‘I hear you are betrothed, mistress,’ Michael was saying conversationally as he followed her inside, bringing Bartholomew back to Earth with a considerable bump. ‘To Holm the surgeon.’
Julitta nodded. ‘Yes. We shall be wed within the month.’
‘Is that what you want?’ blurted Bartholomew, recalling Clippesby’s contention that the union would not be a happy one, along with Holm’s open admission that he was only interested in her father’s money. Julitta regarded him in surprise, and so did Michael.
‘Of course,’ she replied, bemused. ‘Do you think I do not know my own mind?’
‘No … well, yes,’ said Bartholomew, flustered. ‘But Holm … A surgeon is …’
‘He is talented, charming, handsome and he loves me,’ said Julitta quietly. ‘And the match pleases my father. I am more than content with the arrangement.’
Bartholomew was tempted to inform her of what Holm had said, but he had the distinct feeling that she would not believe him, and it was not in his nature to tell tales anyway. He followed her along a narrow corridor to a room overlooking a pleasant garden. The window shutters had been thrown open, and the air that wafted inside was rich with the scent of flowers and herbs.
Michael need not have worried about going hungry, because the food was good and plentiful. There were roasted chickens, salted pork, wheaten bread, vegetables braised in butter, pea pottage and a raisin tart. Bartholomew’s stomach had not recovered from its bout with sickness the previous night, so he ate and drank sparingly. Michael, by contrast, ate and drank everything that was set near him as he summarised Bartholomew’s findings about the four dead scholars, and so did Dunning, who became garrulous as the evening wore on.
‘I am a member of the Guild of Corpus Christi, so it is only right that the Common Library I enabled should open on our Feast Day,’ he declared. ‘It is a fitting tribute to my generosity.’
‘Really, Father,’ murmured Julitta. ‘A little humility would–’
‘And I have been generous,’ Dunning brayed on. ‘Everyone else donates scrolls, altar cloths or relics, but my gift will go down in the annals of history as unique. I shall make sure you are remembered in perpetuity, too, Julitta, given that you were the one who encouraged me to do it.’
Bartholomew smiled at her, surprised and impressed that she should have done something so munificent. Julitta merely stared at the table, apparently mortified by her father’s bragging conceit.
‘Tell us about the arrangements for the Corpus Christi pageant,’ suggested Michael, reaching for the wine jug and tactfully changing the subject. ‘Will it be as spectacular as last year?’
Dunning beamed delightedly. ‘I think it will, because it will culminate in the opening of my library. The procession will be led by Frevill, who will wear a fancy cloak. The rest of the Guild will follow, along with the town’s priests, various University dignitaries – including that peculiar Chancellor Tynkell – and the burgesses.’
‘Why do you say Tynkell is peculiar?’ asked Michael curiously.
Dunning lowered his voice. ‘Well, there was a rumour not long ago that he was pregnant.’
‘That was a silly story put about by one of my students, as a joke,’ explained Bartholomew. It had actually been started by Deynman, who had believed it.
‘Yet there is something odd about the fellow,’ said Dunning. ‘Do you know what it is, Doctor?’
‘He does, but he refuses to tell,’ said Michael. ‘It is very annoying, because I work closely with Tynkell, and would dearly like to know what makes him … different.’
‘It is a pity that those four scholars died in Newe Inn’s garden,’ said Dunning, leaping to another subject with the convoluted logic of the drunk. ‘It was remiss of them, so close to the opening.’
‘It is an odd case,’ mused Michael, while Bartholomew regarded Dunning in distaste, feeling the remark was extraordinarily insensitive. ‘As I said during my summary just now, Matt can find no apparent cause of death.’
‘They were not men I would have imagined enjoying each other’s company,’ confided Dunning. ‘I liked Northwood and the London brothers, who praised me effusively for founding a Common Library, but I did not take to Vale. He was arrogant.’
‘Confident might be a kinder word,’ said Julitta. ‘He–’
‘I dislike medical men, on the whole,’ declared Dunning. He winced and bent down to rub his ankle – Julitta had kicked him under the table – then regarded Bartholomew sheepishly. ‘Present company excepted, of course.’
‘Yet you will allow your daughter to marry one,’ observed Michael.
‘Holm is a surgeon, which makes it all right,’ explained Dunning. ‘You can see what surgeons are doing, even if it is all rather bloody, whereas physicians only inspect urine or pretend to work out what is wrong by devising horoscopes. I know physicians are generally regarded as superior, but I prefer surgeons, because they cut hair, which is actually useful.’
‘Will Holm be giving you a trim for Corpus Christi?’ said Michael, struggling not to smile.
‘Me and the entire Guild,’ boasted Dunning. ‘We shall all look very well groomed.’
When servants came to clear the table, Dunning invited his guests to an elegant solar on the upper floor, to inspect his books. They could not help but be impressed, because his collection included theological and philosophical works, as well as tomes on law, astronomy and music.
‘Have you read all these?’ Bartholomew asked, running an appreciative finger along the bindings.
Dunning regarded him askance. ‘Why would I? They contain nothing I want to know.’
‘Then why do you have them?’ asked Bartholomew, taken aback in his turn.
‘They look nice on the shelves,’ explained Dunning. ‘And Julitta likes them. I wish now that I had let her learn to read, because her fascination with literature means that we have to pay students to do it for her. Still, I shall save money once she is wed, because Holm will read to her.’
Julitta smiled in happy anticipation of romantic evenings to come, and Bartholomew felt a surge of dismay, sure Holm would do nothing of the kind. As if on cue, there was a clatter on the stairs, and a maid announced that the surgeon would be joining them for a cup of wine. Bartholomew watched Julitta’s face light up when Holm swaggered into the room. The newcomer made a courtly bow to her and Dunning, then saw they had company.
‘Bartholomew,’ he said, not altogether pleasantly. ‘And Michael. What brings you here?’
‘They came to dine,’ explained Dunning, nodding to Julitta to fetch more claret from the kitchen. ‘We have been discussing the celebrations for Corpus Christi. And books.’
‘Dunning arranged for me to be elected to his Guild,’ said Holm with careless pride. ‘So I shall be part of the pageant, too. I think I shall buy myself a new gown, perhaps with the five marks I am about to win.’
‘I hope you have not been gambling,’ admonished Dunning. ‘I do not approve of it.’
‘A simple wager that I cannot lose,’ explained Holm smoothly. ‘It was hardly sporting of me to accept it, to tell you the truth, but I could not help myself. Who am I to overlook free money?’
Dunning was unconvinced. ‘In my experience, there is no such thing as free money, but you know best, I suppose. You come very late tonight. Have you been with a patient?’
‘Yes – I have just saved a child’s life. He was screaming with the pain of an earache, so I gave him a good dose of mandrake and poppy juice. Now he is sleeping like a … well, like a baby.’