A Masterly Murder (51 page)

‘And then Runham must have started to spirit Wilson’s goods out of the College to sell,’ said Michael. ‘He hid them in the
soap so that he would not be caught red-handed. But it is already dusk. We should leave these items here – they have been
quite safe so far, and I do not want to carry them back to the College in the dark – and prepare ourselves for our foray to
Bene’t tonight.’

Bartholomew sighed. ‘I am not sure we are within our rights to—’

‘We are perfectly within our rights,’ interrupted Michael. ‘We are doing well, Matt. We have found part of Michaelhouse’s
missing treasure, and by tomorrow we will have
the Bene’t murderer in the proctors’ cells. And then all we need to do is to discover which of us killed Master Runham.’

F
OR THE FIRST TIME IN MANY YEARS, BARTHOLOMEW
was faced with a clandestine nocturnal expedition without the comforting presence of Cynric. He seriously considered asking
the Welshman if he would go anyway, but knew that he had no right to make that sort of demand on their friendship. Trying
to recall all that Cynric had taught him about sneaking around in the dark, he sat in the kitchen, watching Agatha mend one
of his shirts.

It was good to see her familiar figure in her customary fireside chair, and to hear the creak and groan of the wicker as she
rocked herself back and forth, her thick fingers deftly manipulating the tiny silver needle. Bartholomew sat on a stool to
one side of the fire, poking it with a stick. When the College cat rubbed around his legs, he picked it up and put it on his
lap, finding in its trusting purr a comforting respite from the twists and turns of the University’s schemes. Michael was
at the kitchen table with a pile of fresh oatcakes smeared with bacon fat, happily enjoying a little light refreshment to
supplement the meal of pea pudding and bread he had already devoured in the hall.

‘This is better,’ he said, beaming at Agatha and Bartholomew as he rammed another cake into his mouth. ‘The spectre of Runham
is exorcised, and the College is gradually returning to normal. We have most of our staff back again, and there is food in
the pantry and cool ale in the cellars.’

‘But we still have a murdered Master, a half-empty chest from which we will need to pay the workmen—’ began Bartholomew.

‘A third empty,’ corrected Michael. ‘With the gold that was returned to you, we now have fifty-seven of the original ninety
pounds.’

‘—and the horrible prospect that one of our colleagues is a Master-killer.’

‘Clippesby,’ said Michael with certainty. ‘He is the only one whose alibi is patently false. The Bene’t men had nothing to
do with Runham’s murder, Matt. I know we thought they had a motive – to get their workmen back – but the more I think about
it, the more ludicrous that notion feels.’

‘But what about those intruders?’ asked Bartholomew. ‘They must have been people from outside Michaelhouse. If either of them
had been Clippesby, there would have been no need for furtiveness.’

‘Clippesby would have been furtive if he were smuggling a woman in,’ said Michael confidently. ‘I think the intruders who
have bested you twice were Clippesby and his whore.’

Bartholomew gazed at him in astonishment. ‘And how did you reach that conclusion, Brother?’

‘It is all I can think of,’ said Michael carelessly. ‘But let me tell you what I think happened: Clippesby is a man who feels
the need for female company – well, who does not on occasion? – but being a Dominican friar, he needs to be a little careful.
One night, Runham – who we know crept around at night, hoping to come across people he could fine – caught him. Rather than
risk exposure, Clippesby smothered Runham and then raided the chest to make the murder look like robbery, rather than a crime
of panic.’

‘And did he arrange for the scaffolding to fall, too?’

‘That was a coincidence, as I have been telling you all along. Clippesby just happened to be escorting his whore out of the
College when the thing collapsed. I was fortunate you made such a racket when you attacked them, or I would have been sleeping
in my room at the time and would have been killed for certain.’

It all seemed far too convenient to Bartholomew; he could see no evidence at all that Clippesby had a penchant for the town’s
women.

‘We have forgotten about Justus, Runham’s dead book-bearer,’ he said, changing the subject.

‘That is because Justus was a suicide who dragged a wineskin over his head and killed himself. You said so yourself.’

‘But that was before I discovered that Runham and Wymundham had also died from suffocation. It is too unusual a way to die
for all three deaths to be coincidental.’

‘Very well,’ said Michael irritably. ‘We will include Justus in our reasonings, if it will make you happy. But I must point
out that you did not mention the presence of smothering cushions at Dame Nichol’s Hythe when you found his corpse.’

