Death of a Scholar

‘Potmoor murdered Felbrigge and Elvesmere for the same reason.’ Marjory cut across him, as was her wont with anyone who tried to argue. ‘It would not surprise me to learn that he disposed of your brother-in-law, too. Of course, while Stanmore always claimed to dislike Potmoor, I happen to know they got on very well together.’

Bartholomew regarded her sharply, wondering if she somehow knew about the discussion he had just had with Edith and Richard. Or perhaps she had put the notion of murder into Edith’s head in the first place. Regardless, there was a sly cant in her eyes that he did not like at all.

‘I hope you are not suggesting that Oswald was a criminal,’ he said coolly.

‘He was too clever to treat with Potmoor publicly, although arrangements were certainly in place behind the scenes,’ she replied artfully. ‘He sold cloth, which he imported via the river that flows through Chesterton — Potmoor’s domain. If you dig deep enough, you will find connections. No wind blew for him, of course, which means he was not a great man.’

‘He was to his family,’ said Bartholomew with quiet dignity. ‘And that is what counts.’

‘Is it indeed?’ asked Marjory archly. She continued her rant. ‘The wind did not blow for Felbrigge and Elvesmere either. But it blew for Knyt, and it will blow again soon.’

‘Who for?’ asked Bartholomew, although his mind was back on her tetter, with which he felt a good deal more comfortable.

‘Many folk,’ she said, with such sober conviction that he looked at her in surprise. ‘Death is in the air. I can feel it and smell it. You must take extra care, Doctor.’

Bartholomew left her house even more unnerved than when he had arrived, although he knew her words were rank superstition and he should pay them no heed. He turned the corner, and then did not know whether to feel pleased or more disquieted still when he bumped into Julitta. She saw where he had been, and smiled sympathetically — he had told her about Matilde, although not the possibility that he might receive an offer of marriage in the future, one that he might well accept. Or would he? When he was with Julitta, he tended to long for a life with her instead.

‘I am going to another Guild meeting,’ she said, after they had exchanged pleasantries. ‘It has been called to announce the death of John Knyt, although the news is already common knowledge.’

‘Who will take his place?’

‘Assistant Secretary de Stannell will serve out the rest of Knyt’s term, and we shall hold an election next Easter. Will plans to stand, and I hope he wins.’

‘You do?’ said Bartholomew. Her eyebrows rose in surprise, and he hastened to explain. ‘The Guild is committed to helping the poor, but Holm has never been very interested in…’

He faltered, aware that defaming her husband was not the best way to keep her good graces. She might have suffered a cruel shock when she discovered Holm’s true nature, but that did not mean she appreciated disloyal remarks about him. It was an attitude Bartholomew failed to understand, but he supposed it could be attributed to her rigidly traditional upbringing. He was just glad her nuptial devotion did not prevent her from pursuing a relationship with him.

‘He knows the Guild’s work is important,’ she said, a little defensively. ‘I have been spending a lot of time on it of late.’

‘Is that why people have said that you are less involved with other charitable concerns?’

She nodded. ‘There is not enough time for it all, so I have decided to concentrate on the Guild for now. We are very busy with arrangements for the beginning of term ceremony.’ Her expression turned rueful. ‘Several scholars have voiced their displeasure at our “meddling”, but it will mark Winwick Hall’s entry into the University — which could not have happened without our money.’

Holm appeared before Bartholomew could respond, annoyed by the sight of his wife and the physician chatting so amiably together in public. ‘It is a pity you let Knyt die, Bartholomew,’ he said coolly. ‘He was a fine man, and will be sorely missed.’

‘You were there first — why did you not save him?’ Bartholomew shot back, then wished he had kept a dignified silence. Why demean himself by sparring?

‘I am sure you both did your best,’ said Julitta soothingly, but Holm was not in the mood to be appeased, and attacked on another front.

‘I met Hugo Potmoor today. He says his father often dreams of Heaven. You have given that scoundrel serious delusions about himself, ones that even his son cannot dispel.’

‘I hardly think that is Matt’s fault,’ objected Julitta. ‘He-’

‘Yes it is. He bears responsibility for all the crimes Potmoor has committed since he was snatched from the grave. And his victims now include us. We were burgled last night.’

‘Are you all right?’ Bartholomew addressed his question to Julitta, far more concerned about her than her dreadful spouse.

She nodded. ‘The thief only got as far as the workshop before we heard him and drove him off. All he got was a few herbs and potions.’