Authors: Susanna Gregory
Tags: #Mystery, #Historical, #blt, #rt, #Cambridge, #England, #Medieval, #Clergy
‘Some can be born white with pink eyes, just like cats, dogs or people. It probably escaped from a band of entertainers during the plague.’
‘It did.’ Tuddenham’s voice so close behind them made them all spin around, and Cynric flourished a knife he had somehow managed to grab from one of the men who had been holding him. With Tuddenham were Grosnold, Walter Wauncy and Father William. Hamon was there, too, with the pregnant janelle grabbing possessively at his arm. The young knight looked proud and pleased, and almost handsome. Bartholomew hoped he knew what he was letting himself in for with Janelle.
Tuddenham continued. ‘It was a dancing bear that belonged to a troupe of actors who sometimes passed this way. One of them came to ask if we had seen it a few months ago, but I did not connect the missing white bear to the legends of Padfoot, until now.’
‘Your mother did,’ said Bartholomew shakily. ‘She used it to ensure your villagers stayed away from where Eltisley was conducting his vile experiments.’
‘I know,’ said Tuddenham. His face was white and one hand gripped his stomach. He nodded at the burning rubble that had been the church. ‘I heard everything that was said in there.’
‘But what are you doing here?’ Michael demanded. ‘How did you know where we were?’ He looked at William. ‘The last I saw of you was when you went to tell Tuddenham about Stoate.’
‘Hamon summoned us here,’ said William. ‘He was taking a predawn stroll nearby – accompanied by half a dozen men, for some unaccountable reason – and he saw lights burning in the church. When he saw Eltisley arrive with you and Cynric at arrow-point, he returned to Grundisburgh to fetch help.’
‘I would have mounted a rescue there and then,’ said
Hamon apologetically, ‘but none of us were armed with more than our spades, and it seemed more prudent to fetch reinforcements than to attempt something that stood a good chance of failing.’
Dame Eva and Janelle had been wrong about Hamon, Bartholomew thought. He was not as simple as everyone seemed to believe.
‘Have you seen Deynman and Horsey?’ he asked anxiously. ‘I sent them to the leper hospital for safety, but when Eltisley’s men went to collect them, they had not arrived.’
‘A leper hospital?’ queried William distastefully. ‘Hardly to be recommended as a place of safety, Matthew. They may have escaped Eltisley, but what if they catch the disease?’
‘It is not that easy to catch leprosy,’ said Bartholomew. ‘But it is irrelevant anyway, considering that they are not there. Do you think they were attacked on the Old Road and robbed?’
‘I think they have probably found some tavern,’ said Michael, ‘and are happily dicing together, oblivious to the fact that the likes of Eltisley have been scouring the countryside looking for them.’ He turned to William. ‘So, how did you escape Eltisley’s men all morning?’
William looked furtive. ‘I was here and there,’ he said evasively. ‘Doing what I could.’
Hamon gave a snort of laughter. ‘He was in the latrine,’ he said, relishing the friar’s embarrassment. ‘Ever since dawn, just after he delivered your message about Stoate to my uncle.’
‘Are you ill?’ asked Bartholomew. Latrines, even splendid ones with doors like those in Grundisburgh, were not places where the sane liked to linger.
William pursed his lips, but confessed. ‘It was that wretched device of Eltisley’s again. It jammed on me a second time, and I could not free myself for love nor money. I was locked in until Master Wauncy answered my cries for help.’
Michael gave a humourless smile. ‘It seems the failure of one of Eltisley’s inventions actually saved your life. Had that lock not prevented you from leaving, you might well have found yourself with a mouthful of his green elixir.’
‘So I gathered,’ said William. ‘As Sir Thomas said, we overheard much of what was said in the church.’
‘Then why did you not come to our rescue?’ demanded Michael. ‘That madman almost had me drinking a brew that would have killed me “temporarily”.’
‘We were coming,’ said William indignantly. ‘Have patience, Brother! Hamon was halfway in through the window with his sword drawn, and I was behind him with a cudgel, when that terrible explosion occurred. It blew Hamon right over me and out into the bushes.’ He shook his head disapprovingly. ‘That Eltisley was an agent of the Devil, and the Devil rose up from hell and snatched him away. What we saw was a glimpse into the fiery depths.’
‘What we saw was Matt using Eltisley’s powders to save us,’ said Michael tartly. He turned to Tuddenham. ‘You really heard it all?’
