Mystery in the Minster (33 page)

‘Why not?’ asked Bartholomew. ‘They have a right to be part of it.’

Talerand shrugged. ‘Habit, I suppose. We always exclude them, lest they find some reason to sue us.’

‘But it represents an opportunity for them to reclaim the city’s favour,’ argued Bartholomew. ‘If they are the only Order not helping with the crisis, they will face more trouble than ever later.’

‘Never mind them,’ said Michael impatiently. ‘Why did Chozaico decline? He is not a man to refuse comfort to the needy.’

‘Because many people believe the French are responsible for this awful weather,’ explained Talerand. ‘So he is naturally keen to maintain a low profile, lest his priory suffers the
consequences. I do not blame him. I would do the same myself, were I head of a foundation that is constantly accused of spying.’

‘The French do not control the rain!’ said Bartholomew in disgust.

‘Of course, but you cannot reason with superstition and bigotry.’ Talerand sighed. ‘However, his help will be missed – especially the supplies of food he keeps in Bestiary Hall – so I shall visit him later, and beg him to change his mind. But I should not burden you with my concerns. How fare your efforts to win Huntington?’

‘Badly,’ admitted Michael. He decided to be honest. ‘Radeford found the codicil, but he secreted it away, and we have been unable to discover where.’

‘Secreted it away?’ asked Talerand sharply. ‘Why?’

‘Because there are those who would rather it remained lost,’ replied Michael shortly. ‘I do not suppose
you
have any notion of a suitable hiding place, do you?’

Talerand thought for a moment. ‘Well, if I had to conceal something I would put it in the library, because even if it were in full view, the chances of it being spotted are slim.’

‘Will you come with us now, to see if any particular places stand out?’ asked Michael. He saw the Dean about to refuse. ‘Please! I know you are busy, but it will not take a moment. And we would like to win this case, for Radeford’s sake.’

‘He was a nice young man,’ acknowledged Talerand. ‘Very well, although I doubt I will be of much use. I am not very good with documents.’

Neither scholar needed him to tell them that.

If anything, the library was in a worse state than when they had first seen it, with even more parchments on the floor
or stuffed in clumsy handfuls on to the shelves. The many recent visitors had left their mark, particularly Langelee, whom Bartholomew had seen several times flinging documents around as he became increasingly frustrated. Talerand did not seem to notice, though. He folded his arms and looked around carefully, but eventually, he shook his head.

‘I cannot help you. As I said yesterday, a lot of people have been in the last few days. First, Fournays wanted a medical text, and was a long time searching for it before admitting defeat—’

‘He told us he took one look and decided the task was impossible,’ interrupted Michael.

‘Then he is mistaken – he was still here when I returned some time later. Perhaps he just did not want to confess that he had wasted his morning.’

‘Perhaps,’ said Michael, not looking at Bartholomew.

‘Then there was Longton, after the mint charter again,’ Talerand went on. ‘And I never did discover why Multone and Oustwyk came, because neither has expressed any interest in my theological collections before. But men change, I suppose …’

‘Not in my experience,’ muttered Michael.

‘Perhaps they do not want to be seen as lacking when Isabella challenges them on points of doctrine,’ Talerand went on. ‘I know I do not like it. Women should not possess such knowledge, because it makes us men look foolish, and no good can come of
that
situation.’

‘You mentioned the vicars-choral coming, too,’ said Michael, preventing Bartholomew from pointing out that if Talerand wanted to compete with Isabella, then he should start honing his mind.

‘Yes, with Dalfeld, even though it was dark and they had to use candles. Prioress Alice appeared, too, although I
dislike letting her in, because she does not know how to care for books.’

‘Unlike you,’ muttered Bartholomew, looking around pointedly. ‘What did she want?’

‘She did not say. But wait!’ Talerand stabbed a plump finger suddenly at a table that had been placed under a window to catch the meagre light that filtered through it. ‘That desk is different from the others.’

‘It is?’ asked Michael doubtfully.

