Read Online Death of a Scholar by Susanna Gregory - Free Book Online Page B

have no evidence, remember? However, I keep coming back to the fact that Potmoor is in the Guild of Saints, and he is no stranger to murder…’
    Bartholomew sincerely hoped he was wrong. It was bad enough being held responsible for all the burglaries Potmoor was supposed to be committing, but if the felon had murdered a senior member of the University … He changed the subject uncomfortably. ‘What did you learn about Elvesmere yesterday?’
    ‘Very little. You say the knife wound was not instantly fatal, but no one heard him cry for help. And you say he was moved after he died, but my beadles found no bloody puddles anywhere in Winwick Hall – and they explored it very thoroughly.’
    ‘Is that all?’
    ‘Yes, other than the fact his colleagues disliked him. Their porter – Jekelyn – let slip that Elvesmere was always arguing with them.’
    ‘Do they have alibis?’
    ‘No. They claim to have been in bed all night – alone. Jekelyn says no one came a-calling and that he never left his post. It is a lie, of course – all porters slip away to nap from time to time. So all we know for certain is that Elvesmere was alive when the scholars of Winwick Hall went to sleep, and dead when they awoke.’
    Because William had conducted the morning Mass, and he was noted for the speed with which he could gabble through the sacred words, the Michaelhouse men arrived home before breakfast was ready. Agatha, the formidable lady who oversaw the domestic side of the College, emerged from the kitchen to inform them that the food would not be ready until she said so. Women did not normally hold such sway in University foundations, but she had been Michaelhouse’s laundress for so long that not even Langelee was brave enough to challenge her authority.
    It was a pleasant day to loiter in the yard, though, and no one minded. The Fellows stood in a huddle near the door, while the students retreated to the far end of the yard, where they could chat about things they did not want their teachers to hear – ways to smuggle women into their bedrooms, secret stashes of wine, and the illicit gambling league established by Goodwyn.
    The weather was mild, and the sun shone in a pale blue sky. The trees were just starting to change colour, so summer green was mixed with autumn gold and orange. A blackbird sang from one, answered every so often, somewhat more shrilly, by the porter’s peacock. The chickens scratched happily in the dirt, and Clippesby went to talk to them when William raised the subject of the hutch, muttering that he could not bear to hear more speculation about the thief.
    ‘Perhaps
he
took it,’ said Thelnetham. A bloodstained rag around one finger marred his otherwise pristine appearance. ‘I know for a fact that he admired the bestiary I left in the chest, and he
is
mad. He told me last night that a goat plans to take part in today’s debate.’
    ‘It will be an improvement on some of the coxcombs who intend to speak there,’ remarked William, casting a pointed glance at the Gilbertine’s bright puce shoes.
    ‘What happened to your hand, Thelnetham?’ asked Bartholomew, before they could argue.
    ‘I cut it on the church door,’ explained the Gilbertine. ‘The latch has always been awkward, but recently it has been much worse.’
    ‘It never sticks for me,’ said William immediately, watching Bartholomew unwind the bandage to inspect the wound. ‘Obviously, God does not want you in there.’
    ‘It
does
stick for you,’ countered Hemmysby. ‘I saw you wrestling with it only yesterday.’
    William scowled. ‘You are confusing me with someone else.’
    ‘I doubt that is possible,’ said Thelnetham unpleasantly, then jerked his hand away with a screech. ‘That hurt, Matthew! Have a care!’
    ‘We should replace that latch,’ said the portly Suttone. ‘It has been a nuisance for years.’
    ‘How?’ asked Langelee. ‘We cannot justify hiring a craftsman when we have no money for victuals. Indeed, it