Susanna GREGORY - A Poisonous Plot

‘Chance would be a fine thing,’ grumbled Michael, before remembering the trouble that had been taken to convince everyone that the College was a good proposition for potential investors. He trusted Tulyet with the truth, but Dickon was there, small eyes alight with interest, so he settled for saying, ‘We do not break the law, Dick.’

Tulyet shot him a lugubrious glance, which suggested that Wauter had failed to keep him away from the marchpanes. Eager to avoid trouble, Michael changed the subject.

‘Go away, Dickon. I need to discuss Frenge’s murder with your father. Privately.’

‘You can talk in front of my son,’ said Tulyet. ‘I trust him to be discreet.’

‘He was not discreet when he gossiped about the physicians’ experiments to refine lamp fuel last summer,’ Michael shot back. ‘His loose tongue caused all manner of harm.’

‘He has learned his lesson.’ Tulyet was stung by the reminder. ‘He is older now. And anyway, what do you expect if a group of medici gathers in the garden next door, and sets about making explosions? Of course a bright boy will be intrigued.’

‘Do you have any more tests planned, Doctor?’ asked Dickon keenly. ‘Because if so, I want to watch. You never meet in Meryfeld’s house any more.’

And Dickon was the reason why, thought Bartholomew. ‘We are too busy these days.’

‘Good,’ said Tulyet. ‘Because it was irresponsible. But tell me about Frenge, Brother. In front of Dickon, if you please – he needs to understand how investigations are conducted.’

‘Very well,’ said Michael. ‘We have discovered that Frenge was engaged in some very dark business, which may have led to his demise.’

Bartholomew regarded the monk askance: they had done nothing of the sort.

‘What manner of dark business?’ asked Tulyet curiously.

‘Cattle rustling,’ lied Michael. ‘Which explains why he was on the King’s Ditch. After all, what better way to transport stolen livestock than by water? The poison must have struck him down when he reached the Austins’ convent, and he staggered towards it for help.’

‘I had no idea he was a criminal,’ said Tulyet wonderingly. ‘Perhaps an accomplice killed him then – an argument over profits. I shall look into the matter whenever I have a spare moment.’

Michael inclined his head. ‘But do you have nothing to report, Dick? Not even a snippet?’

‘Well, I learned that Frenge visited Stephen shortly before his death,’ replied Tulyet. ‘I have tried to speak to Stephen, but he is never in. I am beginning to think he is avoiding me.’

‘He will not avoid me,’ vowed Michael. ‘Leave him to us. Is there anything else?’

‘Only that Morys has written to Chancellor Tynkell’s mother to complain about the way his hostel is treated by the University. Word is that she is on her way to assess the situation for herself, which I sincerely hope is untrue. She is a friend of the Queen, and we do not want our troubles reported to royal ears.’

‘She is a dragon,’ interposed Dickon. ‘Chancellor Tynkell told me so, and I am looking forward to meeting her. I hope she can breathe fire, because I shall be disappointed if it turns out to be one of your scholars’ inventions.’

The discussion was cut short by an urgent summons for Tulyet to go to the dyeworks, where a group of burgesses had gathered to complain about the volume of water that was being extracted from the river – water that was needed for their own businesses downstream. Bartholomew stood to go with him, but Tulyet waved him away.

‘The sight of the owner’s brother is unlikely to help, especially one who is a scholar.’

‘But she might need me,’ objected Bartholomew.

Tulyet gave a wry smile. ‘She will not, because she has her own little army.’

Bartholomew frowned. ‘You mean her Frail Sisters? They are hardly–’

‘I mean the men who used to hire her ladies when they were whores. They have gathered to protect the place, and some are very unsavoury characters. They will keep Edith safe – from disgruntled merchants and from scholars.’

‘It is true, Matt,’ said Michael, watching the Sheriff hurry away, Dickon scampering at his side. ‘Your sister’s women have garnered support from old clients. Unfortunately, there is a rumour that these men are being rewarded with the kind of favours they enjoyed when the lasses were walking the streets.’

Bartholomew groaned. ‘In other words, the dyeworks is being used as a brothel. Edith cannot know – she would not condone that sort of thing.’

‘Then we shall tell her. But later, once Dick has restored the peace. He is right about you being more likely to inflame than cool the situation, and we should stay away for now.’

Bartholomew turned to something else that was worrying him. ‘Are you sure it was wise to tell him that Frenge was a cattle thief? When he learns the truth – which he will – he will be furious with you for wasting his time.’

‘Better that than risk Dickon blabbing our suspicions to all and sundry. We do not want Nigellus to learn that he is at the top of our list of suspects just yet.’

‘I am more inclined to believe that Shirwynk killed Frenge,’ said Bartholomew. ‘He did it in the expectation that King’s Hall would drop their lawsuit if Frenge was dead.’

‘But it was Shirwynk who encouraged Frenge to invade King’s Hall in the first place,’ Michael pointed out. ‘He is unlikely to have killed him for doing what he was told.’

‘He doubtless did not anticipate that King’s Hall would sue. So he miscalculated twice: once when he underestimated Wayt’s capacity for revenge; and once when murdering Frenge did not result in King’s Hall abandoning their case against the brewery.’

‘And Shirwynk would have eager help in Peyn,’ acknowledged Michael. ‘However, we should not forget Stephen – the man who spoke to Frenge shortly before the murder and with Shirwynk shortly after it. And who slept with Frenge’s mistress – I think he was lying when he said he had only seduced Anne once.’

‘I suspect it was she who did the seducing, although I doubt she will admit it if we ask.’

‘There is also Wayt,’ Michael went on. ‘The easy familiarity between him and Anne at Michaelhouse suggested that they were old flames. And Rumburgh said that Frenge and Wayt argued shortly before the murder …’

‘True. Moreover, Wayt is one of the three scholars at King’s Hall who have no alibi for Frenge’s death.’

‘Next, there is Hakeney, who hates the Austins because he thinks Robert stole his dead wife’s cross. He may have sent Frenge to steal it back, and dispatched him there in the hope of embarrassing the friary.’

‘That would be an extreme thing to do,’ said Bartholomew doubtfully. ‘Although if he were drunk …’

‘And finally, Wauter.’ Michael raised a hand when Bartholomew began to object. ‘I do not believe him capable of such wickedness either, but he has said and done some very odd things of late, and until they are explained, he must remain on our list.’

‘I suppose so,’ said Bartholomew, albeit reluctantly.

Michael stood. ‘So there are our suspects: Nigellus, Shirwynk with Peyn, Stephen, Wayt and his two alibi-less colleagues from King’s Hall, Hakeney and Wauter. We had better go to Zachary before any more of the day is lost, and assess whether Nigellus has made an end of Irby.’

They knocked on Zachary’s door a short while later, and were admitted to a building that was as grand as any College. It possessed a handsome hall on the ground floor, beautifully decorated with geometrical designs, and with real glass in its windows. Unlike most foundations, it did not serve as a refectory and lecture chamber – Zachary had designated classrooms for teaching, so that its masters did not have to compete with each other to make themselves heard.