Susanna GREGORY: A Masterly Murder

He gave them a smile that was far from genuine, and Bartholomew immediately saw that the vain and pompous Runham intended to have his own name put forward as Kenyngham’s successor. The physician grimaced: it was not an attractive proposition. Runham’s cousin, Thomas Wilson, had been Master of Michaelhouse during the black days of the plague, and he had not been a popular Head of House. The similarity between the two men was such that Bartholomew could not imagine Runham would be any better.

He was about to follow the other Fellows into the conclave when Cynric arrived, breathing hard from a sprint across the courtyard. Since his marriage to a local seamstress at the end of the summer, contentment had added a ring of fat to the Welshman’s waist, and he was now considerably less agile. He was also happier than Bartholomew had ever seen him, and he and Rachel Atkin were settling down to a life of domestic bliss that delighted them both.

‘There has been an accident,’ Cynric gasped. ‘Someone has fallen from the scaffolding at Bene’t College and hurt himself. One of their porters has come to ask if you will go. He is waiting for you at the gate.’

‘I will come with you,’ said Michael, following the physician towards the spiral stairs.

‘There is no need,’ said Bartholomew, giving the monk an admonishing look as he gave his bad arm a vigorous massage.

‘There is every need,’ muttered Michael, scratching his arm a second time just to prove he was master of his own itches. ‘I do not want to spend the afternoon locked in the conclave with the likes of William, Langelee and Runham, all telling me to vote for them as our next Master.’

‘You will have to do it eventually,’ said Bartholomew. ‘If not this afternoon, then later.’

‘Later is better,’ said Michael. ‘By then, they will have aired their views – several times, I would imagine – and I will have escaped the worst of it. And anyway, I need a little time to consider my own campaign before I lock horns with the others.’

‘You intend to stand, then?’ asked Bartholomew, not at all surprised that an ambitious man like Michael should consider the Mastership of Michaelhouse a suitable prize for his talents.

Michael nodded. ‘Of course. I am easily the best person for the task, and I do not want to lose just for the want of a little preparation.’

‘What do you mean by “preparation”?’ asked Bartholomew uneasily, suspecting that Michael’s strategy might well involve some less than honest tactics.

‘You will see,’ said Michael enigmatically. ‘But I should come with you anyway. A person injured or killed on University property is the business of the Senior Proctor, as I am sure you know by now.’

‘I most certainly do,’ said Bartholomew, not without rancour, for he had been dragged into all kinds of intrigue and murder by virtue of being the Senior Proctor’s close friend.

‘What about our meeting?’ called Langelee indignantly, as they left the hall. ‘What about discussing this decision of Master Kenyngham’s?’

‘We will have to gather later,’ said Runham, casting predatory eyes over the newcomers, so that Bartholomew sensed he intended to make good use of the delay by winning their support for himself. ‘We cannot discuss such a significant issue with a quarter of our membership absent.’

‘When, then?’ demanded William belligerently. ‘This is important. We cannot postpone our discussion until Matthew decides he has no more pressing visits to patients.’

‘Then how about after dinner tonight?’ suggested Father Paul. ‘William is right – we should meet as soon as possible to talk about this.’

‘I am busy this evening,’ announced Langelee importantly. ‘I told you last week that I have been invited to dine with the Duke of Lancaster at Bene’t College.’

‘You certainly did,’ muttered Michael nastily. ‘At least six times that I recall.’

‘I was invited – by the Duke himself, actually – because of my powerful and prestigious connections,’ Langelee explained to Clippesby and Suttone, apparently deciding that Runham should not be the only one to start an immediate election campaign. ‘You see, before I decided to make a name for myself as a scholar at Michaelhouse, I was in the service of the Archbishop of York. I know all kinds of influential people.’

‘What Langelee is saying,’ said Michael, noticing Suttone’s bemusement at this unasked-for confidence, ‘is that he is on intimate terms with archbishops and dukes, and that you should bear this in mind when you come to vote for our next Master. Essentially, he is soliciting your support, although in the hallowed halls of Cambridge, this is usually conducted with a little more subtlety.’

‘I can be subtle,’ objected Langelee indignantly. ‘But I can also be direct, which is what this College needs. No one likes all this underhandedness and subterfuge …’

‘I do,’ said Michael.

‘… and what we need is a Master who will be honest, candid and sincere,’ Langelee continued.

‘That should narrow the choices then,’ mumbled Father Paul, uncharacteristically facetious.

‘And that man is me,’ concluded Langelee, favouring his colleagues with a blazing grin. ‘I would make you a splendid Master.’

‘It is refreshing to hear such confidence in one’s own abilities,’ said Runham dryly. ‘But we need to arrange a meeting to elect a successor first. Since you are dining with royalty tonight, can I suggest that we meet after breakfast tomorrow morning?’

‘I have business with my Prior then,’ said William grandly. ‘Business of a religious nature,’ he elaborated, glancing meaningfully at Clippesby and Suttone to make sure they understood that while Langelee might have royal connections, his own influence lay where it really mattered – with the Prior of one of the most powerful Orders in Cambridge, not to mention God.

‘I heard he has been summoned by his Prior to be reprimanded for fanning the flames of hostility between the Franciscans and the Dominicans again,’ whispered Michael to Bartholomew, his eyes glittering with amusement. ‘If William decides to stand for Master, you will have the opportunity to elect yourself an experienced and competent rabble-rouser.’

‘Then I suggest the best time to meet is before the admissions ceremony on Saturday,’ said Runham smoothly. ‘I cannot see that the election of a new Master will take long, and I do not think we will delay the beginning of the feast unduly.’ He smiled graciously at Suttone and Clippesby. ‘But before then, perhaps I can show you around our College? And then I will answer any questions you might have over a cup of wine in my room.’

‘Oh no, you do not!’ protested Langelee, outraged. ‘I know what you are trying to do! You are attempting to win the votes of these two, so that you will be elected Master!’

Runham looked hurt, and Michael gave a vicious snigger as he watched the exchange.

‘Take one each,’ he called, as he followed Bartholomew down the stairs. ‘Then you will be even.’ He chuckled as he walked across the yard. ‘I feel almost sorry for Runham and Langelee. They are already entertaining high hopes that they will be elected. How can they even begin to imagine they have a chance when I intend to be Michaelhouse’s next Master?’

‘Do you indeed?’ said Bartholomew. ‘And what makes you think that those few – very few – of us Fellows who do not intend to make a bid for power ourselves will vote for you?’

‘Voting!’ exclaimed Michael disdainfully. ‘This election will not be decided by voting.’

‘It will, Brother,’ said Bartholomew. ‘That is how we elect Masters at Michaelhouse – by each Fellow writing the name of his preferred candidate–’