Tuddenham nodded, and Hamon came to stand at his side, a hand on his shoulder in a gruff expression of sympathy and support. ‘I heard that my wife and mother were plotting against me, and that it was not my child that Isilia was carrying. I suspected all that, of course, and I knew that they might try to prevent the deed being signed.’
‘You might have mentioned it to us,’ said Michael accusingly. ‘Then we could have been on our guard, and Alcote need not have died.’
‘But then you might have decided not to draw up the advowson, and Isilia’s brat would have inherited my estate over Hamon.’
‘It could have been your child,’ said Bartholomew. ‘It is unlikely, but not impossible.’
Tuddenham shook his head. ‘I always knew it was not mine.’
‘So, who was the father, then?’ asked Michael, intrigued.
‘That is not the kind of question a gentleman should ask of a dead lady,’ said Tuddenham softly. ‘But I do know, and her secret will die with me.’
‘And did you know what Eltisley was doing on your manor?’ asked Bartholomew, angry that the knight might have turned a blind eye to such practices.
Tuddenham gave a brief nod. ‘I knew that my mother was supporting Eltisley in some ridiculous experiment, because she was desperate to have my father back, but, like you, I did not take seriously Eltisley’s claim that he could raise the dead. And I cannot think why my mother wanted to resurrect my father anyway – the man was a brute, and a poor manager of our estates. He let Bardolf’s father steal Gull Farm from him without even attempting to wrest it back. After his death, she lavished more and more praise on him, accrediting him with a goodness that he never expressed in life. She, like Eltisley, was not entirely sane in her own way.’
‘And all this is about who will inherit your estates?’ asked Michael. ‘You did not want Isilia’s child as heir, because he is not yours?’
‘Essentially,’ said Tuddenham. ‘But I never imagined Isilia, or my mother, would sink to such depths of evil to accomplish what they wanted.’
‘She seemed so angelic,’ said Bartholomew, almost to himself, thinking of the lovely Isilia and her green eyes and fresh skin. ‘How could such treachery come from such loveliness?’
Tuddenham glanced sharply at him.
‘You suspected it, though,’ said Michael quickly, before the knight could infer too much from Bartholomew’s words. ‘That was why you tried to keep your illness a secret – so that we would be safely back in Cambridge before they realised
you were dying and that they would need to destroy the advowson if they wanted your estates for themselves.’
‘I knew my mother was employing delaying tactics – trying to make more work for you, to slow the process down,’ said Tuddenham tiredly. ‘For example, last week she produced that huge chest of irrelevant household accounts, knowing you would have to read them, and that to do so would waste your time. I just thought she was trying to wear you down, not that she was biding her time for murder.’
‘Really,’ said William, folding his arms, clearly unconvinced.
‘Yes, really!’ snapped Tuddenham. ‘But my mother is a cautious woman, and it seems she did not want to chance my having an accident before the birth of Isilia’s child –you may have noticed how solicitous they both were of my health – so, she must have decided that the deed should not be completed at any cost.’
‘She almost succeeded,’ said Michael. ‘She tried several times to have Alcote poisoned – once with Eltisley’s digestive tonic, and again with raisins – and she even attempted to stab him before Eltisley took matters in hand.’
‘Did any of them escape?’ asked Cynric, gesturing to the burning church. ‘You would not want the likes of those ladies and that Eltisley roaming the country with revenge in their hearts.’
‘Indeed not,’ said Tuddenham. He nodded toward Siric, who was guarding three of Eltisley’s surly drinkers, all sitting on the grass and covered in white plaster. Next to them lay a row of unmoving figures, their faces covered with a hastily gathered assortment of garments. From under Tuddenham’s russet cloak poked the hem of Isilia’s velvet dress, while Hamon’s boiled-leather hauberk hid most of Dame Eva from view. Eltisley lay next to her, identifiable by his green-stained apron.
‘You will check, when the fire dies down?’ asked Michael.
‘Look in the vault, too, in case one of them managed to crawl to safety.’
‘We will,’ said Hamon quietly. He gazed at Eltisley’s body with revulsion. ‘That madman will stay this way, I hope. Do you think he had taken some concoction that will allow him to rise from the grave, and come to haunt us?’
Bartholomew shook his head. ‘Sir Thomas was right. There was no chance of Eltisley’s potions working to raise the dead. It is against the basic laws of nature.’ He gestured to the black knight, who had come to stand with Tuddenham and Hamon. ‘And is Sir Robert Grosnold also aware of what has happened here?’
