Susanna GREGORY: A Masterly Murder

‘It is better to be clear on this matter, Michael,’ said William pompously. ‘Or who knows what confusion might arise? On the one hand we had a man prepared to lie and kill for a woman, and on the other we have a weaselly coward who ran away the first time his College needed him, and who remained in his bed for nigh on two weeks with little more than a scratched arm.’

‘Do not despise the real Master Suttone for his cowardice, Father,’ said Michael comfortably. ‘He may have done more for Michaelhouse than he will ever know – it was because of him that we are now rid of the dreadful Runham and his wicked deeds.’

William gazed at him. ‘Then perhaps the real Master Suttone should have stayed away longer still. Then we might have been able to rid ourselves of that mad-eyed Clippesby, too.’

‘We believed the mad-eyed Clippesby had killed Runham,’ mused Michael. ‘Now it seems that the man is innocent – he just happens to be insane.’

‘He is not insane, he is disturbed,’ said Bartholomew. ‘He has delusions and is unable to view the world in the same way as a rational man.’

‘The sedate, calm life of a scholar should heal him, given time,’ said William, following Langelee’s example and downing his wine so that he could have more.

‘Perhaps he should go elsewhere, then,’ said Kenyngham anxiously. ‘The events of the last few days have indicated that Cambridge is not the place to be if you desire a sedate, calm life.’

‘Are you saying that one of the Fellows is genuinely insane?’ asked Cynric, not sounding as surprised as Bartholomew thought he should.

‘Not insane,’ Bartholomew corrected. ‘Disturbed. And if he has the support and care of his colleagues, he may overcome the problem.’

‘So, only one of the Fellows is officially a lunatic,’ muttered Cynric with a puzzled frown. Bartholomew was not sure whether he had heard him correctly, but was too grateful to have the Welshman back again to begin an argument over it.

Clippesby entered the conclave, looking more haunted and nervous than ever. Bartholomew smiled at him and made room near the fire. Timidly, like a deer taking an apple from a hunter, the Dominican edged forward, as if he imagined the proffered stool might suddenly move of its own accord – or that he might discover it was a figment of his imagination. Finding it was not, he sat quickly and looked around at his colleagues with his peculiar eyes.

‘What happened to the false Suttone?’ he asked shyly in the slightly awkward silence that followed his entrance. ‘Somehow I seem to have become confused by all the chaos of yesterday.’

‘I am not surprised,’ muttered William. ‘I was confused myself, and I am sane.’

Cynric chuckled softly as he replenished the Franciscan’s goblet. ‘It is good to be back,’ he said ambiguously.

‘Four years ago,’ Michael began, ‘a Master named Wilson decided to gather himself a fortune, lest the University flounder after the plague and he find himself without employment. He stole from a number of dying people, including the mother of Adela Tangmer. Hatred festered in the daughter after Wilson’s own death, and eventually, goaded by her father’s constant nagging that she should marry, she embarked upon a plan to get this money back. The wealth would also allow her to become independent from her father, and give her a life of freedom.’

‘The false Suttone was the key to the plan,’ said Bartholomew. ‘He incapacitated the real one and took up the appointment instead, careful to kill the one College servant – Justus – who, like the real Master Suttone, was from Lincoln and who therefore might be in a position to expose the false one as an impostor.’

‘Meanwhile,’ continued Michael, ‘arguments and dissension were bubbling among the Fellows of Bene’t, exacerbated by a spiteful-tongued blackmailer called Wymundham. Wymundham used like-minded men, such as Brother Patrick of Ovyng Hostel, to uncover embarrassing secrets about his colleagues. When Wymundham’s friend Raysoun fell from the scaffolding, driven to drink and despair by Wymundham himself, Wymundham claimed he had been pushed.’

‘Why?’ asked Clippesby.

‘No reason other than malice,’ said Michael. ‘He was bored by the life of a scholar, and sought to liven it up by creating a few scandals. Then he took money from Master Heltisle, as a bribe to stop telling lies about Raysoun’s death, and immediately set off for Holy Trinity Church to buy some of that cheap wine that we all know can be purchased there of an afternoon.’

‘Wymundham blackmailed people to buy wine?’ asked Clippesby, confused.

‘No,’ said Michael impatiently. ‘I have just explained Wymundham’s motive to you. The wine was a bonus, but not the main purpose of his actions. Do pay attention, man.’

‘Meanwhile, Adela became drunk at a Bene’t feast, and told Wymundham that her kinsman Suttone planned to infiltrate Michaelhouse with a view to reclaiming the goods that Wilson stole,’ said Bartholomew.

‘I remember that,’ said Langelee, thoughtfully. ‘I was at that feast, to meet the Duke of Lancaster. The woman had to be carried home, if I recall correctly. Her father was most embarrassed, and so was Master Heltisle, who had no business serving Widow’s Wine to his female guests.’

‘So Wymundham decided to blackmail Suttone,’ said Bartholomew. ‘He arranged to meet Suttone in the shack behind Bene’t, where he found his intended victim waiting not with a purse of gold, but with a cushion.’

‘And Adela followed Patrick, who was a witness to the murder, and stabbed him with one of her horse picks in the grounds of Ovyng Hostel,’ said Michael.

‘One of her what?’ asked Clippesby, bewildered.

‘A tool for removing things from horses’ hooves,’ explained Michael. ‘Sensing that time was running out, Suttone confronted Runham and demanded back the jewellery Wilson stole from Adela’s mother.’

‘But why did he not just take it?’ asked Clippesby. ‘Runham was not in his chamber all the time.’

‘He tried,’ said Michael. ‘He searched the Master’s room the night Runham was elected – with Adela herself – while most scholars were drunk on an exceptionally powerful brew of Widow’s Wine, provided by Caumpes. Matt and I almost caught them as they left. A week later, after Runham declined to part with Adela’s money, Suttone smothered him with the cushion Runham had stolen from Agatha’s chair.’

‘Agatha, the laundress,’ said William in sudden glee. ‘That reminds me. How is Osmun, by the way?’

‘He will live,’ said Bartholomew. ‘Although he will be scarred for life.’

‘Why?’ asked Clippesby, open-mouthed. ‘What did she do to Osmun?’

‘She bit him,’ said Bartholomew. ‘After Osmun had taken Caumpes’s body to Bene’t, he returned to the Market Square and tried to agitate the crowd into marching against Michaelhouse again, arguing that there was more gold hidden here. Agatha suggested he might like to be quiet. Rashly, he did not take her advice and she bit him in the ensuing mêlée.’

‘With those pointed teeth?’ asked Clippesby, awed. ‘Did she bite anything off?’

‘Almost,’ said Bartholomew.

‘We were talking about Suttone,’ said Michael, irritated by the interruption. ‘After he had smothered Runham, he removed a certain amount of money from the building chest. But he was not comfortable keeping what he knew was not Adela’s, and he returned the balance to Matt in the churchyard before mass one morning. I suspect that was the turning point in their relationship. Suttone had agreed to right a wrong – to help Adela retrieve jewellery stolen from her mother by Wilson on her deathbed. But Adela wanted all of Wilson’s fabled wealth.’