Susanna GREGORY - The Mark of a Murderer

‘Hers is not, though,’ said Bartholomew, a little sharply. ‘And besides, she only did it because you threatened to expose Clippesby.’

‘Ah, yes,’ said Rougham. ‘Clippesby. We must decide what to do about him. I overheard Yolande and Matilde talking last night, discussing rumours that a man called Gonerby died from a bitten throat. Clippesby cannot be allowed to continue his reign of terror.’

‘I am not convinced of his guilt,’ said Bartholomew, alarmed that Rougham had learned about one of the other attacks already. ‘The evidence against him is circumstantial, and–’

‘I saw him with my own eyes,’ said Rougham firmly. ‘As I lay bleeding and dazed, there he was, looming above me, covered in my blood. That is not circumstantial, Bartholomew: that is fact.’

‘He is right, Matt,’ said Michael sombrely. ‘Clippesby is a danger to himself and to others, and we need to make a decision about his future.’

Rougham touched Bartholomew lightly on the arm. ‘I am grateful to you for helping me. We are not friends, and you would have been perfectly within your rights to take me to Gonville and explain I was attacked while visiting Yolande. But you have acted with decency and understanding, and I intend to reciprocate. I have given the matter a good deal of thought over the last two days, and I have a plan.’

‘A plan for what?’ asked Bartholomew warily.

‘A plan for Clippesby. He cannot be allowed to return to Michaelhouse as though nothing has happened – not only because none of us want him to kill again, but because it would not look good for Michaelhouse to harbour homicidal lunatics.’

‘I thought we could send him home to his father,’ said Michael. ‘We cannot grant him a benefice in some remote village, because he might start eating his parishioners.’

‘His family might be as mad as he is,’ Rougham pointed out, not unreasonably. ‘But my brother owns large estates in Norfolk, and I established a hospital there a few years ago. It is remote, secure and run by an Austin Canon who asks no questions. He is a good man, and will treat Clippesby kindly.’ He gave a wry smile. ‘The hospital has its own chickens, geese, sheep and cows, so Clippesby will have plenty of suitable company.’

Bartholomew rubbed a hand through his hair. ‘For how long?’

‘For the rest of his life,’ replied Rougham. He sighed in exasperation when he saw his colleague’s shock. ‘There is no other solution, man, and I am offering a haven, where he will be safe and cared for and where no one else will suffer as I have. I am even volunteering to pay for his keep.’

‘You are very generous,’ said Michael, before Bartholomew could refuse. ‘And you are also right: there is no other solution to this problem. Clippesby should, by rights, answer for his crimes and pay with his life, but the town and the University are too unsettled to have that sort of scandal circulating.’

‘You mean you do not want the Archbishop to know that Michaelhouse Fellows attack innocent men with their teeth,’ said Rougham. ‘Well, I happen to concur: I do not want Islip to build his new foundation in Oxford, when it should come here. We must unite on this, because it would be a pity to let Clippesby’s illness deprive our University of what is its right.’

‘But to lock a man away for the rest of his life…’ said Bartholomew, troubled. He recalled Clippesby’s distress when informed that he was to be incarcerated for a few days, and could not imagine how he would react to being told he would never be free again.

‘It is horrible, but necessary,’ said Rougham. ‘Besides, he should be grateful his life is to be spared. You saw what he did to me, and perhaps you inspected the corpse of the man he murdered – this Gonerby. You cannot allow him his liberty.’

‘It is settled, then,’ said Michael. ‘We should make arrangements as soon as we can – before the Visitation, if possible. Clippesby wants to see Islip, and I do not want him to escape from Stourbridge and bite the throat of the highest-ranking churchman in the country.’

‘I have already sent word to my Norfolk hospital,’ said Rougham. ‘Matilde hired a messenger, and he is riding as we speak. I recommend Clippesby leaves on Monday morning. I would say tomorrow, but it is Sunday, and I do not want to despoil the Sabbath. The Archbishop will not be here until Monday afternoon, so it should work out nicely.’

‘Good,’ said Michael. He smiled when Matilde entered the room and handed him a goblet of wine. ‘And when will you be ready to leave, Rougham?’

Hope flared in Matilde’s eyes, and Bartholomew saw that while Rougham might be enjoying his sojourn now he was well enough to appreciate her lively and erudite company, she was tired of him, and wanted him gone.

‘Tomorrow or the day after, God willing,’ replied Rougham. ‘Once I am at Gonville, I can blame my poor health on the journey from Norfolk. No one will question me, because it is common knowledge that travelling is dangerous. Look what happened to poor Henry Okehamptone.’

Bartholomew regarded him warily. ‘How do you know his name was Henry?’

‘We were friends,’ explained Rougham. ‘He wrote to say he was coming, and I invited him to stay at Gonville. I was surprised – and offended – when he elected to remain at Merton Hall instead.’

‘You knew Okehamptone?’ asked Bartholomew. He exchanged a glance with Michael.

Rougham nodded. ‘I went to see him the night he arrived – on Ascension Day eve – but was told he was indisposed, and too ill to receive me. The next day, the poor fellow was dead of fever.’

‘Who told you he was indisposed?’ asked Michael. ‘Duraunt?’

‘Someone I did not recognise. He was rather rude, given that I had gone to meet an old friend – I was not even invited inside. If I had been admitted, I would have examined Henry, and might even have been able to save him.’ Rougham grimaced. ‘And I would have been occupied with his care, so would have cancelled my appointment with Yolande. A great many things would have turned out differently, had I been allowed to see Henry that night.’

‘What did he look like?’ persisted Michael. ‘This man who refused to let you in?’

‘Fine clothes. Haughty and officious. He made me feel as though I was a beggar after scraps.’

‘Polmorva,’ said Bartholomew immediately.

‘Why do you ask?’ Rougham looked from Bartholomew to Michael. ‘You seem to think my friendship with Henry is significant in some way. Why? What do you know that makes you glance so meaningfully at each other?’

Michael rubbed his chin. Since Rougham already knew Gonerby had died from a throat wound, there was no longer a need for secrecy, and he decided to be truthful. When he explained what had happened to Okehamptone, Rougham’s jaw dropped in shock. By the time the monk had finished, tears were rolling down Rougham’s cheeks, and it was some moments before he had regained control of himself.

‘How shocking,’ he said eventually. ‘Poor, poor Henry! The killer clearly assumed that no one would inspect the body properly, and that he would get away with his deception. He was lucky it was Paxtone who made the examination, and not Bartholomew, or he would have been exposed immediately. You are always very thorough.’

‘Weasenham demanded my services that morning,’ explained Bartholomew. ‘You were already here – and, although you did not ask for me until the afternoon, you were still unavailable to patients.’

Rougham gazed at him in confusion. ‘Weasenham? Are you sure?’

‘Of course,’ replied Bartholomew. ‘Why do you ask?’

‘Because yesterday I sent a note to Lee asking him to prepare a list of all the summons I have missed during the last two weeks. Matilde persuaded him to provide her with a copy.’