‘My sister likes to tease,’ said Ruth. ‘Take no notice of her. Unless you want to, of course.’
To cover his confusion at the enigmatic remark, Bartholomew blurted the first thing that came into his head. ‘Did you know Vale the physician?’
‘You know I did,’ said Ruth, bemused. ‘I told you when you came to our shop earlier today that I was his patient.’
‘Someone mentioned … there is a rumour …’ Bartholomew trailed off, heartily wishing he had never started the conversation. It was hardly his responsibility to ask embarrassing questions for Michael’s investigation.
‘There was a nasty report, some weeks ago, that he was my lover,’ said Ruth frostily. ‘Is that the subject you have chosen to discuss with me? I assure you, it is quite untrue. There was never any shred of impropriety between Vale and me. I credit myself with more taste.’
‘The tale was malicious, then?’ Bartholomew wondered who would do such a thing. Was it someone who had fallen prey to Weasenham’s tattle, and who had decided to strike back?
Ruth grimaced, then said in a less hostile tone, ‘Or wishful thinking.’
Bartholomew stared at her. ‘You think Vale might have …’
‘Imagined it, yes,’ finished Ruth. ‘He liked to think of himself as an Adonis, and once told Bonabes that he could seduce any woman he pleased. However, he certainly did not try to seduce me. He was never anything but polite and proper.’
Bartholomew began to apologise for raising the matter, loath for her to think badly of him. As he did so, he became aware that he was doing it because he did not want her to tell Julitta about his boorish behaviour, and that it was her younger sister’s good opinion that he really wanted to keep. He started to stumble over his words, disconcerted by what he was learning about himself, and was relieved when Walkelate interrupted by bustling up to them.
‘I have just told Brother Michael – again – that I saw and heard nothing unusual on the night that those four men died,’ the architect blurted out, troubled. ‘But he seems reluctant to believe me.’
‘Why?’ asked Bartholomew.
‘Because he says the pond is a mere stone’s throw from here, and we must have noticed something. But we did not! We were oiling the shelves, which was tedious work, so Holm hired a couple of singers to entertain us while we laboured.’
‘Holm did? Why?’
‘It was an act of kindness – we are friends,’ replied Walkelate. ‘He is our nearest neighbour, too, and likes to stay on our good side. My artisans and I all joined in the songs – loudly and cheerfully – so we heard nothing amiss.’
‘But you must have gone into the garden at some point,’ pressed Bartholomew. ‘I imagine you store some of your materials there.’
‘We used to, but there is no need now that all the shelves, floors and panels are in place.’
Bartholomew was frustrated on Michael’s behalf. ‘But four people died here! Surely, you noticed something unusual – the gate ajar, an odd noise, torches in the undergrowth? Holm certainly did, from next door.’
‘I wish we had,’ cried Walkelate, distressed. ‘But we rarely look out of the windows when we are working – our attention is on our hands. And it would not have helped the victims if we had – you cannot see the pond from here. You cannot see the gate, either, so an elephant could have marched into the garden, and we would have known nothing about it.’
‘It is true,’ said Ruth, who had been listening to the exchange. ‘The craftsmen are always intent on their work, because they aim to have the bonus my father promised for finishing by next week.’
‘What about the apprentices?’ persisted Bartholomew. ‘Boys will not be so absorbed.’
‘No,’ agreed Walkelate. ‘But they have school lessons in the evenings, so they are never here. But ask them anyway. Perhaps they noticed something unusual during the day.’
Bartholomew did, but his efforts went unrewarded. They worked as hard as their masters, and had no time for fighting their way through the weeds to the fish pond. And as it had a reputation for housing evil sprites, none of them had been inclined to do so anyway.
‘I went up there once,’ confided Alfred. ‘When we first started working here, as a dare. I did not see any faeries, but I could feel them watching me, flexing their claws ready to leap out and drag me down into their evil pond. I ran away as fast as I could.’
‘You had better get a charm from Cynric if you intend to spend much more time there, Doctor,’ advised another boy, his young face solemn. ‘He will make sure you are properly protected.’
Bartholomew was sure he would.
Chapter 5
‘Lord! I am hungry,’ said Michael, as he and Bartholomew walked to the handsome house owned by Dunning a short while later. ‘I could eat a horse, although I hope they do not give me one.’
‘We have made scant progress today,’ said Bartholomew, more concerned with their investigation than Michael’s culinary preferences. ‘Over Northwood and the others.’
‘True,’ agreed Michael, reluctantly dragging his mind away from food and back to the murders. ‘And there is the fact that my grandmother is in Cambridge.’
Bartholomew nodded slowly. ‘True. Do you have any idea what brought her here?’
Michael was thoughtful. ‘Well, our university boasts a lot of clever minds, ones that have taken to invention enthusiastically since that deputation from Oxford virtually challenged us to compete with them. Perhaps the King sent her here to keep an eye on us.’
‘I sincerely doubt we warrant that sort of attention, Brother!’
‘Do not be so sure. Some of these discoveries will be worth a fortune, and His Majesty is interested in money. Moreover, there is the attack on you to consider.’
‘What does that have to do with anything?’
‘It occurred because someone believes you know how to make wildfire – another invention.’
Bartholomew shook his head. ‘I do not think an agent of Dame Pelagia’s standing would have been dragged from retirement to spy on a few academics who like to experiment, not even ones who have stumbled across a formula for wildfire. She is here for another reason, although it is entirely possible that we may never learn what it is. She is not exactly forthcoming.’
‘No,’ agreed Michael wryly. ‘However, I think you are wrong. She was in the London brothers’ house when we found her, which makes me suspect that they were dabbling in something rather more sly than making paper, probably in company with Northwood and Vale.’
‘Competing with us over lamp fuel,’ said Bartholomew. ‘Although we have nothing to prove it. Rougham made the accusation, but he disliked Northwood.’
‘Prior Etone said it was possible, too, and I shall certainly bear it in mind as I make my enquiries. Ergo, I am loath to cross your medical colleagues off my list of suspects for the deaths of those four men. As I said earlier, physicians know how to poison people without leaving evidence, so one of them might well have dispatched the competition.’
‘No,’ said Bartholomew firmly. ‘They would not–’
‘Rougham, Gyseburne, Meryfeld and Holm,’ mused Michael, overriding him. ‘None are what I could call pleasant characters. But here we are at Dunning’s house, so we had better discuss this later. I would not like anyone else to know the route our suspicions have taken.’
He had knocked on Dunning’s door before Bartholomew could inform him that his suspicions had taken him nowhere near the medici. It was opened by Julitta. She was wearing a blue kirtle that matched her eyes, and a gold net, called a fret, covered her glossy hair. When she smiled a welcome, Bartholomew found himself at a loss for words. He was unsettled by the emotions that surged inside him, having experienced nothing like them since he had lost Matilde. Uneasily, he acknowledged that he could very easily become smitten with Julitta.