The Mark of a Murderer by Susanna Gregory Read Free Book Online Page A

skills to lay out corpses? We employ pauper women for that sort of thing in
     Oxford.’
    Michael eyed him with distaste. ‘I must remember to thank the good Lord that Cambridge has William Tynkell as its figurehead,
     and not a chancellor like you. I would not give much for its chances during a riot if it had to rely on your tact and diplomacy
     to soothe an enraged mob. Is that why Oxford was aflame in February?’
    Polmorva gave a short bark of laughter. ‘Master Brouweon was in office then, not I – if
I
had been Chancellor, the rabble that attacked us would have been put down with proper force. But do not allow me to detain
     your from your important duties. Come upstairs and see about removing this body. It is a damned nuisance, lying in the way.’
    ‘Tell me about Chesterfelde,’ said Michael, indicating that Polmorva was to precede them up the stairs. He tried to sound
     detached, but did not succeed: Polmorva’s manners had irritated him far too deeply, and his next question came out like an
     accusation. ‘Who killed him?’
    ‘I thought that was why
you
were here. If we knew theidentity of the killer, we would have dealt with the matter ourselves, not invited outsiders to meddle.’
    ‘That is not how things work in this town,’ said Michael coolly. ‘I investigate all suspicious deaths and the perpetrators
     are
always
brought to justice.’ He looked hard at Polmorva, and the unmistakable message was that he hoped the ex-Chancellor would prove
     to be the culprit.
    Merton Hall’s main chamber was a large room with narrow lancet windows set into thick walls, which made it a dark and somewhat
     cheerless space. There was a hearth in the middle, and a door at the far end led to the adjoining solar. The floor was of
     wood, and was badly in need of cleaning, while ancient cobwebs hung thickly from the rafters. Bowls containing herbs had been
     placed on the windowsills, but they had long since finished emitting their sweet scent; they were dry, dusty and mixed with
     dead flies, and should have been changed. In all, the hall looked in desperate need of someone who would care for it.
    ‘Matthew!’ exclaimed an elderly man who sat by the fire. ‘I assumed you had moved away from Cambridge.’
    Smiling with genuine affection, Bartholomew went to greet the man who had taught him the Trivium – grammar, logic and rhetoric
     – so long ago. Duraunt had aged since Bartholomew had left Merton to complete his studies in Paris. His hair was white, and
     there were deep lines in his kindly face. He had taken major orders with the Austin Canons, too, and wore a friar’s habit,
     rather than the traditional Merton tabard Bartholomew recalled. When he clasped his teacher’s hand it felt thin and light-boned,
     although the grip was still firm and warm. His grin was warm, too, and his face lit with joy as Bartholomew sat next to him.
    ‘You did not write as often as you promised,’ Durauntsaid, gently chiding. ‘Nor did you accept my offer of a Fellowship at Merton. What does Cambridge have that we could not provide?’
    ‘My sister,’ replied Bartholomew. ‘She wanted me near her. Besides, I like the Fens. They produce a poisonous miasma that
     is the cause of several interesting agues.’
    Duraunt smothered a fond smile. ‘Well, that is a virtue with which Oxford cannot compete.’ He glanced at Polmorva. ‘I hope
     you two will behave respectfully towards each other, and do not continue that silly feud you began as students. It was a long
     time ago, and I doubt you even recall what started it.’
    ‘I do,’ said Polmorva coldly. ‘It is not something I am likely to forget – or to forgive.’
    ‘You could have asked me about Matt when I came to inspect Okehamptone,’ said Michael, after a short and tense silence; out
     of respect for Duraunt, Bartholomew refrained from responding in kind. ‘You did not mention then that you knew him, and I
     was with you for some time.’
    Duraunt shrugged.