The Hand of Justice

‘Even more reason to go to this one, then,’ argued Bartholomew. ‘You did not know Bess well, so her passing will not be overly distressing to you. It will inure you to the many such occasions you will attend in the future, if you become a physician.’

‘But I do not intend to lose as many patients as you do,’ said Quenhyth, somewhat rudely. ‘I intend to be good.’ He glowered as Redmeadow released a sharp giggle of embarrassment.

‘Then perhaps this will be your last,’ said Bartholomew, unmoved. ‘But you will both be there.’

‘Very well,’ conceded Quenhyth reluctantly. ‘I shall see what I can do.’

‘Me, too,’ added Redmeadow with a long-suffering sigh. ‘Especially if you can explain to us why she died so suddenly.’

‘Poison,’ said Bartholomew bluntly, deciding to give Redmeadow his answers, since he was so intent on having them. He saw the shocked expression on their faces. ‘I suspect someone added henbane to the Water of Snails she swallowed.’

‘Why would she take Water of Snails?’ asked Redmeadow. ‘Did someone give it to her? Or did she buy it herself? I suppose you can ask Lavenham, but what apothecary would admit to selling a potion that had killed a customer? It would be devastating for his business.’

‘Or he might just lie,’ said Quenhyth.

Bartholomew thought his students right to be suspicious of any answers given by Lavenham, and knew he would be wise to regard anything the apothecary or his wife said with a healthy scepticism.

Michael banged his hand on the windowsill in Bartholomew’s room to vent his frustration later that morning. ‘We can arrest no one for these murders, because we have no solid evidence, and I do not know what to do next. I went to visit Bernarde at the King’s Mill earlier, but it was closed.’

‘Closed?’ asked Bartholomew. ‘During the day, when they have grain from King’s Hall to grind?’ He frowned thoughtfully. ‘There is a connection for you, Brother. Just when business was looking bad for the Millers’ Society — with the Mortimers diverting water and bodies in the millstones — they secure a lucrative contract from no less a place than King’s Hall.’

‘And King’s Hall boasts the patronage of the King. And the King enjoys a share in the profits from the King’s Mill. It is all rather incestuous, is it not?’

Bartholomew nodded. ‘I cannot help but wonder how far your grandmother is involved. She has an eye for the King’s interests, and I would not put it past her to tell the Warden of King’s Hall to send grain to Bernarde in his time of need.’

‘My grandmother would not demean herself by meddling with matters so far beneath her,’ said Michael loftily. ‘But I have the feeling her investigation is proceeding a lot faster than ours, and I do not want her to think I am an incompetent in my own domain. However, I can tell you that Bernarde has closed his mill because he is at a meeting of the King’s Commissioners in Lavenham’s shop. We should pay them a visit, to see what transpired at this momentous event.’

He threw Bartholomew his cloak and set off. On their way they saw Stanmore, who was standing outside Trinity Hall with Cheney and Mayor Morice. Their voices were lowered and they were evidently talking about matters they considered of some importance, if the solemn, intense expressions on their faces were anything to go by. Morice was uneasy, and kept glancing this way and that, as though anticipating some kind of attack. Bartholomew wondered whether he had cheated anyone recently and was afraid of their revenge.

He was about to walk past them when he glimpsed a black tabard out of the corner of his eye, and saw Wynewyk ducking down Water Lane. It looked as if he had been travelling along Milne Street to return to Michaelhouse, but had decided to take a diversion in order to avoid his colleagues. There was a flash of blue, too, and Bartholomew recognised the distinct colouring of a cloak from King’s Hall. He did not need to see its owner to know it belonged to Paxtone, and that the physician was as keen as Wynewyk not to be seen.

‘Matt,’ called Stanmore, when he spotted Bartholomew. The physician noticed that his brother-in-law was still taking no chances with his safety, and the tough-looking mercenaries loitered nearby, armed to the teeth. ‘We were talking about the Mortimers — trying to devise a plan to have Edward banished from Cambridge. It is all very well for the King to pardon him, but His Majesty does not have to live with his bad behaviour day in and day out.’

‘But that would still leave us with Thorpe,’ said Bartholomew. ‘And he was once your apprentice and a far greater danger to you than Edward.’

‘But Edward is damaging the town’s commercial activities,’ growled Cheney. ‘He has already destroyed Deschalers’s business, and he has only been in charge a few days! The fall of that empire affects us all — the sale of spices, flour and cloth, not to mention our investments and speculations. The whole affair is vexing, and I have been obliged to take two doses of strong medicine to calm my aching head.’