‘Then you cannot tell us,’ said Michael sharply. ‘The Seal of Confession is sacred.’
‘I was not going to repeat anything from those,’ said William indignantly. ‘Although you would be bored senseless if I did – I have never encountered such a dull catalogue of sins. What I learned was in their hall afterwards, when they were thanking me with ale and cakes.’
‘Well?’ asked Michael, when the Franciscan paused.
‘You will recall that Joan was acting as a guard on the day she was murdered, minding Becket’s relics and Oxforde’s tomb. Well, that was highly unusual, because she never undertook such lowly duties as a rule – it is Marion and Elene’s responsibility. But she did it that day to impress us, the Bishop’s Commissioners.’
‘What are you saying?’ asked Michael, bemused. ‘That her sudden change in behaviour afforded someone the opportunity to dispatch her?’
‘No, I am just reporting a fact – it is for you to interpret its significance.’ William dropped his haranguing manner and grimaced. ‘Actually, I do not know what it means, Brother, but I thought it might be important.’
‘It might,’ said Michael, nodding. ‘Thank you. What have you found out, Clippesby?’
‘Something about Welbyrn. I spent some time with the granary mice today, and they overheard Henry and Ramseye reminiscing about their schooldays – specifically the time when Matt and Welbyrn fought, and Welbyrn fell over and broke his nose.’
Bartholomew groaned. ‘Is it not time that incident was forgotten?’
Clippesby ignored him. ‘Apparently, Welbyrn was not himself when he provoked that brawl. He had just received some terrible news: that his father had drowned himself.’
‘Really?’ Bartholomew closed his eyes. ‘Damn!’
Clippesby patted his hand. ‘I am not trying to make you feel guilty, Matt, but to explain something about his character. Henry remembered the older Welbyrn telling his wife that he was made of lead, and that if he ever fell in water, he would sink like a stone. Ergo, he knew he would die when he jumped in the river – there was no clearer case of suicide.’
‘So he was a lunatic,’ surmised William. ‘No wonder our Welbyrn was frightened when he thought he might be losing his wits. He believed he would end like his sire.’
‘Henry and Ramseye were discussing how the death had influenced our Welbyrn’s views on self-murder,’ Clippesby continued. ‘He considered it the gravest of all sins, and would never have contemplated it, no matter how terrified he was of going mad.’
‘So they believe someone else killed him?’ asked Michael. Clippesby nodded. ‘But why were they talking about it in a granary? Surely that is odd?’
‘I thought so,’ said Clippesby. ‘As did the mice.’
A few moments later, there was a knock on the door. It was Ramseye, who shot inside the moment William answered it and indicated with an urgent gesture that it was to be closed behind him. Then he went to the window and cracked open the shutter to peer outside.
‘What are you doing?’ asked Michael, watching the almoner’s antics suspiciously.
‘Being careful,’ replied Ramseye. ‘Men and women have been dying far too frequently since you arrived, and I do not intend to join them. I came to bring you this.’
He handed the monk a purse. It was little more than rags, and had clearly belonged to someone poor. Its greasy sheen suggested it was ancient, too.
Michael held it between thumb and forefinger in distaste. ‘What is it?’
‘A purse,’ replied Ramseye impatiently. ‘It was found in Reginald’s workshop and brought here, along with everything else that was considered valuable or curious.’
‘I thought the place was supposed to be sealed until his will is proved.’
Ramseye nodded. ‘Yes, but before the door was locked, Yvo sent Lullington to bring anything readily portable to the Abbot’s House. I argued against it, but he overruled me.’
‘I imagine he thought it would be safer,’ said Bartholomew, suspecting that Ramseye would have done the same had he been Acting Abbot. ‘Empty properties attract thieves.’
‘Perhaps.’ Ramseye cast a disdainful glance at Bartholomew before turning back to Michael. ‘Yvo has been pawing through everything all day, ostensibly to find out why Reginald died, but in reality to assess how much it might be worth.’
Michael held up the purse. ‘And why do you think I might be interested in this nasty thing?’
‘Because Reginald said that a purse would tell you all you needed to know.’
Michael’s eyes narrowed. ‘How do you know? Reginald was whispering, and no one else was close enough to hear.’
‘You told your colleagues,’ explained Ramseye, ‘who mentioned it when they were questioning our servants today. It is now common knowledge.’
‘I was trying to help,’ said William, flushing a deep red. ‘Time is short, and we are due to leave tomorrow.’
‘Are you?’ asked Ramseye hopefully.
‘It depends on the state of my investigation,’ lied Michael. He stared at the tatty item in his hand. ‘But Reginald was a cutler. Surely he owned a better purse than this?’
‘Yes, he did, and it is in Yvo’s solar, full of silver.’ Ramseye nodded to the other. ‘But that was also among his belongings, and it struck me as odd. So I decided to bring it to you.’
‘Why?’ asked Michael charily.
‘Because I was horrified when William’s questions implied that Lady Lullington was murdered, and that Reginald might have been complicit in the crime. And because I have a terrible feeling that the culprit is one of us – a Benedictine. In fact, I think it may be Henry, because he has been on his knees constantly since she died.’
‘He cares for her soul,’ said Bartholomew coldly. ‘And if you were any kind of monk, you would understand that prayers are acts of compassion, not signs of a guilty conscience.’
The physician could not recall if he had ever received a blacker look than the one directed at him by the almoner. Michael saw it, and stepped between them.
‘If you suspect Henry of such a terrible crime, why were you discussing Welbyrn with him in the granary?’
Ramseye gaped. ‘How do you– no, it does not matter. Bishops’ Commissioners have spies, we all know that. But to answer your question, Henry said it was somewhere that he and I could talk undisturbed.’
‘That does not explain why you were discussing Welbyrn,’ Michael pointed out.
‘When I first heard what had happened in St Leonard’s, I believed Yvo’s contention that it was an accident. Henry thought it was suicide, and took me to the granary to say so. But as we debated, we began to realise that we were both wrong. The truth is that he was murdered.’
‘By whom?’
‘We do not know. We spent an age discussing possible candidates, as your informant no doubt told you, but no one stood out above the others. Please do not glower at me, Brother. I did not come here to be interrogated like a common criminal. I came to help.’
‘Thank you,’ said Michael. ‘Although you will forgive me for being cautious.’
Ramseye gave one of his unreadable smiles. ‘Why, when my motive is obvious? I want you gone. You are a disruptive influence on my … on the abbey, and if helping you with your enquiries expedites your departure, then nothing is too much trouble.’
‘You may be seeing more of me in future,’ warned Michael. ‘The Bishop is a great admirer of my talents, and I like it here. The abbacy would suit me very well.’
The blood drained from Ramseye’s face, and he turned and left without a word. Bartholomew went to the window, and watched him break into a run the moment he was outside. There was no pretence at stealth this time – he did not care who saw him. The physician experienced a surge of unease, and wished Michael had held his tongue.