A Vein of Deceit (31 page)

‘Then why did he?’ asked Michael. He shrugged when Agnys regarded him stonily. ‘I am sorry if I cause offence, but Joan’s
child was important. I cannot imagine why he agreed to such a journey.’

Agnys grimaced. ‘
He
trusted Neubold, even if I despised the man. Unfortunately, she left when I was visiting Clare Priory – probably because
she knew I would have talked her out of going, had I been here. I assumed she had decided an excursion might lift her spirits.’

‘Was it a happy marriage?’ asked Michael.

‘Yes. It was not a very physical relationship, but they cared deeply for each other even so.’

Bartholomew saw Michael’s thoughts reflected his
own: that Joan might have secured the services of a more fertile fellow, given that Elyan had not been up to the task. The
medical profession usually maintained that the fault lay with the woman in such cases, but Bartholomew knew plenty of ladies
who refused to accept this ‘traditional wisdom’. Joan, who had sounded a strong-minded, independent sort of person, might
well have been one of them. Bartholomew half expected the monk to pursue the matter, and braced himself for trouble, but Michael
turned to another question instead.

‘Will you tell us why King’s Hall think they have a right to your grandson’s manor?’

‘We have known for years that there will be two claimants, should Henry die without issue: d’Audley, who is a snake but a
Haverhill man; and Luneday, who is nicer but from Withersfield. We asked the priests – Neubold and Hilton – to determine who
has the stronger claim. Unfortunately, not only did they discover that certain ancient marriages had not been legitimate,
but they learned that a will made by Alneston – who founded this chapel – brought another contestant into play.’

‘King’s Hall?’

‘King’s Hall,’ agreed Agnys. ‘The whole situation is rendered even more confusing by the fact that certain documents are missing.
Or are owned by Luneday, who cannot read and who will not let anyone else see them. He is afraid of being cheated, which is
understandable enough – d’Audley is vicious and will do anything to harm him, while King’s Hall seem somewhat unscrupulous,
too.’

‘Is this why King’s Hall want Alneston Chantry?’ asked Bartholomew. ‘To strengthen their claim on Elyan Manor – saying they
already own property here, so they should have more?’

‘I cannot imagine why else they should want it,’ said
Agnys, looking around in distaste. ‘It is a paltry place, and reeks of chickens for some inexplicable reason.’

‘But all this would be irrelevant if Henry had a child,’ mused Michael, regarding her thoughtfully. ‘Do you think d’Audley
or Luneday went to Cambridge and gave Joan pennyroyal? You said she would not have swallowed it by accident, which only leaves
two possibilities: she did it deliberately, or someone gave it to her.’

Agnys was unhappy. ‘I would hate to think so. However, when he heard Joan was in Cambridge, d’Audley left Haverhill, saying
he was going to visit kin. Luneday’s woman was also mysteriously absent at the pertinent time. And the men of King’s Hall
were there already.’

‘King’s Hall will not have harmed Joan,’ said Bartholomew, thinking of Paxtone, Warden Powys, and other scholars he knew and
liked there. Then a picture of Shropham sprang unbidden into his mind, a man who was in prison for murder.

‘I would have said the same about d’Audley and Luneday,’ said Agnys grimly. She shook her head slowly. ‘I admit my initial
assumption was that Joan had killed herself – yet she
was
happy about the child, even in the last few weeks when she became unaccountably troubled. Meanwhile, the notion of her swallowing
pennyroyal by accident is preposterous. So that leaves murder. And I have just decided that you two are going to help me find
the culprit.’

There was a silence after Lady Agnys made her announcement. Bartholomew’s heart sank, and he wished Michael had held his tongue
over something that was – after all – none of their business.

‘And how do you propose we do that?’ asked Michael eventually.

Agnys smiled. ‘Oh, I expect a cunning fellow like you will think of a way, especially if I offer you information in return.
You mentioned a man called Wynewyk earlier. My ageing memory needed a while to work, but I do recall a fellow of that name
visiting my grandson in August.’

‘Do you know why?’ asked Michael. ‘Or what was discussed?’

‘No, but I can find out.’

Michael regarded her suspiciously. ‘You would pry into your kinsman’s affairs on our behalf?’

Agnys’s grin became slightly malevolent. ‘Henry will not have done anything untoward. However, d’Audley had a
very
curious reaction to the name, and I would enjoy discovering something to discomfit him. You may think me unneighbourly, but
I cannot abide the fellow.’