‘He is a good friend and a loyal ally,’ said Tuddenham, smiling wanly at his neighbour. ‘He slipped back to the village to warn me that my mother and wife were plotting against you the day Unwin died.’
‘I overheard Dame Eva and Isilia talking to Eltisley just before the feast started,’ said Grosnold. ‘You see, I rode my destrier too hard across the village green and he damaged a leg. I was forced to stop and attend to it: it was then that I heard the three of them plotting. I walked back to inform Tuddenham, and was about to go home when I saw that poor friar, Unwin, all weak and shaking. I dispatched the physician Stoate to bleed him, but it seems it did him no good.’
‘No good at all,’ agreed Bartholomew. ‘But why did you not tell us you were with Unwin just before he died? We thought you had a hand in his death when you denied meeting him.’
Grosnold did not look pleased. ‘I am a knight. I do not slay priests unless absolutely necessary.’
‘Quite so. But why did you say you did not return to Grundisburgh, when you had?’ pressed Michael.
‘Because I did not want half the village to know I had returned to warn Tuddenham about treachery in his own
household,’ snapped Grosnold. ‘I had no idea whether I could trust you to be discreet, as I could Stoate and Unwin. And regrettable though Unwin’s death was, it was over and done with, while the matter of Dame Eva and Isilia was still very much alive. So, like a good soldier, I considered my priorities. And there were appearances to be taken into account: I did not want the villagers seeing that I had driven my destrier lame in my demonstration of equestrian skills, either.’
‘Anyway, he had no reason to suspect Stoate played a part in Unwin’s death,’ said Tuddenham. ‘As far as he was concerned, Stoate had bled Unwin to improve the balance of his humours, and then Unwin had been murdered in the church for his purse.’
‘But it was not the first time you had spoken secretly to Unwin,’ said Bartholomew. ‘You met him before we ever arrived in Grundisburgh. I saw you talking to him in your bailey.’
‘True,’ said Grosnold. ‘I asked for his blessing because I had been hunting on a feast day, and needed absolution. He gave it to me.’
So that was it, thought Bartholomew, recalling the student emerging from Grosnold’s bailey that night. And because Grosnold had made a confession, Unwin could not break his silence to tell Bartholomew what had transpired. It was all purely innocent after all.
‘I know you suspected me of ambushing you here after you did my astrological consultation,’ Grosnold continued. ‘You thought I wanted to ensure your silence regarding the deed you found about who gave me my manor …’
‘What deed is this?’ asked Hamon, interested.
‘A deed that is none of your affair,’ said Tuddenham softly. He exchanged a look with Grosnold that told Bartholomew that it was a secret that he had known for many years, and that it would be a secret kept.
‘… or that I had something to hide regarding Unwin’s death,’ Grosnold finished.
‘Well, you did,’ said Bartholomew. ‘You denied meeting him, and confused us with lies.’
‘But not with malicious intent,’ said Tuddenham defensively. ‘Grosnold sought only to protect me.’ He smiled at his neighbour. ‘And if Alcote had possessed a friend half as loyal he might be here now, not lying in his coffin in the church.’
‘Just a moment,’ began Michael indignantly. ‘We have—’
Tuddenham held up a hand. ‘You did not like him, Brother. None of you did. You did not grieve for him, as that nice young Horsey did for Unwin. You were angry and indignant at his murder, but none of you will miss him much.’
‘Do you really think he is dead?’ asked Bartholomew, remembering the fussy little scholar. ‘I keep expecting him to walk up to us, and announce that there has been some dreadful mistake.’
‘Yes, it would not surprise me to learn that he had persuaded some other unfortunate to take his place in Eltisley’s inferno,’ said Michael. ‘It would be the kind of thing he would do.’
‘Or perhaps he did die, but his angry spirit will not let his body rest,’ whispered Hamon, looking at the forlorn hovels of the deserted village. ‘Perhaps he will join the plague-dead here, in Barchester, and wander through the houses wailing and gnashing his teeth.’
It was not a pleasant image, and Bartholomew found himself glancing behind him, in the direction in which Hamon was gazing so fearfully. He pulled himself together irritably, refusing to be drawn into yet more superstitious tales and pagan beliefs. Padfoot, which had held the village in such terror, was nothing but a toothless performing bear, and the happenings at Barchester were sinister enough, but there was nothing supernatural about them.