A Vein of Deceit (48 page)

‘What are you doing here?’ demanded Bartholomew worriedly. ‘You should be at St Mary the Great, preventing a brawl – and protecting
our colleagues from Gosse.’

‘Cleydon has the situation under control,’ panted
Michael. ‘And my presence transpired to be inflammatory, because people started howling at me over contentious theological
points I have made in the past. It calmed somewhat when I left.’

‘Right,’ said Langelee, rubbing his hands together when he saw that all the participants were present at last. Powys grimaced
when the Master indicated they were to take their seats: he still had not managed to speak to Shropham alone. ‘We should begin.
Benedic nobis. Domine
. That should do for a starting prayer. Now, who wants to go first?’

‘You do not tarry, do you?’ said Hilton in awe.

‘No,’ agreed Langelee amiably. ‘Luneday, tell me why Elyan Manor should be yours.’

‘I once had documents to prove my case,’ said Luneday ruefully. ‘At least, I assume I did – I cannot read, so it is difficult
to be certain. But my woman made off with them.’

‘We retrieved them,’ said Michael, placing the bundle on the table. ‘Do not ask how.’

‘I
like
Michaelhouse!’ exclaimed Luneday approvingly. ‘You are amazing men, and I wish we had invited you into our affairs years
ago. It would have saved a lot of trouble.’

Powys’s expression was unreadable. He leaned towards Shropham and tried to mutter something, but Langelee was speaking again
and Shropham did not notice his Warden’s attempts to pass him a message. He merely lent his undivided attention to what the
judge was saying, like any good lawyer.

‘Your claim, Luneday,’ prompted Langelee. ‘Outline why you should have the manor.’

‘Now d’Audley is dead, I am Elyan’s closest blood relative,’ replied Luneday. ‘Not counting his grandmother. We share a great-great-uncle.’

‘Fair enough,’ said Langelee. He looked at Powys. ‘What does King’s Hall have to say?’

‘We were left Elyan Manor by a man named Alneston,’ replied Powys, also setting a pile of writs on the table. Bartholomew
recognised one as a copy of the early will. ‘Alneston’s son claimed it illegally after his death, and so the occupation by
his descendants is similarly illegal.’

‘I have seen that particular will,’ said Hilton. ‘Lady Agnys has a copy of it, too. But I am sure there are more recent codicils
that would—’

‘If they exist, then no one has found them,’ interrupted Powys smoothly. ‘And my inclination is to believe that they are figments
of hopeful imaginations. Alneston’s will is unambiguous: Elyan Manor belongs to King’s Hall, and so does his chantry chapel.’

‘It is true,’ said Shropham with a shrug, picking up the relevant document. ‘As a lawyer, I would say this deed is as straightforward
as any I have seen.’

Warden Powys beamed at his colleague. ‘Does anyone have anything else to add?’ he asked smugly. ‘Because if not, perhaps we
shall have this speedy decision, after all.’

‘I cannot believe Alneston lived another fifty years without making some amendment to his testimony,’ said Hilton unhappily.
‘I have long wanted to peruse Luneday’s records, but—’

‘But I was not having Haverhill men poking about in my personal affairs,’ said Luneday firmly.

Powys continued to look smug. ‘And as no one can produce such a document, I submit it does not exist. The case is closed,
and you may pass judgment, Langelee.’

Michael started to rummage through Margery’s pile, aiming to present the later deed and wipe the smile from Powys’s face,
but Shropham was there before him. With a lawyer’s consummate interest, he had taken a handful of the deeds, and was leafing
through them. When he reached Alneston’s second testament, he went still.

Powys noticed his reaction, and tried to see what he had found.

‘The priest is right,’ said Shropham, passing the deed to his Warden. ‘Alneston did make a—’

‘No,’ said Powys, screwing the parchment into a ball and tossing it over his shoulder. ‘This is a forgery, and prison has
addled your mind.’

Shropham cringed, and looked as if he wished the floor would open and swallow him up. ‘Yes,’ he said in a small voice. ‘I
am not well. It must be a fake, or it would have come to light before now.’

‘Not necessarily,’ said Hilton, retrieving the document and reading it for himself. ‘And it looks authentic to me – I am familiar
with Alneston’s seal.’

Langelee was also rifling through the pile. ‘And here is

a writ drafted by King’s Hall and signed by your predecessor, Powys. It relinquishes all claims on Elyan Manor
and
the Alneston Chantry in exchange for the sum of forty marks, which was paid in full twenty-five years ago.’

