A Killer in Winter

‘I do not want them in my College any longer,’ said Langelee decisively. ‘Deynman’s reign as Lord of Misrule is almost over, and even he has grown weary of their uninspired performances. I shall ask them to leave immediately – and damn their written contract.’ He hailed Quenhyth, and asked whether the student knew where the Waits might be.

Quenhyth’s face lit up at the mention of the subject so dear to him. ‘They are in the conclave – which is why I knew it was safe to look through their things.’

‘The conclave?’ asked Langelee suspiciously. ‘I said they were not allowed in the hall or the conclave unless accompanied by a member of the College. Why did you not stop them?’

Quenhyth glowered. ‘They are accompanied by a College member: Kenyngham is with them.’

‘What are they doing?’ asked Bartholomew. He was aware of a sensation of unease developing in the pit of his stomach.

‘They asked whether the conclave was empty, and when he said it was, they told him he and they should go there immediately,’ explained Quenhyth.

‘I do not like the sound of this at all,’ said Bartholomew.

* * *

Bartholomew was not the only one uncomfortable with the notion of Kenyngham in company with a rough group of people like the Chepe Waits; Michael and Langelee were worried, too. Langelee led the way down the slippery lane at a cracking pace, dragging Quenhyth with him. Quenhyth looked pleased with himself, as though he imagined he had finally proved some point and was going to avoid a sojourn in the proctors’ cells after all.

‘It was something about prayers,’ he said breathlessly, trying to be helpful. ‘You know how Kenyngham is always praying? Well, Frith asked if he knew any prayers for musicians, or some such nonsense, and Kenyngham offered to teach him some. He said he knows one by St Cecilia.’

Michael stopped dead in his tracks, grateful for a respite from running through the sludgy snow. ‘Kenyngham is praying with the Waits in the conclave? That sounds innocent enough. I thought they were doing something else.’

‘The Waits do not pray!’ said Quenhyth in a sneering voice. ‘They would not know how.’

‘Perhaps that is why they asked Kenyngham to teach them,’ said Michael cautiously. ‘We may be doing Frith an injustice here.’

‘Then they will have no complaint when we burst into the conclave to see what is happening,’ panted Langelee.

‘Actually, I imagine the reason for escorting Kenyngham to the conclave is more closely related to the presence of the chest of gold under the floorboards than to devotions,’ said Bartholomew quietly, taking Michael’s arm and pulling him on.

‘Chest of gold?’ demanded Langelee. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘It is Kenyngham’s turn to keep Dympna,’ explained Michael. ‘Matt thinks it is under the floorboards in the conclave, which is why they have been loose for the past three weeks. But there is a flaw in his reasoning: how could the Waits know where the chest is hidden? Its whereabouts is a closely guarded secret. Even Tulyet does not know where Kenyngham has put it, and Kenyngham is a man who is stubborn about such things. He would never reveal where Dympna was kept, especially to a band of entertainers with a reputation for light fingers.’

‘Ailred,’ said Bartholomew heavily, as another piece of the mystery fell into place. ‘Ailred knew where it was. Tulyet said the keepers tell one other person where they have hidden the chest, in case there is an accident. Kenyngham would not have told Robin, and we know it was not Tulyet, so he must have informed Ailred. And we believe the Waits are Ailred’s accomplices!’

Michael skidded and almost fell in a particularly slick patch of snow. He slowed down, to try to think clearly. ‘The Waits have been the common factor all along – just as you said. They associated with Gosslinge, Turke, Giles and Philippa in London; they were seen with Norbert on the night of his death; and they spoke to Harysone in the King’s Head. It is obvious now we have the whole picture: Frith was the shadowy “Dympna” who met Norbert in St Michael’s, and who was able to escape without being seen by Godric and his classmates.’

‘The Waits probably killed Gosslinge, too,’ said Bartholomew. ‘Perhaps he went to repay a loan, and they thrust the note into his throat when he told them he did not have their money. That may have been why he wore beggarly clothes – to pretend he was poor.’

‘It is possible,’ said Michael. ‘But we should catch these vagabonds before they make off with the gold and harm Kenyngham into the bargain.’

‘Hurry, then,’ said Bartholomew, breaking into a run again. He reached Michaelhouse and struggled with the gate, while the others fidgeted impatiently. As soon as it was open, he tore across the yard, heading for the hall. He almost collided with William, out in the milder weather for some much-needed exercise.