‘Brother Michael cannot leave Lincoln until he has solved this case, and I think Lady Christiana might distract him. She is lonely and sad, and he is a kind man who finds it hard to refuse a damsel in distress. If you do not help him, he may be here until summer.’
‘He will not leave at all, if we disappear and he feels obliged to locate our bodies. Or if he accuses Miller of murdering us and ends up choking on poisoned wine himself.’
‘Miller will not harm you if you visit his house with a few friends,’ said Cynric, thinking fast. ‘Ask Suttone and de Wetherset to go with you. He can hardly dispatch three scholars with no one noticing. And if he does, I can always tell Brother Michael where to start hunting for corpses.’
‘That is reassuring, Cynric. And what shall I tell Suttone and de Wetherset when they ask why we are all going to the home of the man who may have tried to kill me last night?’
‘You will think of something,’ said Cynric comfortably. ‘You physicians are very resourceful.’
Bartholomew was not an easy liar, and could think of no reason at all why de Wetherset and Suttone should accompany him to Miller’s house. Eventually, it occurred to him that he could offer Miller a free horoscope, as an act of goodwill to a man who was generous to Lincoln’s poor, and claim he needed de Wetherset and Suttone to help him with the calculations. It was a ruse he imagined de Wetherset would see through in an instant, but as it happened, he was not obliged to use it: when he went to find them, he discovered they had gone out. Cynric was disgusted, and grumbled until Bartholomew suggested visiting the cathedral and talking to the Vicars Choral about Tetford instead. He also wanted to return the scroll he had borrowed from the library.
They walked through Wigford and crossed the High Bridge, struggling against a fierce wind that swept into their faces. People clutched billowing clothes, and hats were blown away, forcing owners to scamper after them. One was Dame Eleanor, who was obliged to trot most of the way down the hill before she managed to retrieve her hood, then was faced with the prospect of climbing up it again.’
‘I thought you were with Christiana and Michael in the hospital,’ said Bartholomew uneasily.
Surprise winked in her hazel eyes. ‘She told me you would be with them! Clever Christiana! I think she has taken a liking to Brother Michael.’
‘And he has one for her,’ said Bartholomew, trying not to sound concerned.
‘Do not worry,’ she said, patting his hand. ‘They know what they are doing, and it gives me pleasure to see colour in her cheeks at last. She smiles too seldom these days.’
‘She is unhappy? I thought she liked her life here.’
‘A convent is no place for a spirited woman. And she is worried that the King will foist an unlovable husband on her. There is only so long His Majesty will leave a valuable heiress unclaimed. Look at what happened to her mother.’ ‘She was betrothed to Kelby.’
‘He was more influential six years ago than he is now, and he inveigled himself an interview with the King. Then he said that if he could marry Christiana, he would give His Majesty half the dowry. Christiana did not love Kelby, and her daughter saw how miserable the situation made her.’
‘She carried his child,’ said Bartholomew, recalling that Kelby had staked his claim early.
Dame Eleanor’s expression was pained. ‘Actually, she let him take her, because she was already pregnant with the child of the man she really loved. She endured Kelby to protect the fellow.’
‘She had a lover?’ he blurted, startled.
Her expression was bleak. ‘I am a nun, who has sworn vows of chastity, but I could not find it in my heart to condemn her for daring to claim a little happiness, and neither should you.’
Bartholomew wondered who it was, but it was hardly a question he could ask, and he had no reason for wanting to know, other than curiosity. ‘Your Christiana says she will take the veil if the King forces her into a match she does not want,’ he said instead.
‘She might, but only as a last resort. There are other options yet.’
Bartholomew regarded her uneasily. ‘She is not thinking that Michael might… ?’
‘There is a difference between distilling pleasure from a man’s company and falling in love. I do not see your fat friend as her beau idéal, and I am sure his honour will remain intact.’
‘Let us hope hers does, too,’ muttered Bartholomew disloyally.
Eleanor smiled as someone approached, pulling a cap from his fair curls. ‘Good morning, Hugh.’
Hugh effected a courtly bow, then spoiled the effect with a cheeky grin. ‘I am going to collect devil’s cakes for Bishop Gynewell,’ he chirped.
‘Devil’s cakes?’ echoed Cynric, shooting Bartholomew a pointed look.
‘Monday is devil’s cake day at the palace,’ explained Hugh, as though it was the most natural thing in the world. ‘Can I fetch some for you, My Lady?’
Eleanor shook her head. ‘They are far too spicy for my old teeth. Put your cap on, Hugh. There is snow in the air, and you might take a chill.’