‘Yes – it is neater. Someone has tidied it, perhaps as a place to work.’

‘I wonder if that is where Radeford found the codicil.’ Bartholomew crouched to look beneath it. ‘He told us that particular document was in plain view on a carrel, and could not understand why no one had noticed it before. Oh! Here is the charter for the mint. It had fallen behind—’

Talerand snatched it. ‘At last! The Mayor will be delighted, and so will the Archbishop. Do you mind if I claim credit? I am rather tired of people accusing me of not knowing where anything is.’

Michael began to sift through the piles of parchments on the desk, although his disgruntled expression showed he was having no success. Bartholomew stayed kneeling, sorting through the hectic muddle below.

‘Tell us again what happened the day Radeford died,’ said Michael, as they worked. ‘You said he was here alone the whole time, and that the only other visitors came after he had left.’

‘Yes,’ replied Talerand. ‘The poor boy laboured furiously, and even refused my offer of bread and cheese in the deanery. The only time he left was late afternoon, but he cannot have been gone many moments, because I looked in again shortly afterwards, and he was back at work.’

Bartholomew frowned. ‘But he told us he did not leave at all.’

‘Perhaps he forgot,’ said Talerand. ‘His hood was up, and he ignored me, which was rude. That is why I remember – such churlishness was unlike him.’

‘You did not mention this before,’ said Michael accusingly.

Talerand shrugged. ‘You did not ask.’

‘It was not Radeford you saw, it was his killer,’ said Bartholomew, sitting back on his heels. ‘You are right: Radeford would not have snubbed you. We wondered how he had come to swallow poison, and now we know – someone came here in the late afternoon and gave it to him.’

‘And then donned a hooded cloak, and slunk away,’ finished Michael.

Talerand gaped in horror. ‘The killer? You mean Radeford was murdered here, in my library? But that is a terrible crime, and we shall have to resanctify—’

‘It is a terrible crime,’ interrupted Michael briskly. ‘But you can help us to solve it by answering more questions. What can you tell us about this hooded figure?’

‘He carried a sack,’ said Talerand, white-faced.

‘Containing the toxin,’ surmised Bartholomew. ‘Whoever it was must have taken Radeford something to eat or drink, as an apparent act of kindness. What else?’

Talerand screwed shut his eyes to think. ‘Like Radeford, he was of average height and build …’

‘Not Cave then,’ said Michael. ‘Could it have been Dalfeld?’

Talerand gulped audibly. ‘Yes, I suppose it might. However, it could also have been any of the people we have just been discussing – Multone, Oustwyk, Longton, Fournays, another vicar. Not Alice, though; she is too short.’

‘These are your suspects?’ asked Michael keenly.

‘No!’ squeaked Talerand. ‘That is not what I meant!
I mentioned them only to demonstrate how it would be impossible to identify the culprit from my glimpse of this cloak-swathed person.’

He became unsteady on his feet, apparently overwhelmed by the notion that such wickedness had been committed in his domain. Bartholomew poured a measure of the medicinal wine he carried for emergencies, but Talerand pushed it away, declaring that he would never drink anything in the minster again. However, when he was calm enough to answer more questions, it quickly became apparent that he had no more to add. The incident had happened days ago, and there had been nothing sufficiently unusual to allow it to stick in his mind.

‘We would also like to ask you about Zouche’s chantry,’ said Bartholomew. ‘About when you discovered that the money had run out.’

‘Why?’ asked Talerand in confusion. ‘What does—’

‘You saw Christopher near it the night before.’ Michael cut across him. ‘I know these appear to be strange questions, but I assure you, we would not ask them if they were not important.’

‘Very well,’ said Talerand unhappily. ‘However, it was five years ago, so forgive me if my memory is hazy. I was in here, working probably, when I heard a sound from the treasury. It was late, so I went to investigate.’

‘You were not afraid?’ asked Michael.