‘No!’ cried Powys. ‘That is a forgery, too. We must have what is rightfully ours!’

‘Must?’ pounced Michael. ‘That is a powerful sentiment, Warden.’

Powys reddened and turned away. ‘You know what I am saying.’

‘I am beginning to understand. You are interested in what the mine can offer. Not coal, but—’

‘Coal is a valuable commodity,’ snapped Warden Powys. ‘Of course we are interested.’

‘
I
do not care about the coal,’ said Luneday. ‘And if Elyan Manor comes to me, I shall fill in the mine and turn the land over
to grazing for pigs.’

‘Then sell that particular wood to us,’ said Powys eagerly. ‘King’s Hall will take the coal.’

Elyan laughed softly. ‘I do not plan on dying very soon, Warden Powys. Do you think my mine will still have anything to interest
you years in the future?’

Powys regarded him strangely. ‘I imagine it will. Why? Do you know different?’

Elyan shrugged. ‘I have spent more than fifty marks on the place – d’Audley and I borrowed twenty-five from Michaelhouse and
twenty-five from you – and I have been digging for almost three months now. Something should have been unearthed in all that
time.’

‘Diamonds,’ said Bartholomew, leaning against the wall as he gauged Powys’s reaction. ‘That is what you were expecting to
find.’

‘Diamonds?’ echoed Agnys, regarding her grandson in stunned disbelief. ‘You have been mining for
diamonds
? You ridiculous boy! Diamonds do not occur in England.’

‘Carbo found them,’ said Elyan. ‘He showed me where he had prised them from the seam.’

‘You did not mention this the other day, Elyan,’ said Michael accusingly. ‘You only said your minerals were exceptionally
hard and pure.’

Elyan looked shifty. ‘Diamonds
are
hard and pure. And it was none of your affair, anyway.’

Powys was glaring. ‘Are you telling me you have excavated nothing since August? That was not what Neubold told us. Only last
week, he said the work was proceeding apace and that King’s Hall would soon begin to enjoy the profits from its investment.’

Langelee was growing bored with a discussion he did not understand. ‘You can chat about this nonsense later,’ he said. ‘Meanwhile,
I have reached my decision: King’s Hall has no grounds to press its claim and d’Audley is dead.
Ergo
I declare Luneday to be the rightful heir.’

Luneday beamed at him, while Powys gaped in horror
and Shropham looked as if he was ready to cry. Shropham tried to apologise, but his Warden was too angry to listen. He surged
to his feet and left without another word, Shropham scurrying at his heels. Langelee raised his eyebrows, but did not seem
overly concerned that he might have made an enemy of King’s Hall.

‘I
knew
a man who professes skill with pigs would see justice done,’ declared Luneday, tears in his eyes as he shook the Master’s
hand. ‘Put your decision in writing, if you please. And while we wait, you can tell me more about this game of camp-ball.
You say a pig is on one team?’

Pleased the matter had been resolved before his camp-ball game was due to begin, Langelee became magnanimous. He fetched wine
from the kitchens, and began to pour generous measures into goblets. Elyan swallowed his thirstily, clearly glad the business
was over, and held out his cup for more before the Master had finished distributing them around his other guests.

‘I was going to propose a toast,’ Langelee said, shooting Elyan an admonishing look for his greed. He pressed a goblet into
Bartholomew’s hand, although the last thing the physician felt like doing was drinking in cosy bonhomie with the visitors
from Suffolk.

‘To justice and pigs?’ suggested Luneday, raising his vessel.

‘And camp-ball,’ added Langelee with a grin, returning the salute.

The others raised their goblets obligingly, and everyone was in the process of putting them to their lips when Elyan gave
a cry and gripped his throat. The cup fell from his hand, and he dropped to his knees.

‘What is wrong with him?’ cried Agnys, hurrying to his side.

Bartholomew was there before her. He tried to hold Elyan still, but the lord of the manor was thrashing about violently. It
did not need a physician to know he had been poisoned.

‘But this wine came from the kitchens,’ shouted Langelee defensively, when everyone looked at him. ‘It was delivered earlier
today – a gift from Bartholomew’s sister.’

‘My sister is not in the habit of providing us with wine,’ said Bartholomew, struggling to keep Elyan still so he could examine
him. ‘Only cakes.’

‘Gosse,’ muttered Michael grimly. ‘Is this what he meant when he said he had something planned for us? I assumed he had set
his sights on St Mary the Great.’

