Death of a Scholar

‘There is no evidence to accuse him,’ said Bartholomew stubbornly.

‘Actually, there is a great deal,’ countered Michael. His voice became urgent as a crash from the High Street indicated that time was running out. ‘If you two have any love for this place, you will confess to your misdeeds before this mob destroys it. An apology might avert a disaster, although it will have to be a remarkably abject one, or-’

‘What misdeeds?’ interrupted Potmoor indignantly. ‘I have just told you that I have not committed any since God showed me His face.’

‘You and Illesy ordered my Junior Proctor shot-’

‘What?’ cried Illesy, shocked. ‘Why would we do such a thing?’

‘Because he aimed to control you, and instigated measures to do it. You disapproved.’

‘Well, yes, I did,’ conceded Illesy. ‘But I am lawyer enough to circumvent whatever he had put in place. I kept a violent crim- Potmoor free for twenty years. I am good at legal loopholes.’

‘Then there was Elvesmere.’ Michael spoke more quickly when the mob reached the gates and began to pound on them. The frail barrier wobbled. ‘Who died here the evening Potmoor visited, although Potmoor lied about it until we produced witnesses.’

Potmoor shrugged. ‘It was none of your business, and I was only here briefly anyway — Illesy took my donation of ten marks, and saw me out. However, I did not kill Elvesmere. Why would I? I barely knew the man.’

‘And I did not do it, either,’ said Illesy. ‘Do you hear me, Bon? I can see you shooting me nasty glances. I did not like Elvesmere, but he was a gifted teacher, and like any responsible Head of House, I am able to set the good of my College above personal preferences.’

‘And Ratclyf?’ asked Michael.

‘He was nervous and uneasy after Elvesmere died,’ replied Illesy. ‘And it stressed his weak heart, no matter what you say about blue lips and poison.’

‘I miss Elvesmere.’ Bon’s voice was accusing, and it was clear that he was not convinced by the explanations. Bartholomew was beginning to be, though, and a quick glance told him that so was Michael. ‘He was my closest friend.’

‘Do not say we conspired to poison Hemmysby and Knyt either,’ Illesy went on. ‘Hemmysby was a nobody, not worth the bother, and we liked the way Knyt ran the Guild.’

‘Moreover, Olivia wanted her baby to carry his name, not mine.’ Potmoor shrugged and looked away. ‘She is right. Hugo suffers cruelly from his kinship with me, and my unborn child deserves better, much as it pains me to say it.’

‘But you mentioned professional killers and spillages of blood,’ pressed Michael, looking from one to the other sceptically. ‘You were overheard in All Saints churchyard.’

Potmoor and Illesy exchanged a mystified glance, then Potmoor released a bark of laughter. ‘We were talking about the pig we slaughtered for today’s feast — John Winwick likes pork. It was nothing to do with dispatching people. We met secretly, so that no one would guess the depth of my involvement with Winwick Hall.’

‘We should have hired a butcher to deal with the pig,’ added Illesy, ‘but I wanted to save money, so Nerli did it. Unfortunately, his inexperience resulted in a terrible mess…’

‘Then what about the St Clement’s fire?’ pressed Michael, but the conviction had gone from his voice and he sounded defeated. ‘Heyford was vocal against your College…’

‘Terribly,’ agreed Illesy. ‘And it was gratifying to see his domain in flames. But arson is not in our interests. Donations were given for its repair that might have come to us.’

‘But you were angry with him for his slanderous sermons. And after the fire, he annoyed you with his tale about stealing from the royal coffers.’

‘Of course I was annoyed,’ said Illesy irritably. ‘It was low to gossip about another man’s youthful indiscretions. However, he will not do it again. He will be “offered” a new parish today — in the Fens, where his poisonous sermons can do no harm. Effective immediately.’

‘Offered by whom?’ asked Bartholomew, thinking it was hardly fair that Heyford should be banished, as the tale about Illesy’s dishonesty was apparently true.

‘John Winwick, who is friends with the Bishop. But it proves my innocence — I would not have bothered to find Heyford a new home if I intended to solve the problem with murder.’

‘Is this your writing?’ Michael picked up the accounts book from the table. Illesy nodded, and the monk sighed as he turned to Bartholomew. ‘It is a different hand from the blackmail notes, and Potmoor is illiterate. They are not the extortionists. Uyten misled us, and so did Richard.’

‘Richard Stanmore?’ asked Illesy, looking from one to the other. ‘I would love to snag him as a benefactor. He wants to be a Fellow, so we shall charge him handsomely for the privilege.’

‘Damn!’ murmured Michael, when Illesy and Potmoor went to look out of the window. ‘They are not our culprits and we have wasted valuable time proving it. Now it is too late to avert trouble.’

A thundering crash as the barricade toppled suggested that he was right.