Susanna GREGORY - Mystery in the Minster

Helen stared at him. ‘Yes, I suppose that would have been best, but it did not occur to me.’

‘Never mind this,’ said Frost, when there was a low, eerie groan from the ceiling. ‘We may not have to smash the scaffolding – the place is ready to come down on its own. Forget Dalfeld. I will deal with him later.’

‘I do not understand any of this,’ said Michael. He sounded tired and defeated, as if he knew words were a waste of time. ‘I have no idea why we are here, or what you intend to do.’

‘Then ask me,’ said Helen pleasantly. ‘I have nothing better to do for a few moments. But when Dalfeld arrives, you will have to die. I am sorry, but it cannot be helped.’

‘Mother of God!’ muttered Frost tightly to himself. ‘More chatter?’

Aware that time was running out fast, Bartholomew intensified his search for Ellis’s knife. Anxiety and tension were on the verge of making him sit up to look, when his questing fingers touched metal. He pulled it towards him, dismayed to discover the blade was neither large nor sharp.

At that moment, he sensed he was the object of attention and froze in alarm. But it was only Cynric. The book-bearer had been unable to look away from the place where his friend’s body had been dragged, and his sharp eyes had detected movement. Knowing all would be lost if Helen saw him gaping, Bartholomew gestured urgently. Cynric immediately looked away, but not before triumph had flashed in his eyes. Uneasily, the physician saw he thought salvation was at hand.

As Michael seemed disinclined to take Helen up on her offer of information, the book-bearer obliged, confidence and hope blossoming with every word. Bartholomew sincerely hoped his dramatically changed demeanour would not arouse his captors’ suspicions.

‘I assume it was you who killed Cotyngham?’ Cynric asked haughtily. ‘That is why you stopped me digging?’

‘We most certainly did not!’ declared Marmaduke, genuinely shocked. ‘He was loved by Archbishop Zouche, and we would never have harmed him. Besides, he was good to me.’

Cynric’s eyes narrowed. ‘How was he good to you?’

Bartholomew knew the answer to that, putting together two separate conversations with Marmaduke – one when Michael had asked how he had earned a living after being defrocked, and had been informed that Marmaduke had a benefactor; and the other when the ex-priest had waxed lyrical about Cotyngham’s generosity, a quality also praised by Huntington’s parishioners, Sir William, Helen, Fournays and the Franciscans. Michael had drawn the same conclusion.

‘Cotyngham was a kindly man,’ he said quietly, ‘who took pity on someone who had fallen foul of unfair persecution.’

‘Helen,’ warned Frost. ‘I am going to carry you out if you do not come with me. Let Marmaduke wait here for Dalfeld–’

Helen glowered at him. ‘If you lay one finger on me, I will never marry you.’

Frost’s mouth snapped closed, and the glances exchanged between his men said they were bemused by his uncharacteristic meekness. Bartholomew could only suppose they had never been in love. Meanwhile, Marmaduke nodded vigorously in response to Michael’s remark.

‘It was unreasonable of Thoresby to bow to the pressure brought by the other executors, just because I made them feel guilty for failing to do what Zouche wanted. They should have helped me with the chantry, not silenced me for reminding them of it. Later, Cotyngham was charitable…’

‘So was Lady Helen,’ put in Frost, in a transparent effort to regain her favour.

‘Yes, she was.’ Marmaduke smiled briefly at her. ‘And Cotyngham arranged for me to mind St Sampson’s toe, too. He said it would keep me out of trouble.’

‘Then it is a pity it did not work,’ muttered Cynric.

‘You say you did not kill Cotyngham,’ said Michael, speaking quickly when Marmaduke took an angry step towards the book-bearer. ‘But I suspect you know who did. Did you witness Cave’s astonished reaction when he learned “Cotyngham” was ill in the infirmary – he knew it was impossible, but was not in a position to explain why?’

‘Actually, we guessed because it was Cave who urged Ellis to claim Huntington,’ replied Helen. ‘The church that my uncle had specifically said was to go to you.’

‘I found Cotyngham with his head stove in.’ Marmaduke shuddered. ‘I suspect Cave knocked him over. It was probably an accident, but he had no right to push elderly priests around. Later, Ellis let slip that Cave had gone alone to Huntington, on the pretext of a lost purse. There must have been a quarrel, perhaps about the church silver they took…’

‘Please!’ begged Frost, when there was another rumble and more dust billowed. ‘This mad revenge is not worth your life, Helen. Come with me now, before it is too late.’

‘No!’ snarled Helen, so fiercely that Frost took an involuntary step away. ‘Not yet.’

Bartholomew could not delay much longer, either, and knew he had to act soon if he wanted to save his friends. Gripping the knife, he began to ease into a position where he could surge to his feet and attack. But attack whom? Frost, the deadliest fighter who would need to be neutralised? Helen, because she was in charge, and the others might crumble without her? As he moved, the blade scraped against the floor and Frost whipped around, eyes narrowed.

‘Why did you not kill Cave?’ Cynric asked loudly. ‘To avenge Cotyngham?’

‘I wanted to,’ replied Marmaduke. ‘But Lady Helen had a better idea.’

‘You hired an imposter to sit in the Franciscan Priory,’ surmised Michael. ‘And convinced Fournays to keep him in quiet seclusion. Cave’s punishment was being in constant fear.’

‘An actor!’ exclaimed Cynric. ‘There are plenty in York. Helen and Isabella have hired a troupe of them to perform their play.’

‘You even made the fellow cakes, and persuaded Isabella to lend him books,’ Michael went on. ‘All to make him seem more convincing.’

‘I had hoped Prioress Alice would keep him in the nunnery, where I could “tend” him,’ said Helen. ‘Warden Stayndrop caused us a good deal of agitation by insisting that he remain with his fellow Franciscans. But my actor rose to the challenge with consummate skill.’

‘Although he fled when he thought he might be exposed at last,’ said Michael disdainfully.

‘But why dump Cotyngham in the plague pit?’ asked Cynric. ‘Why not alert the proper authorities, so Cave could be charged with his crime?’

‘They did not “dump” him,’ said Michael quietly. ‘They laid him decently to rest in the church that had been his before the Death – with the congregation he had loved. And they told no one, because they thought he would be happier here than at Huntington.’

‘Of course!’ exclaimed Cynric. ‘That is why I sensed this church is more sad than haunted!’

‘And they disguised the odour of decay with animals,’ Michael went on. ‘Cats and a pi–’

‘Perhaps Frost is right,’ interrupted Marmaduke, apparently unwilling for Helen to be reminded of that particular beast. ‘Leave me to deal with Dalfeld, while you go. I will not let you down.’

‘Yes,’ said Frost, relieved. He held out his hand. ‘Come, Helen.’

Bartholomew willed her to go, leaving him just Marmaduke and the two guards to tackle, but she hesitated. ‘It should not have ended like this,’ she said softly. ‘I wanted to help Michaelhouse, not deprive it of members.’

‘Help Michaelhouse,’ mused Michael. ‘You have said from the start that we should have Huntington because it is what Zouche wanted. Is that what this is about? Zouche?’

‘My uncle was the kindest man who ever lived,’ said Helen softly.