‘And how did you “persuade” Tuddenham to give it to us?’ demanded Bartholomew furiously, pulling his arm away. He was almost angry enough to accuse anyone of compliance in Unwin’s murder, even Alcote, whose negotiations with Tuddenham had resulted in Unwin being appointed as Grundisburgh’s parish priest. ‘Do you know some dreadful secret about him, which you threatened to tell unless he gave Michaelhouse the deeds to the church?’
Alcote glared at him. ‘That is a foul thing to say. What do you think I am? And, for your information, I arranged the transaction with Tuddenham through one of my business connections in Ipswich. Tuddenham was going to donate the church living to one of the merchant guilds there, but I was able to convince him that a Cambridge college would be a better option for him. I mentioned that we have lawyers who will act as his executors when he dies, and who will ensure his will is carried out exactly as he wants it to be – not to mention the fact that his heirs will save a good deal on legal fees when the time comes.’
‘So, why is Tuddenham so desperate to have it completed quickly?’ asked Bartholomew, strongly suspecting that Alcote was being less than honest with him. ‘He has not stopped pestering you about finishing it since you arrived. There is something odd going on, and I think you know what it is.’
Alcote looked smug. ‘I know a great many things that you do not, my boy. But you should not vex your little mind with them. Just trust me. I know what I am doing.’
‘I would sooner trust a viper,’ snorted Bartholomew, disgusted. ‘And if I find out that you know some dreadful secret about the Tuddenhams, and you accept this advowson and bring Michaelhouse into disrepute, I will see you never interfere in College affairs again.’
Alcote gave a sneer. ‘And how will you do that? You are only interested in chopping off people’s legs and inspecting their urine. Tuddenham is insisting that the advowson is written quickly because he is an impatient man. He knows that I am the only one who can do it, and that the rest of you are next to useless. He wants you all gone, so that he does not have to pay Eltisley to keep you.’
‘Thomas has always been impatient,’ said Dame Eva, the closeness of her voice making them jump. ‘It is just his way. But do not let him bully you into working quicker than you should, Master Alcote. He would have you labouring all night if you let him.’
Alcote eyed her with some hostility, before hurrying off to placate Grosnold. The old lady watched him depart with her sharp eyes, while Bartholomew fervently wished he would trip over his flagrantly expensive robe and break his scrawny neck. Considering that he had just been berating Bartholomew for his rudeness to Grosnold, Alcote’s behaviour towards Dame Eva was inexcusable. Predictably, however, the old lady was slow to take offence. She smiled at Bartholomew and took his arm, patting it sympathetically when she sensed the tension and anger in him.
‘Isilia was right – that man fears women more than he fears the Devil himself.’
Bartholomew looked down at her. She was wearing her yellowed wimple and an over-large cloak that looked as if it might belong to her son. But, unfashionable and inelegant though she might appear, she was the only member of Tuddenham’s household who was not wet and shivering. Once again, Bartholomew admired her for putting her personal comfort before appearances.
‘Poor Rosella,’ said Isilia, coming to join them, and following their eyes to Alcote, who scurried fawningly at Grosnold’s heels. ‘She had high hopes that a handsome young student would step past her pea on the lintel, but instead it was Alcote – a man who prefers men to women.’
‘He does not particularly like men, either,’ said Bartholomew, trying to force his irritation with Alcote to the back of his mind. ‘He just sees them as a lesser evil.’
Isilia laughed, and he noticed, yet again, how lovely she was with her pale pink cheeks and fine green eyes. ‘I have tried hard to make him feel welcome at Wergen Hall – my husband expects too much of him sometimes, with all those piles of writs – but I think I only succeed in making him more nervous than ever. He would rather starve than have me bring him his food.’
‘I see young Horsey is unwell,’ said Dame Eva, pointing to where Deynman was helping the student-friar to the tavern. ‘Poor boy – it must be the shock. I will send some eggs for him from Wergen Hall, and some beans. I do not like to see him so wan.’
‘That would be kind,’ said Bartholomew, touched that someone as grand as the lord of the manor’s mother should notice a mere student, and consider his needs.
‘We are so sorry about this,’ said Isilia, gesturing towards Unwin’s grave. ‘We would do anything to bring him back.’
‘Isilia and I have already given Walter Wauncy ten shillings, so that a mass for Unwin’s soul can be said each morning for the next thirty days,’ said Dame Eva. ‘If he thinks more masses are needed after that, we will pay him to continue.’
‘Thank you,’ said Bartholomew.
The old lady gazed across at the far corner of the churchyard for a moment, and then took Bartholomew’s arm and led him toward a group of ancient yews that stood over a jumble of coffin-shaped tombs.
‘This is my husband’s,’ she said, stopping at the only one that was well tended and that had fresh flowers on the top. ‘He was a good and honourable man, and would be so saddened to see the day when a poor young priest was slain in the church he loved.’
‘How long since he died?’ asked Bartholomew gently, seeing tears gather at the corners of her wrinkled eyes and trickle down her cheeks.
‘Twenty years,’ said Isilia, when the old lady could not answer. She looked sympathetically at Dame Eva, and took a frail hand in her young, smooth ones. ‘Come, mother. We should not stand here in the rain for you to take a chill. I will sing to you this afternoon – one of the songs your husband wrote, if it would please you.’
Dame Eva nodded gratefully, and clung to Bartholomew’s arm as he escorted her back to Tuddenham, who was waiting for her with a litter. She stopped suddenly, and gripped Bartholomew so fiercely that he winced.
‘You are a kind young man, and I would not like to see you come to harm. You must promise me you will go nowhere near Barchester. It is one of the gateways to hell, and no place for the god-fearing. If Unwin had not gone to Barchester, he would not have seen Padfoot and we would not be attending his requiem mass today.’
Bartholomew nodded, feeling sure he would have no cause to visit the deserted village anyway. ‘I will avoid Barchester, if I can.’
‘You must never set foot in the place,’ declared Isilia with huge eyes. ‘It seethes with evil and is Padfoot’s domain!’
‘Padfoot!’ spat Hamon in disgust, coming to help them into the litter. ‘What nonsense have you been spouting, Isilia?’
‘It is not nonsense,’ said the old lady, a spark of anger flashing in her eyes. ‘It is simple truth, and only a fool would choose to ignore it.’
‘Hamon is a fool,’ said Isilia, eyeing him coldly. ‘He is an insensitive oaf, who is only interested in hunting and dogs and smelly horses.’
Hamon gave an unpleasant laugh. ‘Better that than wasting my time on frightening gullible physicians with tales of ghostly dogs.’
He gave Dame Eva a hefty shove that accelerated her into the cart faster than was necessary. Bartholomew stepped forward in alarm, afraid that the rough push might have damaged the old woman’s brittle bones, but she waved him back with a resigned flap of her hand. Eyes flashing furiously, Isilia thrust Hamon away and climbed in unaided. Then Dame Eva saw the ugly nag that had been coupled to the litter that would bear her home, and she and Hamon began a spirited argument about that, while Bartholomew looked around desperately for Michael, seeking a way to escape before he was dragged into it.