‘If someone had tied a wineskin over Justus’s head to make it appear that he had killed himself, that person would hardly
have left a tell-tale cushion behind,’ said Bartholomew. ‘But perhaps the most important point here is that Justus was killed
before
Clippesby arrived in Cambridge: thus we cannot blame Justus’s death on Clippesby – and if not Justus’s, then also not Runham’s
and Wymundham’s.’

‘No, Matt. Justus was killed
the same day
that Clippesby arrived,’ said Michael. ‘Perhaps that alone is significant. But you are wrong in thinking the deaths of Wymundham,
Justus and Runham are connected. They are not: they
cannot be. What could a gloomy servant, a gossiping Bene’t Fellow and Michaelhouse’s Master have had in common?’

‘Justus was Runham’s book-bearer,’ said Bartholomew. ‘There is one connection.’

‘But not to Wymundham. I will accept that Runham’s death and Justus’s suicide may be related, but the business at Bene’t is
completely separate. Clippesby killed Runham, and your logic would have him slaying Justus, too. But I do not see why he would
also murder Wymundham.’

Bartholomew sighed, knowing he would not convince Michael otherwise. ‘So, what do you plan to do about Clippesby?’

‘Nothing,’ said Michael comfortably.

‘Nothing?’

‘Nothing yet. I will be watching him day and night – Walter, Agatha, William,
Suttone and others will help – and when he makes a mistake, we will have him.’

‘What kind of mistake?’

Michael shrugged. ‘Spending large amounts of money, smuggling a woman into his chamber, an unhealthy fascination with cushions.’

‘That is risky,’ said Bartholomew anxiously. ‘He might harm someone before you can stop him.’

‘As I said, Matt, we will be watching him. If he makes a hostile move, we will strike.’

Bartholomew frowned, not sure that the monk’s strategy of wait-and-see was a wise one. There was no doubt in his mind that
Clippesby was verging on insanity, and to allow him freedom of movement when he might be connected to the deaths of three
people seemed rash, to say the least.

‘So, what will you do about Master Runham’s fine north court?’ he asked after a while. ‘Do you really intend to send all the
workmen back to Bene’t, as you promised Heltisle?’

‘I think we must,’ said Michael. ‘Then we can blame the fact that they will not get their bonuses on Bene’t. That means we
can use the money we have to repay the loans Runham took out with the Guilds of St Mary’s and Corpus Christi, and also return
some to our generous benefactors – unless I can persuade them to wait a while. Oswald Stanmore will not mind us keeping his
five marks indefinitely, I am sure. And if there is anything left over, we can refill some of the hutches.’

‘And what do we do with a half-built court and a half-repaired north wing?’

‘Leave them as they are,’ said Michael simply. ‘Remove the scaffolding and return to the shabby elegance we had before.’

‘That shabby elegance included leaking roofs and damp walls. And it may have escaped your notice, but a good part of the north
wing is missing a roof and one room has been demolished.’

‘The workmen will have to make good the damage their careless scaffolding did when it collapsed,’ said Michael in a tone of
voice that suggested he was bored with the conversation. ‘But tonight I am more inclined to think about the Bene’t murders
than Michaelhouse. I feel certain I am close to solving those. De Walton will tell me all I need to know about that treacherous
Simeon when we rescue him tonight.’

‘There is a lot that can go wrong with this plan of yours to save de Walton,’ began Bartholomew. ‘It is full of risks – not
just to us, but to Walter.’

‘It will work,’ said Michael. ‘Walter will let us into Bene’t while Osmun and that vicious Ulfo are asleep; we will rescue
de Walton from where he is being kept prisoner by Simeon in the hut near the King’s Ditch; and de Walton will tell us who
killed Raysoun, Brother Patrick and Wymundham. Then we can concentrate on
how to extricate Michaelhouse from the mess Runham left.’

‘I do not know how I became involved in this,’ said Bartholomew weakly. ‘It is not my place to creep around other Colleges
in the dead of night looking for murderers.’

‘You would not let me go alone,’ said Michael complacently. ‘You know I need your help. None of my beadles would be good at
this sort of thing, and anyway, Osmun has them all terrified out of their feeble wits.’

‘How?’ asked Bartholomew. ‘The beadles are supposed to be the law enforcers in the University. It is not for the likes of
Osmun to terrify them.’

‘I agree. But when they arrested him for fighting with de Walton the other day, he put his time under lock and key to good
use. He made all sorts of threats to my beadles and their families. Osmun is a violent, vengeful man, and they are all far
too frightened to do anything that might attract his unwanted attention.’

‘And this is the man you want us to slip past at midnight?’ asked Bartholomew doubtfully. ‘Maybe the beadles are right to
stay out of his way.’

