Susanna Gregory: A Deadly Brew

She gave him a predatory grin and stood back so that he could enter the house. He hesitated, backing away from her.

‘Oh, Doctor Bartholomew!’ she said, the grin fading as she gave an impatient stamp of her foot. ‘Do not start all this side-stepping and dancing around again. Come inside, man! I do not bite.’

Unconvinced, Bartholomew stepped across the threshold and stood uncertainly in the hallway. His reticence to be there with her increased a hundredfold when he saw her look furtively up and down the street before closing the door.

‘Is Master Deschalers ill?’ he asked nervously. ‘Because if not, I am very busy …’

‘We are all busy,’ retorted Julianna. ‘No one is ill, but I have something to ask of you. You heard what my uncle said: that you owe me a favour for saving your life. And do not try to claim otherwise because my uncle tells me that this Egil of yours was deeply involved with Vice-Chancellor Harling, and that he was trailing you across the Fens in order to kill us all.’

‘What do you want from me?’ he asked suspiciously. ‘Have you had enough of life in the town, and want me to spirit you back to Denny Abbey in the dead of night?’

Julianna laughed. ‘Oh no! Life here is infinitely preferable to the drudgery at Denny. Since I have returned I have seen bodies dredged from wells, had soldiers searching our house for stolen goods, and witnessed a dramatic fight on the river bank between Tulyet and some outlaws.’

‘And what were you doing out at that time of night?’ asked Bartholomew. ‘Looking for someone to kill with a heavy stone?’

Julianna’s eyes narrowed. ‘That is none of your business,’ she said coldly. ‘But we are wasting time. My uncle will be back soon, and he will think you are attempting to seduce me if he finds us here alone.’

‘Then I am leaving right now,’ said Bartholomew with determination, starting to push past her towards the door.

Julianna stopped him. ‘I want you to take a message to Ralph de Langelee,’ she said.

Bartholomew regarded her doubtfully. ‘Is that all? Then you will consider your favour repaid and will leave me alone?’

She nodded.

Bartholomew shrugged. ‘Give it to me, then. I will put it under his door as soon as I get back.’

Julianna sighed heavily. ‘I cannot entrust what I have to say to parchment. And, anyway, I do not write. You must memorise the message and repeat it to him.’

Bartholomew shrugged again, noting that there was a very distinct difference between ‘cannot write’ and ‘do not write’. ‘Very well. What is it?’

Julianna regarded him appraisingly for a moment. ‘You must promise not to tell.’

Bartholomew strongly suspected he was about to be drawn into something of which he would disapprove, or, worse still, which might lead him into trouble.

‘I hope this is nothing illegal …’

Julianna dismissed his objections with a wave of her hand. ‘Do not be ridiculous! What do you think I am?’ Bartholomew refrained from answering and Julianna continued. ‘You must tell Ralph to be prepared to admit me to his chambers at midnight tonight. He should have a priest at the ready and we will exchange our marriage vows in St Michael’s Church.’

Bartholomew regarded her dubiously and wondered, not for the first time, whether she was totally in control of her faculties. ‘How do you plan to get past the porter?’

She gave a snort of disdain. ‘Your porter sleeps all night. That will be no problem.’

‘Not since he was attacked,’ said Bartholomew. ‘Although I am sure his vigilance will not last for much longer.’

‘Damn!’ said Julianna, chewing her lip. She brightened suddenly. ‘No matter. I will meet Ralph at the church instead. That will be better anyway — it is not so far to walk.’

‘And where is Langelee supposed to find a priest who will marry you in a dark church in the depths of the night?’

Julianna shrugged. ‘Ralph says Michaelhouse is full of priests.’

‘Not ones who will agree to perform that sort of ceremony,’ said Bartholomew. ‘And what do you plan to do afterwards? Go back to his chamber and ask his room-mate John Runham to turn a blind eye while you consummate your union?’

‘Ralph is to have horses ready and we will flee into the night.’ She twirled around happily, her eyes glittering with excitement.

‘Flee where?’ persisted Bartholomew. ‘And what of Langelee’s position as Master of Philosophy? Is he to abandon it?’

Julianna gave another impatient sigh. ‘Of course he is. But that is none of your affair. You owe me a favour and I charge you to deliver this message to him.’

Bartholomew raised his hands. ‘All right, I will tell him of your plan. But have you considered that he might prefer a more conventional form of courtship? I see no reason why your uncle should refuse him permission to marry you now that your betrothal to Edward Mortimer is dissolved.’

Julianna pouted. ‘Uncle does not like Ralph.’ Bartholomew could see why. ‘He would not accept him willingly into our family. And, anyway, I am with child.’

‘Langelee’s child?’ asked Bartholomew tactlessly.

Julianna gave him a nasty look. ‘Of course,’ she said sharply. ‘And I will not be able to conceal it much longer. Look.’

Bartholomew glanced down to where she pulled her loose dress tight around her middle, and saw that she was right. It was fortunate that the novice’s habits at Denny had been loose-fitting, or her aunt might have noticed some weeks before. No wonder Julianna was prepared to go to such desperate lengths to leave Denny and to return to the arms of her paramour. He rubbed a hand through his hair and shrugged yet again.

‘I will pass your message to Langelee, but will return to inform you if he cannot make it at such short notice.’ He could not imagine that Langelee would agree to a midnight flight with Julianna, and did not like to think of her wandering the streets after dark alone — although, he reminded himself, she was more than able to look after herself if there were large stones to hand.

Julianna opened the door and ushered him out into the snow. She stood on the front step, her hands on her hips, and winked at him in a conspiratorial way that made several passers-by nudge each other and point at him. He wondered how she had succeeded in avoiding learning even a modicum of the decorous behaviour usually expected in the female relatives of wealthy merchants. He walked back to Michaelhouse in low spirits, and knocked at the door of the comfortable chamber Langelee shared with the smug Runham.

The philosopher was sitting at a table, scowling in concentration over Aristotle’s De Caelo in preparation for his forthcoming public debate. He had one of the largest lamps Bartholomew had ever seen, and the brightness that filled the room was eye-watering.

‘What do you want?’ he growled when Bartholomew put his head round the door. ‘I am busy.’

Bartholomew repeated Julianna’s message and watched Langelee’s eyes grow wide in his red face. When Bartholomew had finished, declining to mention Julianna’s advanced pregnancy, Langelee expelled his breath in a whistle and sat down on his bed.

‘She certainly knows her mind,’ he said admiringly. ‘Do you think Brother Michael will do the honours?’

‘You mean to go through with this?’ asked Bartholomew, astounded.

Langelee looked surprised. ‘Well, of course I do! Deschalers will never permit me to marry her otherwise. He thinks I want his money. I would not mind it, actually, and perhaps he will change his mind when presented with a fait-accompli .’

‘Perhaps he will disown the both of you,’ said Bartholomew. ‘Perhaps he will claim you took Julianna by force and apply to have the marriage annulled.’