A Vein of Deceit (35 page)

‘We need to tell Langelee about Kelyng,’ argued Bartholomew. ‘As soon as possible.’

‘We need to tell him about Michaelhouse’s thirty marks, too, but we cannot, because we have no answers. One more day, Matt
– we will leave tomorrow, I promise. And we are making some progress with our enquiries – we now know how Neubold’s body ended
up in Haverhill. Unfortunately, we do not know why. Or who murdered him.’

‘He died in a place where we were attacked, and he is associated with coal, King’s Hall, Carbo and various other strands in
the mysteries that confront us.’ Bartholomew’s stomach churned, and he felt with every fibre of his being that lingering in
Suffolk was a very bad idea. ‘I suppose if we solve his murder we
may
find solutions to our other mysteries. But is it worth the risk?’

‘I think so, and we shall start with a visit to Elyan Manor,’ said Michael, watching Agnys and her grandson mount up and ride
off in the direction of their home. ‘First, because they have eighteen of Michaelhouse’s thirty marks. And second, because
I was unconvinced by Agnys’s tale of lost pennyroyal. She claims she was ready to overlook the fact
that Joan’s child was not a Elyan, but I am sceptical. I would like to interview both of them in their lair.’

‘Shall I saddle the horses, then?’ asked Bartholomew, thinking the monk would want to reach Elyan Manor as soon as possible,
thus leaving more time for their other enquiries.

‘It pains me to say it, but we had better walk. We do not want the villagers thinking we are fleeing the scene of Neubold’s
murder, and come after us with bows and arrows. We shall leave Cynric and the students here – that should convince them that
we are not running away.’

It was not far to Elyan’s home, and it was a pleasant journey, even on an overcast day. The countryside smelled clean and
fresh, and the scent of soil mingled with the heavier odour of grass and damp vegetation. The road took them through a wood,
and some of its trees seemed to have been there since the days of the Conqueror, they were so gnarled and ancient. A brook
accompanied them most of the way, trickling between its muddy banks with a gentle bubbling sound. A blackbird sang from the
top branch of the tallest oak, and a dog barked in the distance.

‘There is the mine,’ said Bartholomew, pointing. The guards prowled, more alert than they had been, presumably because of
the trouble the previous night. ‘Kelyng is buried over to the right.’

Prudently, Michael did not look in the direction he indicated. ‘Do you think Carbo killed him? Hilton told us a tale of Carbo
killing someone by the mine, if you recall.’

‘He also said he did not believe it. And if Kelyng and Neubold were killed by the same person, then Carbo is innocent – he
was dead long before someone hanged his brother.’

Michael glanced around uneasily. ‘I wish we had asked
Cynric to accompany us to Elyan Manor. You are right: it does not feel safe here.’

Elyan and his grandmother lived in style. Their home was larger and grander than Luneday’s, and was supported by well-stocked
stables, a sizeable kitchen block, pantries, granaries and a dovecote. Before they could knock at the door, a servant appeared
and conducted them to a pleasant solar on the first floor. Both Elyan and Agnys were there, drinking mulled wine. She poured
some for the visitors, while Michael quizzed Elyan on why his mine warranted so many guards.

‘Coal is valuable,’ replied Elyan. ‘Why do you think these vultures circle, waiting for me to die so they can inherit my manor?
It is not for the sheep and the water meadows, believe me. And someone came a-spying only last night – my watchmen chased
two villains intent on mischief.’

‘How do you know they were intent on mischief?’ asked Michael curiously.

Elyan raised his eyebrows. ‘Well, they were not there for a pleasant stroll, not in all that wind and rain. Clearly, the villains
waited for a foul night in the hope that the guards would be less vigilant – that they would be hiding inside their hut. But
my men take their duties seriously.’

Not that seriously, thought Bartholomew, given that he and Cynric had managed to excavate a grave and refill it before the
guards had realised something was amiss.

‘I have seen coal mines in Wales,’ he said. ‘But none of those were protected by armed guards.’

Elyan looked smug. ‘But my mine is the only one in Suffolk, which makes it unique. Moreover, its coal is exceptionally hard
and pure. Carbo told me so, when he discovered it in the summer.’

‘Carbo?’ asked Michael, startled. ‘Why should you believe anything he said? He was ill.’

