He took it to where the Spital’s people – staff and peregrini – were milling around restlessly. They all craned forward to look, then shook their heads to say none of them had seen it before.
‘Ask in the town,’ suggested Delacroix tightly. ‘Or at the castle – your two new knights are rich enough to afford quality weapons, and they hate the French, too.’
‘They do,’ acknowledged Tulyet. ‘But they are also blissfully ignorant about who is hiding here.’
‘Are you sure?’ asked Bartholomew in a low voice. ‘Tangmer mentioned them coming to deliver tax documents. Perhaps they saw something to raise their suspicions then.’
‘They will be questioned,’ said Tulyet firmly. ‘Along with the miller, Verious and the nuns. It seems our killer has claimed seven French victims, so we must do all in our power to stop him taking an eighth.’
Chapter 6
Bartholomew did not want to investigate seven murders, especially as it was his last term as a scholar, so every day was precious. He tried to slip away, but Michael blocked his path and demanded to know where he thought he was going.
‘You cannot need me when you have Dick,’ objected Bartholomew. ‘Besides, I have no jurisdiction here. It is not University property and no scholar has died.’
‘Paris the Plagiarist was a scholar,’ said Michael soberly. ‘And as I am sure all seven deaths are connected, you do have jurisdiction here. Moreover, the Girards were hired as proxies by our Chancellor and his deputy, which is worrisome. You must help me find out what is going on.’
Tulyet agreed. ‘I should tell you now that de Wetherset and Heltisle are on my list of suspects. It is possible that they found out the Girards had no intention of honouring the arrangement and killed them for it.’
‘Much as I dislike Heltisle, I do not see him dispatching children,’ said Bartholomew. ‘And if de Wetherset cared about the money, he would not have given it all to Hélène.’
‘We should not lump the two of them together in this,’ said Michael. ‘De Wetherset is unlikely to soil his hands with murder – he is an intelligent man, and would devise other ways to punish a deceitful proxy. Heltisle, however, is cold, hard and ambitious. I would not put any low deed past him.’
‘I can see why he dispatched the plagiarist – a man who brought our University into disrepute – but why kill the spicer?’ asked Bartholomew uncertainly.
‘Bonet supplied the University with goods,’ shrugged Michael. ‘Perhaps there was a disagreement over prices. I know for a fact that Heltisle wants to renegotiate some of our trade deals when the current ones expire.’
‘I shall leave de Wetherset and Heltisle to you,’ said Tulyet. ‘But first, we should speak to the people here – staff, Frenchmen and nuns.’
He marched away to organise it, while Bartholomew grumbled about losing valuable teaching time. The monk was unsympathetic.
‘You may have no University to resign from unless we find our culprit. It is possible that these murders are a sly blow against us – Paris was a scholar; Bonet sold us spices; and now we have our Chancellor and his deputy’s proxies murdered.’
Bartholomew was not sure what to think, but there was no time to argue, as Tulyet was waving for them to join him in the hall. Once inside, all three gazed around in admiration. It was a high-ceilinged room with enormous windows that allowed the sunlight to flood in. The tables and benches were crafted from pale wood, while the floor comprised creamy white flagstones, a combination that rendered it bright, airy and cheerful.
‘This is wasted on lepers and lunatics,’ muttered Michael. ‘Indeed, I could live here myself. It is much nicer than Michaelhouse.’
Tulyet wanted to question the peregrini first. They shuffled forward uneasily. All hailed from the wealthier end of village life – craftsmen and merchants who earned comfortable livings, and who had been respected members of the community before war and rebellion had shattered their lives. There were nine children including Hélène, seven women of various ages, five very old men and the four Jacques.
Most questions were answered by Father Julien, with occasional help from a stout woman named Madame Vipond – the weaver Bartholomew had seen outside. While the two of them spoke, Delacroix and his companions snarled and scowled, so it soon became apparent that the Jacques resented the priest’s authority and itched to wrest it from him.
‘We had no choice but to leave France,’ Julien told Tulyet. ‘The barons burned every house in our village, and as I have already said, they murdered all but thirty of our people. None of the dead were Jacques.’
‘Because we were away when the barons came,’ objected Delacroix, detecting censure. ‘How could we defend our village when we were not there?’
‘My point exactly,’ murmured Julien acidly.
‘We chose to resettle in Winchelsea because my husband and I had sold baskets there for years,’ said Madame Vipond after a short, uncomfortable silence. ‘I knew it well and thought we could rebuild our lives among good and kindly people. We gave money to charitable causes and adopted their ways. We tried to become part of the town.’
‘And when the Dauphin’s raiders came, my brothers died trying to defend it,’ spat Delacroix. ‘Then what did those good and kindly people do? Accuse us of being spies! So we ran a second time, abandoning all we had built there. We have virtually no money, so it will be difficult to leave here and settle somewhere else. Perhaps you will give us funds, Sheriff.’
‘Why would I do that?’ asked Tulyet, startled. ‘I have my own poor to look after.’
‘Because we could stir up trouble if you refuse,’ flashed Delacroix. ‘You want to stay on our good side, believe me. We–’
‘Delacroix, stop!’ cried Julien. ‘We are not beggars, and we do not make threats.’
‘Well, I suppose we have this,’ said Delacroix, brandishing a fat purse. ‘The money earned by the Girards for being proxies. It will keep the wolf from the door for a while.’
‘How does it come to be in your possession?’ demanded Michael immediately.
Delacroix regarded him evenly. ‘I took it from their bodies when we removed them from the shed – for safekeeping.’
‘Give it to Michael,’ ordered Julien. ‘He will return it to its rightful owners.’
‘It is Hélène’s now,’ said Michael, before Delacroix could refuse and there was more sparring for power. ‘Chancellor de Wetherset wants her to have it.’
Unexpectedly, Delacroix’s eyes filled with tears at the kindness, while a murmur of appreciation rippled through the others.
‘Are you sure?’ asked Julien warily. ‘He will receive nothing in return except our gratitude.’
‘He knows,’ said Michael. ‘However, the offer was made when he thought Hélène was the child of lunatics. He may reconsider if he learns the truth, so I recommend you stay well away from the town.’ He looked hard at the Jacques. ‘Especially you.’
‘He is right,’ agreed Tulyet. ‘Tensions are running unusually high at the moment, so you must leave as soon as possible. How soon can it be arranged?’
‘We will go today,’ sniffed Delacroix. ‘We know where we are not wanted.’
‘It takes time to prepare twenty-five people for travel when most are either very old or very young,’ countered Julien. ‘We shall aim for Friday – the day after tomorrow.’
‘Very well,’ said Tulyet. ‘Now tell us about the Girard family. Did you like them?’
‘We did,’ replied Madame Vipond, although she did not look at the Jacques. ‘They were strong and wise, and our lives here will be harder without them.’