‘And when the weather breaks of its own accord, he will say it was his doing. He cannot lose.’
Suddenly, Michael narrowed his eyes. ‘Refham is over there with Blaston the carpenter. What is a decent man like Blaston doing in such low company?’
‘I barely know Refham – his forge is out on the Huntingdon Way, so he does not spend much time in the town – but he does not seem overly pleasant.’
‘He is sly and greedy,’ declared Michael uncompromisingly. ‘Is money changing hands between him and Blaston? Yes, it is! And look at the furtive cant of Refham’s eyes. Joan is there, too, shielding what is happening from passers-by. It is clear they are up to no good.’
Blaston was one of Bartholomew’s patients, along with his wife Yolande and their twelve children. He was an amiable, trusting soul, and the physician did not like the notion that Refham might be in the process of cheating him. He started to walk towards them. Joan saw him coming and grabbed her husband’s arm, trying to steer him down an alley, but Refham was not so easily shifted. He freed his hand impatiently, his attention fixed on the carpenter.
‘Doctor!’ exclaimed Blaston pleasantly, when he turned to see what was causing Joan to act so strangely. ‘Do you know David Refham? He is a blacksmith by trade, and–’
‘I have not bothered with that work for some time now,’ interrupted Refham. ‘Manual labour is not for me. I prefer making money in other ways, such as by the sale of the properties I inherited. My aim is to buy a cottage in Luton and do nothing but lie in the sun and drink ale.’
‘What do you want with us?’ asked Joan, regarding the two scholars with barely concealed dislike. ‘If you think you can persuade us to lower the price on those houses, you can think again. We mean to get as much as we can, and they will be sold to the highest bidder.’
‘Everyone hates the University, so you will not find many townsmen sympathetic to your plight,’ added Refham nastily. ‘You will have to pay what we decide we should have.’
‘On the contrary,’ said Michael with quiet dignity. ‘Your mother’s decency and kindness made her a popular lady, and lots of folk deplore the way you are flouting her last wishes.’
Refham’s expression hardened. ‘It is none of their damned business, and I shall do what I like with my inheritance. And now you can leave us alone, because Blaston and I have business to discuss.’
‘What kind of business?’ asked Bartholomew.
‘None that is your affair,’ said Joan indignantly. ‘Go away, or I shall summon the Sheriff and tell him you are harassing innocent citizens.’
‘There is no need for quarrelling,’ said Blaston, dismayed by the hostile remarks that were being bandied back and forth. ‘And no need for secrecy, either. I am delighted to be doing business with you, Refham, and do not see why we should keep it secret.’ He turned to Bartholomew and smiled, genuinely pleased. ‘He has asked me to do some work for him, on those three shops.’
‘You mean the ones we are thinking of buying?’ asked Michael uneasily. He exchanged a brief glance with Bartholomew. What was Refham up to?
Blaston grinned happily. ‘He wants them in the best possible condition for when he makes his sale, and has asked me to replace the old rafters in the roof. It is a big job, and I could do with extra money at the moment, because Yolande is expecting again. This time, I think it might be twins, she is so big.’
‘I chose Blaston because I knew he needed the work,’ said Refham. His expression was unreadable and Bartholomew immediately suspected trickery.
‘Are you being paid in advance?’ the physician asked the carpenter, suspecting he could guess exactly what Refham planned to do.
‘I am to buy the timber myself and start work tomorrow,’ replied Blaston airily. ‘I will be paid half when the work is finished, and the rest when the buildings are sold.’
‘That is not a good–’ began Bartholomew, appalled.
Refham spat on his hand and thrust it towards the carpenter, an indication that he wanted the transaction agreed without further delay. Before Bartholomew could stop him, Blaston had seized it. Refham sneered at the physician. ‘The deal is made, and no one can undo it now.’
‘I will not renege,’ said Blaston, misunderstanding him. ‘You can trust me to be honourable.’
‘I know,’ said Refham. ‘Come, Joan. Let us celebrate our good fortune with a cup of wine.’
‘Note they are going to celebrate their good fortune,’ said Michael to Blaston when the pair had gone. ‘And did not invite you to join them. I doubt you will benefit from this arrangement.’
But Blaston was too gleeful to listen to doom-merchants, and Bartholomew recalled he had always been that way. It explained why he was poor, while his fellow craftsmen earned a decent living.
‘Yolande will be delighted,’ he crowed. ‘We are desperately short of money, and have nothing put by for the winter. And as she is with child, she cannot work.’
Yolande supplemented the family income by prostitution, and Bartholomew had long been fascinated by how many of her brood bore likenesses to prominent burgesses and scholars. However, she could not ply her trade when she was pregnant, and the family would find the winter hard.
‘There is not much work for skilled carpenters these days,’ Blaston went on. ‘There are too many itinerants who offer to do the job for half the price. Of course, their work is no good, but by the time the customer sees it, it is too late – his money has gone.’
‘Tell Refham to buy the materials you need,’ said Bartholomew, wishing the carpenter had let his wife negotiate the deal. Yolande would not have been so gullible.
‘His money is stored at Barnwell Priory for safekeeping, and he asked me to pay for the wood so as to move matters along.’ Blaston nodded his hands together, delighted with the bargain he thought he had secured. ‘The sooner I finish, the sooner I will be reimbursed.’
‘His family will starve,’ said Michael, watching the carpenter saunter away. ‘While Refham and Joan grow fat on the fruits of their dishonesty. Lord, how I loathe that man!’
It was mid-afternoon, and Bartholomew thought the day was slipping away far too fast. They reached Bene’t College, where their knock was answered by Younge. The porter lounged against the door with a stem of grass between his teeth, regarding the Senior Proctor and his Corpse Examiner with disdain.
‘What do you want?’ he demanded.
‘Nothing I am prepared to discuss with you,’ retorted Michael coolly.
‘Then you cannot come in.’ Three of Younge’s cronies came to stand behind him. ‘I am head porter here, and no one is admitted without my say-so. Bene’t is different from other Colleges because of its ties with the town Guild of Corpus Christi. You do not have the same sway here as you do in the likes of Peterhouse or Clare.’
Calmly, Michael reached out, placed a hand in the middle of Younge’s chest and pushed. The porter tried to resist the monk’s forward momentum, but Michael put his full weight behind the manoeuvre and it was not many moments before he was through the door. Bartholomew followed uneasily.
‘Now,’ said the monk pleasantly. ‘Go and tell Master Heltisle we are waiting.’
Younge drew his dagger, but there was uncertainty in his eyes, and the move was more to prevent a loss of face in front of his colleagues than a serious attempt to intimidate the Senior Proctor.
‘Send him back to his Chancellor in pieces,’ suggested one, outraged by the monk’s audacity. ‘He has no right to throw his weight around here.’
‘Especially when there is so much of it,’ quipped another.
It was the wrong thing to say to a man who was sensitive about his appearance. Michael put his hands on his hips and fixed the joker with a stare that made the laughter die in his throat. ‘Tell Heltisle I am here,’ he ordered. His tight voice indicated he was only just controlling his anger.