‘We think your grandson sold Wynewyk some coal in August,’ said Michael. His tone was cautious. ‘But Hilton maintains he does
not have enough of it.’

Agnys shrugged. ‘Henry imports it from Ipswich for local needs, but the discovery of a seam on our land means he hopes to
hawk more in the coming years. Perhaps Wynewyk’s purchase was for coal to be delivered in the future.’

Michael was about to ask more, but the door banged open and Cynric hurried towards them. The Welshman’s face was grim as he
pulled Bartholomew to one side.

‘I have been making friends in taverns,’ he said in a low voice. ‘And two have just told me that they were paid to dig a secret
grave, up by the mine. In the summer.’

Bartholomew winced. ‘That is unpleasant, but not our affair.’

‘They said the body belonged to a stranger.’ Cynric’s expression was deeply troubled. ‘A young man. And they described an
unusual black garment over his tunic and hose.’

Bartholomew stared at him. ‘You mean like an academic tabard?’

Cynric nodded soberly. ‘That is what it sounded like to me. Kelyng
always
wore his tabard, because he was proud of it – and you know I think Wynewyk hired him for protection.’

‘You think it is our missing Bible Scholar in this grave? That is not very likely, Cynric.’

‘It is if you think about it,’ pressed Cynric urgently. ‘Kelyng went missing in August, after Wynewyk had made that suspicious
journey to see his sick father. And while the rest of you assumed Kelyng had fled his debts, Wynewyk never did.’

‘But if this is true, and they were attacked, Wynewyk would have told us—’

‘Would he?’ interrupted Cynric. ‘Even though it would have meant admitting that he did not travel to Winwick, but went to
Suffolk instead? And would have to tell you why?’

Bartholomew shrugged. ‘Perhaps you are right, but I do not see how we will ever find out.’

‘I do. I got precise directions to this tomb, and I know where I can borrow a spade.’

‘No!’ Bartholomew was horrified.

But Cynric was adamant. ‘I liked Kelyng, and his parents have a right to know what happened to him. I will do it alone, if
need be. But it will be easier with two of us.’

‘When?’ asked Bartholomew heavily.

Pleased, Cynric gripped his shoulder, warrior fashion. ‘At midnight. When else?’

Lady Agnys declared she was thirsty when Bartholomew returned, and asked him and Michael to join her for an ale at the Queen’s
Head. It was an unusual invitation,
because taverns were rarely frequented by ladies. First, they were the domain of men, and second, those women who did venture
inside tended to be prostitutes.

Michael was grinning as they followed her out of the chapel. He admired doughty old ladies, and liked the fact that Agnys
was prepared to ignore convention and do as she pleased. Bartholomew would have preferred to sit by himself and consider Cynric’s
theory about Kelyng, but Agnys was astute, and he did not want to arouse her suspicions by asking to be excused.

The Queen’s Head was neat, clean and smelled of the new rushes on the floor. The landlord did not seem surprised when Agnys
sailed into his establishment; he only doffed his cap and ousted three patrons so she could sit by the fire. When Michael
started to ask for claret, Agnys stopped him.

‘The Queen’s Head is noted for its ale, so you will have ale. And it is famous for its roasted pork, too, so we shall have
a plate of that, as well. You look like a man who appreciates his food, Brother.’

‘I am not fat,’ said Michael immediately. ‘Matt tells me I have unusually heavy bones.’

‘Actually, that is something you invented of your own—’ began Bartholomew.

‘I have heavy bones, too,’ said Agnys, with a conspiratorial wink as she patted her own ample girth. ‘God made the ones in
my hips out of lead.’

Michael rubbed his hands approvingly as the landlord brought the victuals. The ale was sweet and clear, and the pork succulent.
It made Bartholomew realise yet again how much he had missed decent food since Wynewyk’s tampering with the accounts had forced
them to tighten their belts.

When they were settled, and were working their way
through a platter of meat that would have fed half the King’s army, Michael regaled Agnys with a truncated and not very accurate
account of why they had travelled to Suffolk. Bartholomew tried to listen, but most of his mind was on what Cynric had told
him. What if the body in the grave did transpire to be Kelyng’s? How could there be an innocent explanation for Wynewyk taking
a student on a journey from which he never returned?