‘He was not always so, and he claimed his knowledge of minerals came from God. I believed him because … well, suffice
to say he proved himself to me.’

‘Proved himself how?’ pressed Michael.

Elyan sighed, resenting the interrogation. ‘Because he excavated some very fine specimens. When we find more – which I hope
we will – they will make us rich, and I shall be able to buy any clothes that take my fancy. Have you seen the girdles worn
by the King’s knights these days? They comprise a wide belt with the most
fabulous
buckles.’

Bartholomew took a sip of the wine, and was taken off guard when the taste summoned a vivid image of Matilde – it was identical
to the brews she had prepared for him on cold winter nights. The intensity of the recollection took him by surprise, and he
wondered whether he would ever stop thinking about her. He became aware that Agnys was staring at him.

‘You have tasted its like before,’ she said, while Michael struggled to drag her grandson’s attention away from clothes and
back to minerals. ‘And it pains you. Shall I fetch you something else?’

‘No,’ said Bartholomew quickly. ‘It is not an unpleasant memory.’

‘A lost lover?’ she asked sympathetically. ‘You are a scholar, so it cannot have been a wife.’

Bartholomew did not often talk about Matilde, but he was seized by a sudden urgent and wholly irrational desire to do so now.
While Michael did his utmost to learn about Joan, coal and Wynewyk – and Elyan regaled him with an analysis of courtly fashions
instead – the physician told Agnys all about the woman he had loved. He was not
normally given to confiding in strangers, and could only suppose it was the result of a sleepless night and the shock of
finding Kelyng. Agnys listened without interruption or comment, even when he described Matilde in the most impossibly eulogistic
terms.

‘You still hope she will return to you,’ she said, when he eventually faltered into silence.

‘Logic tells me she is gone for ever, but I cannot bring myself to believe it. However, I would settle for knowing she is
safe and happy. The King’s highways are dangerous places for lone women.’

‘Your Matilde would not have let robbers best her,’ said Agnys, patting his knee encouragingly. ‘She will have arrived at
her destination unscathed, never fear.’

Although she had no grounds for making such an assured statement, Bartholomew found her words oddly comforting; more comforting
than reason dictated he should. He smiled, and when he took another sip of the wine, the experience was much less unsettling.

‘You told me yesterday that you knew our colleague Wynewyk,’ Michael was saying to Elyan. He sounded exasperated, and the
physician could tell he was reaching the end of his patience.

‘Actually, I did not,’ countered Elyan. He also sounded irritable, indicating they had managed to rile each other. ‘You asked
if I knew him, but d’Audley started to gabble before I could reply.’

‘Wynewyk said he knew you,’ lied Michael. ‘He told me you sold the best coal in Suffolk, and was pleased to have done business
with you. He has been commending you to friends in other Colleges.’

‘I very much doubt that,’ said Elyan flatly.

Michael’s eyes narrowed. ‘And now we reach the crux of the matter. Your dealings with him were not honest –
that
is why you sit there so certain he would not have mentioned you to anyone else.’

Elyan glowered in a way that made Bartholomew certain that Michael was right, but made no other reply. Agnys also noticed
her grandson’s reaction, and became sharp with him.

‘Our manor has always held a reputation for fair dealing, Henry. If you have flouted that tradition, you had better speak
now, so the matter can be rectified before any harm is done.’

Elyan tried to ignore her, but there was a steely glint in her eye that warned him to do as he was told. ‘All right, I knew
Wynewyk. But I did not sell him the coal I import from Ipswich – we had another arrangement.’

‘He paid you eighteen marks,’ stated Michael. ‘He wrote it our account book.’

‘Eighteen marks?’ echoed Agnys, shocked. ‘You did not tell me
this
when we enjoyed our pork and ale in the Queen’s Head yesterday. Eighteen marks is a vast sum of money, and I might not have
been so willing to agree to an exchange of information, had I known the stakes were so high.’

Michael grimaced. ‘But you did not exchange information, madam – you promised to look into the matter of Wynewyk, but you
had nothing to give us at the time.’

‘Then we had better rectify the matter: an arrangement is an arrangement, and an Elyan’s word is her bond.’ Agnys turned to
her grandson. ‘Where is this eighteen marks, Henry? I hope you have not spent it on clothes.’

