Michael glared at her. ‘How long have you known Aylmer?’ he repeated.
She sighed. ‘We were friends for years. He was fond of Nicholas, and often visited our house.’
‘But your Nicholas died before Aylmer did,’ said Michael thoughtfully. ‘So Aylmer could not have been killed by that jealous husband.’
Sabina’s expression was wry. ‘Especially not by that one. Nicholas loved Langar, not me.’
‘Nicholas was Langar’s lover?’ asked Michael, startled.
Suddenly, Bartholomew had the answers to several questions – why Sabina had never seen the scar on her husband’s shoulder, and why she had been willing to marry a man she did not love. Nicholas had given her a home; she had reciprocated by providing him with a respectable image; and they had both gone about their separate lives unfettered. And the physician recalled Langar’s angry reaction when Sabina was mentioned earlier that day; the lawyer had been envious of the relationship Nicholas had shared with his wife, regardless of the fact that it had almost certainly been chaste.
‘You and Nicholas were still friends, though, which is why you are keen to know how he died,’ he said. ‘And you also mentioned that you would have preferred to marry Aylmer, but he was in holy orders. He took his vows a month ago, when he was accused of stealing from Flaxfleete.’
She shook her head. ‘He retook his vows a month ago. He was in holy orders for more than two decades, although he lived a riotous life, and few believed he was a priest. That is why he would never marry me; he said it was a step too far along the road of sin. However, Langar’s affair with Nicholas should tell you why he is investigating that death, and why he is happy to let you find Aylmer’s killer. He cannot do both, and has chosen the one that is important to him.’
‘Could Langar have killed Aylmer?’ asked Michael. ‘Perhaps he thought it was Aylmer who gave Nicholas the poison that saw him topple into the Braytheford Pool and drown.’
‘Aylmer did not hurt Nicholas, because he was with me that night, and Langar knows it. Hence Langar did not kill Aylmer, which is a pity for all of us. It would have made for a neat solution, and once Langar is gone, Miller and the Commonalty will fall. I would love to see Langar hang.’
‘That is an interesting reaction from a woman who was accused of dire crimes at Miller’s side,’ said Michael. ‘De Wetherset told me. I am sure you recall that he was one of the jurors.’
She stared at the floor. ‘It is true, to my shame. Aylmer always said he wanted to escape from Miller and his cronies, but he never did anything about it. I have, though. I no longer take part in their evil dealings, and I am becoming a good daughter of the Church.’
‘A good daughter who kisses ordained priests behind the stables?’ remarked Bartholomew.
She pulled a face at him. ‘I am human, with human failings. None of us is perfect.’
‘Did Aylmer seem different before he died?’ asked Michael, not very interested in her feeble attempts to walk the straight and narrow.
She nodded. ‘He was thoughtful – contemplative. He was moved by the offer of Vicar Choral, and I think he was going to do his best for Master Suttone. He was weak, though, and the likes of Ravenser and Tetford would have urged him to mischief before long, so I doubt his good intentions would have lasted. I loved him dearly, but he was not a man for self-restraint.’
‘What about the other flaws in his character,’ said Michael, ‘such as his dishonesty?’
‘He did steal, on occasion,’ she admitted. ‘But I was working on that.’
‘Working for how long?’ asked Michael archly. ‘You have known him for at least two decades, given that you were both named by Shirlok in Cambridge.’
‘Shirlok,’ she repeated softly. ‘There is a name from the past!’ She shivered, and pulled her cloak around her shoulders.
‘I will guard Lady Christiana while you go to the kitchen with Cynric and Matt for a hot posset,’ offered Michael generously. ‘It is cold in here, and your fingers are blue. Do not worry about propriety – her virtue will be quite safe with me. I am a monk, after all.’
‘But you are also a man, and Hamo said–’
‘Hamo will not mind me playing chaperon,’ asserted Michael firmly. ‘I am a Benedictine, so my morals are above reproach. Go to the kitchens, child, and warm yourself before you take a chill.’
Sabina hesitated only a moment before nodding her thanks, and Bartholomew thought he saw a sparkle of tears as she turned to leave. He wondered whether she was touched by Michael’s ‘thoughtfulness’, or whether she still grieved for the deaths of old friends. Obediently, Cynric rose to escort her, although Bartholomew was not so easily dismissed. He hovered in the shadows.
‘Do not gulp your posset,’ called Michael after Sabina, as he moved towards his quarry, ‘or it will do you no good. And I am in no hurry to leave.’
CHAPTER 6
In the still silence of the chapel, Bartholomew watched Michael stalk towards Christiana, and kneel next to her, placing his hands together in an attitude of prayer. Christiana glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, and Bartholomew saw her start to smile. Michael was not the most handsome of men, and was too fat to be truly attractive, but he possessed a certain allure that appealed to women. Bartholomew lingered uncertainly, not sure whether to leave them to their own devices – they were both adults, after all – or whether he would be a better friend to Michael by staying.
‘Good evening, Brother,’ simpered Christiana. She turned in surprise when she heard the rustle of Bartholomew’s cloak. ‘Doctor! I thought you had gone with Sabina.’
‘So did I,’ said Michael meaningfully.
‘He invited me to pray with him,’ lied Bartholomew, suddenly determined not to go anywhere.
‘I am sure I did not,’ said Michael, eyeing him coolly. ‘And Prior Roger wants you to visit his hospital. There is a perplexing case of tertiary fever.’
‘He said nothing to me,’ said Bartholomew. ‘And it must be very perplexing indeed, since nobody has tertiary fevers at this time of year.’ He expected Christiana to be irritated by his stubborn refusal to leave, and was surprised to see a flash of amusement in her eyes.
‘Do not stand so far away,’ she said, ignoring Michael’s frustrated grimace. ‘Join us. We can talk about something Hamo told me – that we all have a mutual acquaintance in a lady called Matilde.’
Bartholomew nodded as he approached. ‘Hamo remembers her living in Lincoln six years ago.’
‘I arrived here about a month before Mayor Spayne asked Matilde to be his wife,’ said Christiana. Her expression became distant, as though she was lost in memories. ‘I was preoccupied with my own troubles at the time, but I recall that quite clearly – a woman made an offer of marriage by a man she did not love. It was at that point when I realised the same thing might happen to me, once the King decides I have had long enough to recover from my grief.’
‘Matilde did not love Spayne?’ asked Bartholomew. ‘How do you know?’
She regarded him in amusement. ‘We women can tell such things, Doctor. Besides, she would have accepted his offer had she loved him, given that he is handsome, rich, kind and gentle. Her standards must be very high. As are mine.’ She included Michael in her next enigmatic smile.
‘You have avoided being trapped so far,’ said Michael. ‘
’Yes, but my period of grace is coming to an end. His Majesty is beginning to be exasperated.’ Christiana sighed. ‘I adored my first husband, and would like to feel at least a modicum of affection for the second. My mother was on the verge of marrying a man she despised, and I saw how miserable it made her.’
‘Kelby,’ said Michael, remembering what Suttone had told him. ‘Unfortunately, she died before the ceremony could take place.’
‘She did not “die”, Brother,’ said Christiana softly. ‘She took medicine to ease a cough, and it killed her. She was with child, you see, but did not tell anyone. She swallowed the electuary she was given, but it contained cuckoo-pint, which is dangerous for ladies in such a condition–’