‘… Neubold,’ Michael was saying. ‘What do you think happened to him?’

‘I do not believe he took his own life,’ replied Agnys. Bartholomew forced himself to pay closer attention. The sooner he
and Michael had answers to their questions, the sooner they could leave – and he was unsettled and wary in Suffolk, and desperately
wanted to go home. ‘First, he had no reason to do so – my grandson admits to paying him handsomely to steal Luneday’s pig,
and no man kills himself while he has a fortune to enjoy. And second, he was happy with his lot.’

‘The Withersfield villagers chased him for miles when he was caught thieving,’ said Michael. ‘I think he was genuinely afraid
of them.’

‘He had a slippery tongue and an inflated sense of his own cleverness,’ argued Agnys. ‘He may have been given a fright at
first, but he would have assumed he could talk himself out of any trouble.’

‘I wonder if he was dispatched in Withersfield,’ mused Michael. ‘There was evidence of a struggle in the barn, although no
blood that I could see.’

‘There was a cut on his head, though,’ said Agnys. ‘So perhaps we must conclude that he was killed elsewhere. The chapel,
for example.’

Bartholomew started to say that the barn was a big building, and the wound on Neubold’s head had not been
serious – it would need more than a passing glance to detect any drops of blood that might have been shed there. But he stopped,
although he could not have said why. Were his feelings of unease leading him to question the probity of everyone in Suffolk,
even those who seemed to be on their side? He rubbed a hand through his hair, troubled and tense.

‘We were attacked last night,’ said Michael, sopping the grease from the platter with a piece of bread. He tore the fat-drenched
morsel in two and offered half to Agnys, who accepted it appreciatively. ‘Perhaps Neubold was murdered, then the culprit decided
to kill us, too, lest we had witnessed anything. After all, the barn and the hall are not very far apart.’

‘Or perhaps
your
assailant heard only that you are scholars from Cambridge, and jumped to the not unreasonable conclusion that you hail from
King’s Hall,’ suggested Agnys. ‘And King’s Hall is not popular around here. Alternatively, it is possible that your attacker
wanted Luneday dead, because he had dared to incarcerate a Haverhill man in his barn – you were not the intended victims at
all.’

Both theories had one obvious suspect: d’Audley. Bartholomew studied Agnys as he thought about it. D’Audley certainly had
a motive for harming representatives from King’s Hall, given that they intended to claim property he considered to be his
own, while his obvious hatred for Withersfield might well lead him to mount an attack on Luneday. But was he a murderer? Or
did it just suit Agnys to have him considered as one?

‘Who do
you
think killed Neubold, My Lady?’ asked Michael, sitting back and folding his hands across his paunch, finally replete. ‘It
must be someone from this area, because strangers would have been noticed – as we were.’

Agnys raised her hands in a shrug. ‘I barely know where to start. Luneday and his people despised Neubold for a whole host
of reasons. D’Audley claims to have admired Neubold’s talent, but he is a devious fellow, and who knows what he really thinks?
Gatekeeper Folyat was always quarrelling with Neubold over petty matters. And do not forget that Neubold was recently in Cambridge.’

‘What does that have to do with anything?’ asked Michael.

‘It is where Joan died. Perhaps he knew something about her passing, and was killed to ensure his silence. He claimed he left
Cambridge before she became ill, which is why he failed to tend her on her deathbed, but he may have been lying. He was not
an honest man.’

‘Did he say why he abandoned his master’s heavily pregnant wife in a strange town?’ asked Michael. ‘It is hardly a responsible
thing to have done.’

‘He told me he wanted to inform Henry about his successful negotiations with King’s Hall as soon as possible,’ replied Agnys.
‘He thought Joan would be safe with Edith, and planned to collect her later, when she had finished shopping. Or so he said.
Perhaps he was telling the truth, perhaps he was not.’

‘Are you sure he went to discuss coal?’ asked Michael. ‘His real intention was not to tell King’s Hall how they might strengthen
their claim on Elyan Manor?’

Agnys blew out her cheeks in a sigh. ‘With Neubold, anything was possible. It would not surprise me to learn that he offered
to destroy documents or change others – for a price. He was not loyal to us.’

‘It is a pity we did not know all this sooner,’ said Michael. ‘He has taken his secrets to the grave so we can no longer ask
him about them.’