‘Wynewyk gave it to me because he wanted a share in my mine,’ said Elyan sullenly. ‘To invest in its running in order to enjoy
its profits. I did
not
spend it on clothes. Although, I admit there was a rather nice red tunic that just happened to be—’

‘He
invested
?’ breathed Michael, appalled. ‘But your venture will founder, and eighteen—’

‘I told you: it has yielded some excellent specimens,’ interrupted Elyan tightly. ‘And I used his money to pay guards and
diggers, so do not expect it back. It is long gone.’

Bartholomew did not think he had ever seen Michael so full of rage. The monk leapt to his feet and treated Elyan to a stream
of invective that would not have been out of place in a fish-market. Agnys’s eyes grew wide with astonishment, and Elyan eventually
put his hands over his ears. It was something Wynewyk did when he thought his colleagues were being unnecessarily bellicose,
and it sent a pang of grief stabbing through Bartholomew. When Michael saw the gesture, he faltered, too.

‘Wynewyk paid you with College funds,’ he said, temper subsiding as abruptly as it had risen. ‘
Ergo
, this arrangement is with Michaelhouse, not with him, and you are legally bound to honour it. I want our money back. Now.
I refuse to wait years for these so-called profits to materialise.’

‘We signed no documents detailing our pact, and as he is dead, you cannot prove what he did or did not give me,’ snapped Elyan.
‘Your eighteen marks no longer exists, and neither does the seven he gave to d’Audley. Oh, damn it! Now look what you have
made me say!’

Michael’s expression was cold and angry. ‘Tell me about d’Audley,’ he ordered softly.

Elyan was clearly disgusted with himself, but also seemed to appreciate that the time for subterfuge was over. He sighed irritably.
‘He had no spare cash of his own to invest in my scheme, so Wynewyk lent him some. In return, d’Audley was to supply him with
free timber until the loan
was repaid in full. Unfortunately for you, there is no written proof of his arrangement, either.’

‘I will find proof,’ warned Michael menacingly.

‘You will not – and we could not repay you, even if we wanted to. The money is spent.’

‘Squandered, you mean,’ said Agnys, regarding her grandson in disgust. ‘Joan was given pennyroyal for a reason, and I am beginning
to think it is connected to this horrible mine.’

Elyan paled. ‘No! I do not believe that. She was murdered, as I have said from the beginning, but it has nothing to do with
my coal.’

‘I imagine it has more to do with the fact that she was about to provide Elyan Manor with an heir,’ said Michael, ‘thus thwarting
the hopes of three optimistic claimants. However, I understand the child may not have been yours.’

‘How dare you!’ shouted Elyan furiously. ‘Of course it was mine!’

‘You overstep the mark, Brother,’ said Agnys warningly. Her face was a mask of anger, furious that a remark made in confidence
should be so bluntly repeated.

Michael ignored her, focusing his attention on her grandson. ‘You must feel vulnerable. Now she is dead and you are childless,
d’Audley, Luneday
and
King’s Hall all eagerly await your death.’

Elyan’s expression was impossible to read. ‘If you think that, then you are a fool. The situation with my estates is murky,
and no one claimant has a better case than the others. Lawyers are needed to sort it out, so no one wants me dead before the
matter is resolved. I am safe until the clerks have finished wrangling – which will not be for years yet.’

Michael regarded him dispassionately. ‘You are the fool. Do you think a powerful foundation like King’s Hall, which
bursts at the seams with clever minds, is going to wait years for a decision? And do you think a sly, greedy man like d’Audley
will sit back and wait for them to best him?’

‘I disagree,’ said Agnys coldly. ‘Joan’s death is connected to the mine, not the inheritance issue.’

Bartholomew wondered why an astute woman like Agnys could not see what was so obvious. ‘But whoever wins the manor
will
get the mine,’ he pointed out. ‘The two are tightly interwoven. And Michael is right to warn you, Elyan: Neubold was involved
in the case and he is murdered; Wynewyk invested in your mine and he is dead; Carbo advised you about coal, and he is stabbed
– by someone from King’s Hall; and your wife is poisoned.’

‘You think I am in danger?’ Elyan looked bewildered. ‘But why strike now? I have been in this situation for years, and no
one has tried to harm me before.’

‘Clearly, someone is growing impatient,’ replied Michael. ‘The claims on both your manor
and
d’Audley’s chantry are becoming more acrimonious, suggesting knives are being honed for battle.’