Talerand regarded him askance. ‘Of course I was afraid! It was nearing midnight, and the minster was all but deserted. But I have a responsibility to investigate odd noises at a time when all should be silent, so I went to do it. I found Christopher in the treasury, on his knees in front of Zouche’s rosewood chantry box. He was weeping in the most pitiful manner.’

‘What did you do?’

‘Nothing,’ replied Talerand. ‘He was friends with Zouche, and I am not a man to intrude on another’s private grief. I left him alone to mourn. Then, the following day, I discovered the chantry fund was dry, although I suspect it had actually been so for weeks. The executors rarely checked it.’

‘Do you think Christopher stole some of it?’ asked Bartholomew.

Talerand was shocked. ‘No, of course not! However, I did ask him whether the box was empty when he had been with it the previous night.’

‘And?’ promoted Michael.

‘And he denied being in the treasury at all. It was a lie, but I could hardly say so. I tried pressing him further, but he was adamant. However, his eyes were red, so he
had
been weeping.’

‘Perhaps his grief was because he knew the chantry would never be finished,’ suggested Bartholomew. ‘He had failed to do what Zouche had asked.’

‘Possibly,’ said Talerand. ‘But why not say so? Of course, it could have been because Dalfeld was listening when we had this discussion, and no one likes to say too much in front of him.’

‘Dalfeld?’ asked Michael sharply. ‘What was he doing there?’

‘It is too long ago, and I cannot recall. But he often appears in unexpected places. It is what has allowed him to become so powerful – watching the rest of us hurry about our insignificant lives.’

‘Thank you,’ said Michael. ‘We shall speak to Dalfeld and Anketil this morning. And then we shall return here and resume our search for the codicil, because I feel in my bones that it is hidden near that carrel. We
will
have it – we must, for Radeford’s sake.’

* * *

Bartholomew argued for tackling Dalfeld first, because he was growing increasingly convinced that the lawyer had killed Radeford – Dalfeld was determined to win Huntington for the vicars, and there was plenty of evidence that he was ruthless. And even if the lawyer transpired to be innocent of that particular crime, there was always the possibility that he knew more than Talerand about Christopher’s odd behaviour, and might be willing to trade information.

‘Trade with what?’ demanded Michael. ‘We do not have the resources to bribe him.’

‘We have Huntington,’ said Bartholomew quietly. ‘He works for the vicars-choral, and will be able to claim a handsome fee if he can tell them he has won the case.’

Michael gaped at him. ‘You want to bargain with Huntington? That price is rather too high!’

‘Not if we learn who killed Radeford.’

Michael blew out his cheeks in a sigh. ‘We can try I suppose, although Langelee will be livid.’ Then a crafty expression suffused his face. ‘Of course,
you
can always do the negotiating, then we can later say that you did not have the authority to do it, thus voiding any agreement you make. No, do not look shocked, Matt, it is the way lawyers work. Dalfeld will be used to it.’

As they left, they saw the minster was busier than ever, although not with the clamour of obits. People were flocking to the city’s grandest church in the hope that prayers said there would avert the looming disaster. There was also a growing number of refugees from the outlying villages, all carrying pitiful tales of lost homes, drowned livestock and destroyed crops. The vicars moved among them, offering comfort and dry blankets, and directing them to corners of the minster where they might rest until the waters receded.

‘Dalfeld is not our only suspect for killing Radeford,’ said Michael, as they hurried towards the Ouse Bridge.
‘Fournays lied about the time he spent in the library, and he is a surgeon with a herbarium that boasts any number of poisonous plants.’

‘Fournays is not a murderer,’ said Bartholomew tiredly. ‘He is a healer, who—’

Michael raised his hand. ‘I disagree. Personally, I believe
he
murdered Radeford, perhaps by encouraging him to drink a tonic that promised a sharper mind or some such nonsense, and then he returned to the scene of his crime, to ensure he had left no clues.’

‘According to Talerand, he stayed some time. It would not have taken long to eliminate clues.’

‘It might, if he was being careful,’ Michael flashed back. ‘And he will remain on my list until he is eliminated to my satisfaction. Along with the vicars-choral.’