ‘If I had married Matt, he would have lost his University post. I have no money of my own – I lost every penny to thieves shortly after leaving Cambridge – so he would have had to give up his poorer patients, too. He would have been unhappy, and would have grown to hate his life. And perhaps hate me, too, for bringing him to it.’
‘You put me in an impossible situation,’ said Michael softly. ‘I have been obliged to pass remarks about you that must have made him think I was losing my wits.’
‘I am sorry,’ said Matilde. ‘But it was for the best.’
‘I beg to differ,’ argued Michael. ‘He does not care about money, and would be happier with you regardless.’ Then a vision of Julitta flashed into his mind. ‘Probably.’
‘On reflection, I am not so sure,’ said Clippesby, making Michael regard him sharply. ‘He would hate turning paupers away in favour of calculating horoscopes for the wealthy. He spends all his stipend on them, and I have recently learned how expensive medicines can be. He would certainly baulk at not being able to practise in what he sees as an ethical manner.’
‘You see, Brother?’ murmured Matilde. ‘I always said Clippesby was the wisest of Michaelhouse’s Fellows.’
‘But you must talk to him before you go,’ Clippesby continued. ‘Explain your reasons. You may cajole Michael into lying for you again, but you will not persuade me.’
‘Nor me, not this time,’ asserted Michael. ‘It was one of the most unpleasant things I have ever had to do, and that includes once abstaining from meat for the whole of Lent.’
Matilde shook her head. ‘That would be too painful for both of us. But I will dictate a letter, if you will write it for me.’
‘That depends on what you plan to say,’ replied Michael suspiciously.
‘I shall ask him not to come after me, because I will not be found,’ said Matilde. ‘However, I shall also say that I have decided to do something about my impoverished circumstances, and that if I succeed, I shall return to Cambridge to see whether he might be interested in … in a resumption of our friendship.’
‘How will you succeed?’ asked Michael curiously. ‘By taking up burglary?’
‘That would be one way, I suppose,’ said Matilde with the wry smile he remembered so well. ‘But I am hoping to work through more legitimate channels. An old friend has agreed to help me, and I am astute with finances. I shall do my best to acquire the fortune that will keep Matt’s paupers in salves and potions.’
Michael looked sceptical, but Clippesby grinned.
‘If anyone can do it, you can,’ the Dominican said.
Chapter 7
When Bartholomew woke the following day, he found it difficult to rally his thoughts. He was lethargic, and had backache from lying in one position too long. Even so, he did not possess the energy to move, so he stared at the ceiling, watching the first tendrils of light creep across it as dawn broke. Only when he heard his colleagues stir did he sit up.
‘At last!’ exclaimed Michael in relief. ‘I am glad to have you back, because I shall need your help today. Not to mention the fact that we have been worried. In future, perhaps you would stay away from poison.’
‘Poison,’ murmured Bartholomew, as events filtered slowly back into his mind.
‘We have not caught the culprit yet,’ said William. ‘But last night was eventful, even so. First, we had news that Spalling has made Cynric his official deputy. Then Inges arrived to say that Welbyrn had died in St Leonard’s well. But before either of those, Matilde came and…’
He trailed off, horrified with himself for the inadvertent slip. Michael glowered, Clippesby rolled his eyes, and Bartholomew wondered whether he had misheard.
‘I was going to tell you after breakfast, Matt,’ said the monk wearily. ‘You must be hungry after lying about for so long without so much as a crumb to eat.’
Clippesby took William’s arm. ‘Come, Father. There is a sparrow you should meet, one who might be able to tutor you in the art of discretion.’
‘No, I want to know what–’ But when William saw the dark expression on Michael’s face, he left the room in what could best be described as a scurry.
When the door had closed, Michael turned warily to Bartholomew. ‘Are you well enough for this? I do not think I could stand the strain of a relapse.’
Bartholomew was experiencing an awful churning in his stomach, and could tell from Michael’s face that he was about to be told something he would not like.
‘A drink or some food must have been laced with a soporific,’ he said, aware that his speech was slurred – his tongue could not seem to form the words properly. ‘But now I am awake, the effects will soon dissipate. There will be no relapse.’
‘A soporific?’ echoed Michael in alarm. ‘Lord! I have been going around telling everyone that you were poisoned!’
‘Soporifics can be toxic in the wrong hands.’
‘William and Clippesby deduced that it was in the Lombard slices. I blamed the leeks, but Piel’s pig ate the rest of those with no ill effects…’
‘The leeks came from a communal pot, but the pastries appeared out of nowhere – and you left the tavern without eating any.’ Bartholomew wished his wits were sharper, for he knew that Michael had managed to sidetrack him, but he was not alert enough to stop it.
‘I learned nothing to help our investigation while you were asleep,’ the monk went on. ‘And the situation is now desperate, because we leave the day after tomorrow.’
‘Was Matilde really here?’ asked Bartholomew.
Michael ignored the question. ‘Seeing what one cake did to you, I dread to imagine what would have happened had we finished the plate. We both had a very narrow escape.’
‘Brother,’ said Bartholomew quietly. ‘Please.’
‘As William said, a lot happened last night.’ Michael was determined to postpone the inevitable. ‘Spalling held a rally of his supporters and declared Cynric his lieutenant. According to Langelee, the announcement took Cynric by surprise, but it is a cause dear to his heart, and Langelee said he responded with delight. He intends to stay here after we leave.’