A Killer in Winter

‘But I cannot tell,’ protested William in alarm. ‘It is supposed to be a secret. I should not have assumed that Abigny had taken you into his confidence.’

‘It is too late now,’ said Bartholomew. ‘And if you do not tell me what I want to know, I shall inform Langelee that your leg is not broken, and-’

‘That will not be necessary,’ said William hastily. ‘But you cannot reveal to anyone it was I who told you about Dympna, or I shall have that Bradwardine book back. Dympna is not a woman. It is not a man, either. It is a group of people. A guild.’

‘What kind of guild?’ asked Bartholomew, startled. Here was something he had not anticipated. ‘A trade association? A religious group?’

‘Neither, although a religious fraternity would be the closer description. It is just a collection of folk who have sworn to do good works. It always works anonymously, and only it knows the identities of its members. It also-’

This was not the answer Bartholomew was expecting at all. He stared at the friar in astonishment. ‘Good works? But this group is associated with at least two people who are dead – Norbert and Turke – not to mention sinister visitors like Harysone.’

William shrugged. ‘Wicked and dead folk have breathed the name of God, but that does not make Him responsible for their lives or their evil deeds. But to continue what I was saying, no one knows how to contact Dympna, so no one can solicit its help. However, Dympna often knows when folk are in trouble, and sometimes offers financial aid. It is not a gift – the money must be repaid in full at some point in the future – but there is no interest involved.’

‘You mean it is a group of benevolent bankers? It offers loans to people in desperate situations, but it expects to be repaid?’

‘Essentially, although there is no limit on the time, and Dympna asks for its money back only when the crisis is over. No threats are issued. It lent the Franciscan Friary twenty pounds to pay for a new roof three years ago, and was very understanding when the sum was returned only in small amounts. We still owe two pounds. It lent Mayor Horwood money when the Great Bridge threatened to collapse, a potter was helped when he lost his foot to an accident, and wood and food were sent to Dunstan when his brother died. That was unusual.’

‘Beadle Meadowman mentioned the potter,’ said Bartholomew, recalling being told about the man who had refused to give details about Dympna. ‘But why was helping Dunstan unusual?’

‘Because there was no expectation of repayment. Dunstan was ill and old, and the benefaction was a gift, not a loan. Dympna knew it would not be getting its money back there.’

‘Dympna,’ said Bartholomew thoughtfully. ‘Kenyngham said she is a saint associated with the insane.’

‘And the desperate,’ added William. ‘She was famous for charitable acts, especially to lunatics and people without hope. It is a clever name for the guild, is it not?’

‘I suppose so,’ said Bartholomew, who thought it was rather obscure. ‘But why should Norbert receive letters from a charity?’

‘I imagine because he had been lent money and Dympna wanted it back, so it could be passed to more deserving cases. Dympna is generous, but it will not be abused.’

‘So, the messages were demands for repayment,’ surmised Bartholomew. ‘That makes sense. Would Dympna kill him, do you think, if he refused to give the money back?’

‘Dympna is a benevolent institution. It is understanding about the time needed to repay loans, and does not issue unpleasant threats, like moneylenders do. I cannot see it harming Norbert.’

‘What about Turke? Why would he die uttering that name? And why was Philippa so relieved once he had spoken?’

‘You will have to ask her that,’ said William, not liking the fact that Bartholomew was raising questions to which he had no answers, because it made him feel incompetent. ‘Perhaps Turke was a member of Dympna, although he did not seem the benevolent type to me, and I was under the impression Dympna was a local charity. But I may be wrong.’

‘Do you know the identities of anyone who definitely belongs to this guild?’

‘I am aware of one, but, as I said, it is a secret organisation, and only they know all its members. I believe Giles Abigny is involved.’

Bartholomew was thoughtful as he struggled through the drifts between Michaelhouse and Milne Street. It was already night, and the darkness was made blacker and more intense by the great snow-filled clouds that slouched overhead. Bartholomew could barely see where he was putting his feet, and was grateful Stanmore had left an apprentice outside his gates with a lamp to guide him.