Donwich effected another of his fancy bows, at the same time snatching the Book of Hours from Pulham’s hands.
‘Your grateful Fellows bring you a gift, My Lady,’ he announced grandly, while his colleague’s face filled with horror. ‘This lovely tome was illustrated by John de Weste, the cofferer from Clare Priory. As it is so valuable, Pulham and I decided to deliver it directly to your hands.’
‘Of course, you may not want it, given that you have so many books already,’ added Pulham in a strangled voice. ‘We shall not be offended – we will just put it in our own library.’
‘He jests,’ said Donwich smoothly, shooting him a warning glare. ‘It was commissioned especially for you, My Lady, and we hope that you will derive much pleasure from it.’
He handed it over before Pulham could stop him. The Lady accepted it without much enthusiasm, and leafed through it in a desultory manner. But not for long.
‘It is damaged!’ she declared indignantly. ‘One page is burned beyond all recognition, while several others are badly singed.’
‘We have Roos to thank for that,’ said Pulham tightly. ‘But I am sure Weste can repair it.’
Bartholomew glanced around for Roos, thinking it would be unfortunate if the curmudgeonly old scholar ripped it from the Lady’s hands and tossed it in the fire. But he was still nowhere to be seen, so Bartholomew supposed he was making a nuisance of himself with some hapless female.
‘Well, the rest of it is very nice,’ conceded the Lady, and passed it to Marishal to put away. Pulham watched it disappear with open dismay. ‘Now tell me what you want in return.’
‘Nothing,’ replied Donwich greasily. ‘It is enough to know that we have pleased you.’
The Lady raised her eyebrows. ‘Truly? You are not here to demand some boon?’
‘We merely wish to express our appreciation for your past generosity, and to offer our assistance in your preparations for this royal visit.’
‘Then you may report to the kitchens,’ said the Lady. ‘There are pots that need scouring.’
‘Oh,’ said Donwich, taken aback. ‘I see. Well …’
‘I jest,’ said the Lady with a smile that was rather malicious. ‘Go and wait in my steward’s quarters. He will find some task that is commensurate with your status.’
‘Then we shall go with them,’ determined Badew. ‘Our business is with Marishal, not you.’
‘No,’ countered the Lady, her harsh tone stopping the old man dead in his tracks. ‘You will state your purpose here and now, Badew. What do you want with my steward?’
‘It concerns information that came to me via Roos,’ replied Badew haughtily. ‘And Marishal will want to hear the news in private, as it is of a personal nature.’
‘Roos?’ asked Marishal, looking around. ‘I saw him talking to my wife earlier. Where is he? Why does he not give us this “information” himself?’
‘Perhaps he could not bring himself to be in the same room as you,’ sniffed Badew. ‘And my news concerns your offspring, who are just as sly now as they were when they were children.’
‘Thomas and Ella are not for you to–’ began Marishal uncomfortably.
‘What news?’ demanded the Lady. She sighed crossly when Badew pursed his lips and indicated that Marishal was to precede him through the door. ‘No! You will tell us what you have heard now, or I shall direct Bonde to throw you out of my castle by the scruff of your neck. Well? Why do you hesitate still?’
Badew turned to the uneasy steward. ‘Very well, then. You forced Ella to marry Sir William Talmach – an old man, but a rich one. Yes?’
Michael, Bartholomew and Langelee blinked their surprise – no one had mentioned this before. Warily, Marishal inclined his head to acknowledge it was true. Harweden took up the tale.
‘She was desperately unhappy with the arrangement, and who can blame her? To avoid years of suffering his unwelcome advances, she and her brother conspired to dispatch him.’
‘He did not fall off his horse and on to his dagger by accident that fatal day,’ said Badew, eyes bright with malice. ‘He fell because they sawed through one of his saddle straps.’
‘You claim Roos told you all this,’ said the Lady contemptuously, although it was clear from Marishal’s stricken face that his heirs’ involvement in the knight’s death was a possibility he had already considered. ‘How would he know? Did he witness it personally?’
‘No, but one of your grooms visited Cambridge a couple of weeks ago and he gossiped about it to him,’ replied Badew triumphantly. ‘In other words, the twins murdered Talmach and the whole castle knows it.’
‘Leave,’ ordered the Lady, pointing an imperious finger at the door. ‘I will hear no more slanderous lies from you. Go on, get out!’
‘With pleasure,’ declared Badew. ‘Come, Harweden. We sully ourselves in this filthy place.’
They stalked out, heads held high. Several servants stood near the door, hovering lest their mistress should need them. None seemed surprised by the allegations, and Bartholomew even saw one or two nod agreement as the surly pair pushed past. He was thoughtful. He had seen for himself that the twins loved practical jokes – perhaps they had hacked through the strap for fun, not appreciating that the consequences might be serious. Or had they guessed exactly what would happen when an elderly husband went riding on an unstable perch in the wet?
‘Ignore him, Robert,’ instructed the Lady, when Badew and Harweden had gone. ‘He is a snake, who will say or do anything to hurt me. Besides, he heard the gossip from Roos, who had it from a groom, who happened to be in Cambridge. How likely is that? It is malicious nonsense and any fool can see it. Now – Michaelhouse.’ She turned to Langelee, Michael and Bartholomew. ‘Do you come bearing gifts, too?’
‘We heard you were ill,’ lied Michael, and indicated Bartholomew, ‘so we brought the University’s Senior Physician to tend you. However, we are delighted to learn that his services will not now be required.’
‘A physician,’ mused the Lady, eyeing Bartholomew appraisingly before turning to Lichet. ‘You have been itching to resume your travels for weeks now. If this man agrees to replace you, you will be free to leave.’
Bartholomew regarded her in alarm. He had wanted to visit Clare, not live there permanently!
‘I shall only allow it if he is worthy of filling my shoes,’ said Lichet quickly, and Bartholomew was greatly relieved to see that the Red Devil had no intention of abandoning the comfortable niche he had carved for himself in Clare, and that the threat to depart had almost certainly been made to secure himself a better deal. ‘I could not, in all conscience, leave you in the hands of an inferior practitioner.’
‘Then let us hope he continues to judge himself to be the better man,’ murmured Langelee under his breath. ‘Because Matilde will never forgive me if I arrive home without her husband-to-be. That was a reckless offer, Brother – even if it did have the desired effect of making us look solicitous without costing any money.’
‘You are kind, Lichet,’ smiled the Lady, patting the Red Devil’s hand. ‘So let us put our visiting medicus’s skills to another use instead – he can cure my paroquets. But first, he and his Michaelhouse friends must dine with me, and tell me all the latest news from Cambridge.’
Bartholomew was irked that Michael should have made free with his services yet again, and none too pleased about being ordered to cure birds either, about which he knew very little. Nor did he want to join the Lady for what might transpire to be a lengthy meal when there was a whole new town to discover. He trailed after her resentfully, noting that she leaned heavily on Marishal’s arm, and was not as hale and hearty as she would have everyone believe.