‘They are. But is that the kind of person you want on the streets of your town, terrorising the law enforcers, assaulting
Fellows and students, and generally defying the University’s authority?’

‘No,’ admitted Bartholomew. ‘Perhaps we should ask for Dick Tulyet’s help – the Sheriff’s men will not be afraid of a bullying
brute like Osmun.’

‘Tulyet cannot take part in a plan to break into the University in the dead of night,’ said Michael practically. ‘And it would
not be fair to ask him to do so. But we will pit wits and cunning against brute strength, Matt, and by morning we will have
Osmun and that plotting Simekyn Simeon – how did he ever acquire a
name like that anyway? – safely secured in the proctors’ prison.’

‘You seem very sure that Simeon is responsible for the murders of Raysoun and Wymundham, but it seems to me as though the
entire College is involved. De Walton himself, Caumpes, Heltisle, Osmun and Ulfo were also present in the church when Adela
saw Wymundham’s leg.’

‘Adela said Caumpes was not there.’

‘Right,’ said Bartholomew wearily. ‘Do you realise that you will make an enemy of the
Duke of Lancaster by proving his henchman committed murder, Brother? I understand the Duke can be a dangerous man.’

‘Not as dangerous as my Bishop,’ said Michael smugly. ‘And I sent the Bishop a letter this evening, revealing all. If the
Duke tries anything nasty on me or Michaelhouse, he will find he has a very powerful churchman to contend with. But the Duke
will disclaim Simeon, if de Walton’s evidence exposes him as a killer. Loyalty to one’s henchmen only goes so far.’

‘But what will you do if de Walton declines to betray his colleague?’ asked Bartholomew. ‘He may be too frightened – like
your beadles.’

‘Master Lynton says de Walton has leprosy, Matt,’ said Michael, becoming exasperated. ‘He is already a dead man in the eyes
of the world, and he will tell us exactly what happened that day in Holy Trinity Church when five Bene’t men lined up to prevent
Adela from seeing a body behind the altar. And he will tell me which of these five followed poor, terrified Brother Patrick
and stabbed him just when he had reached the safety of his hostel.’

‘How do you know Patrick was killed just as he reached his hostel?’ asked Bartholomew sceptically. ‘Adela saw these five men
with the body in broad daylight, and Patrick must have been killed in the dark, or someone would have noticed his body in
the grounds.’

‘Not necessarily. Ovyng Hostel’s gardens are extensive, and, unlike Mayor Horwoode, its scholars probably do not stroll there
on a regular basis. But you are throwing up problems that are irrelevant. Tonight we will solve the murders of Raysoun, Wymundham
and Patrick, and we will find that the culprit is Simekyn Simeon, because he is the one who is holding his colleague prisoner
in the hut in Bene’t’s grounds.’

‘Well, come on then,’ said Bartholomew, standing up reluctantly. ‘We should be on our way before Walter allows his sense of
self-preservation to get the better of him and he declines to allow us past the sleeping Osmun and Ulfo.’

‘He would not dare,’ said Michael comfortably. ‘I have told him that I will ensure he remains working at Bene’t for the rest
of his life unless he does as I ask. Walter will not let us down.’

With the unshakeable feeling that he was about to do something very stupid and dangerous that he would later regret, Bartholomew
followed Michael across the courtyard to the front gate.

Carefully, as though the merest thud would wake the entire College, Michael removed the bar from the wicket gate and eased
open the door to Michaelhouse. Both he and Bartholomew were dressed in dark clothes – Michael in his black habit and matching
cloak; Bartholomew in dark leggings, a brown jerkin hidden by his tabard and a short black cloak. Bartholomew was about to
precede Michael outside when he heard soft voices in the lane and saw two cloaked figures moving towards him. Stomach churning,
he ducked back inside again, regarding Michael in alarm.

‘It is them! The two intruders!’

Michael took Bartholomew’s arm and pulled him into
the deep shadows at the side of the gate. ‘Then let us wait here for them, and unmask Clippesby and his whore once and for
all.’

‘No,’ said Bartholomew, trying to pull away. ‘They have bested me twice, and I have no wish to engage in a tussle with them
a third time. I have had enough of this; I am going to bed – where you would go, too, if you had any sense.’

‘Matthew!’ exclaimed Kenyngham with pleasure, as he eased himself through the gate that Michael had just opened. ‘And Brother
Michael, too! How thoughtful of you both to wait for Master Suttone and me to return from lauds and unlock the gate for us.
I confess I was not sure how we were going to gain entry, given that we still have no night porter.’