‘Do something,’ cried Agnys, gripping Bartholomew’s shoulder hard. ‘Help him!’

But Bartholomew was already thrusting fingers down Elyan’s throat to make him vomit up what he had swallowed – he had watched
Margery, d’Audley, Risleye and Tesdale die within the past few hours, and had had enough of feeling helpless in the face of
death. He was not losing anyone else.

Elyan retched violently, and when he leaned back, exhausted by the effort, Bartholomew made him sick again. And again. Eventually,
when he thought all or most of the toxin had been expelled, he wiped Elyan’s face with a clean cloth and helped him sit comfortably.

‘It is a pity to die now,’ rasped Elyan, tears flowing down his cheeks. ‘Just when everything is going my way. Wynewyk dead,
Luneday to inherit my manor –
he
will not harm me for a few gems.’

But Bartholomew knew, from the colour that was beginning to trickle back into Elyan’s face, that the worst was over. ‘You
are not going to—’ he began.

‘It is ironic to die of poison left by Gosse,’ interrupted
Elyan, with a weak but bitter smile. ‘You see, Carbo found the diamonds in my mine, but Gosse said they were his – stolen
from him by Carbo when he lived in Clare. He was very insistent, but I did not believe him. Perhaps I should have done.’

Bartholomew recalled that both Hilton and Prior John had mentioned Gosse’s purloined sack, the contents of which Gosse had
declined to reveal. ‘You are not going to—’

Elyan cut across him a second time. ‘I told Neubold to pass some to potential investors. Namely Wynewyk and King’s Hall. But
I kept most – the biggest and best – for myself.’

‘You kept precious stones that Gosse thinks are his?’ asked Hilton uneasily. ‘That was reckless.’

Bartholomew tried a third time to tell Elyan he was going to recover, sure he would not be baring his soul if he knew he would
live. ‘The poison is not—’

But Michael jabbed him in the ribs. ‘We need answers,’ he hissed urgently.’ Do not interrupt him – lives depend on it.’

‘It would only have been reckless if Gosse
knew
I kept them,’ Elyan was rasping to Hilton. ‘But he does not. I told him they had all been given to scholars in Cambridge.
So he came here to find them. But then someone pilfered the sack from me.’

‘So you were right, Matt,’ murmured Michael. ‘Gosse and Idoma really were asking for the whereabouts of something specific.
I thought it was a ruse, to confuse me.’

‘Joan!’ exclaimed Hilton, somewhat out of the blue. ‘
She
took them! She told me she had vital business in Cambridge – important enough to risk her child on a journey. She must have
realised these stones were going to cause trouble, so she brought them here.’

‘Why would she do that?’ demanded Luneday. ‘Why not keep them for herself – for her child?’

‘Because she was a sensible lady,’ replied Hilton softly. ‘She would not have been so credulous as to believe that Carbo had
found diamonds in Haverhill – she would have been sceptical. Opportunities to travel are few and far between in our village,
so she took advantage of the only one available: she came to Cambridge with Neubold, intending to hide them here.’

‘That explains why she chose this town,’ acknowledged Agnys. ‘It also explains why she was unhappy these last few weeks –
it would have been a terrible burden, knowing Henry had property belonging to Gosse and that these stones might urge powerful
foundations and greedy men to desperate measures to acquire them. But not why she felt compelled to transport the wretched
things in the first place.’

‘It is obvious,’ said Michael. ‘The mine has produced no gems, and getting rid of the ones Carbo “found” – the big ones Elyan
kept for himself – means Haverhill has none left. She probably had a plan to show King’s Hall and Wynewyk that Elyan Manor
has nothing worth fighting for – and therefore nothing worth harming her child for, either. Unfortunately, her plan misfired.’

‘Oh, Henry,’ said Agnys, gazing at her grandson with sad eyes. ‘How could you have been so foolish? All these deaths – including
Joan’s – and for what? Jewels stolen from the Gosses, that were never on Elyan Manor in the first place!’

‘They were!’ asserted Elyan weakly. ‘Carbo would not have lied to me.’

‘Not lied, no,’ agreed Agnys. ‘He did not have the wit. But that does not mean his tale was true.’

But Elyan was not listening to her. His gaze was fixed on Bartholomew. ‘Wynewyk was an evil man. He sent his student to spy
on the mine, and someone killed the boy. God forgive me, I buried his body in the woods. But worse than that, Wynewyk killed
Joan. I have thought long and
hard, and I understand what happened now.
He
poisoned her.’