Death of a Scholar (6 page)

‘I cannot find the Stanton Hutch,’ he said, perturbed. ‘You asked me to collect it from the cellar and put it in the conclave, ready for your meeting. But it is not there.’

Langelee turned to William and Thelnetham. ‘Have either of you taken it?’

Both Fellows shook their heads. ‘However, I can tell you that it contains fifty marks and five pence,’ said William.

‘Fifty marks and
nine
pence,’ corrected Thelnetham crisply.

‘More,’ gulped Langelee, speaking in a low voice so that the students would not hear. ‘A
lot
more. A couple of weeks ago, I discovered that rats had attacked the box where we keep the College’s valuables. I put them in the Stanton Hutch instead, as it is thicker and I thought they would be safer. If the chest has gone, then it means the College is penniless. Literally!’

It did not take Michaelhouse’s agitated Master and Fellows long to determine that the heavy box containing the money, books and jewels of the Stanton Hutch, along with virtually every other item of value the College owned, was not on the premises. After a brief and very panicky search they met in the cellar beneath the kitchen, where the hutches were stored.

‘But it cannot have gone!’ breathed Langelee, white-faced with horror. ‘Everything is in it, including all the fees I have collected for the coming term.’

‘I hope you did not put the deeds for our various properties in it,’ said Michael worriedly. ‘Without them, we cannot prove ownership.’

‘Of course I did! Documents are far more vulnerable to rats than coins, and I aimed to protect them. I repeat:
everything
is in there, even the Stanton Cup.’

There was renewed consternation. The Stanton Cup had been bequeathed by their founder, and was by far their most cherished possession. Silver gilt and studded with precious stones, it was priceless, but although the College was constantly struggling for funds, it would never be sold.

‘Someone will give it back,’ said Hemmysby soothingly. ‘Do not worry.’

‘Give it back?’ spluttered Langelee. ‘What kind of thief returns his spoils? We shall never see it again, and this disaster means we face the biggest crisis in our existence.’

‘It is certainly the biggest crisis in mine,’ gulped Thelnetham. ‘I left a pledge in the Stanton Hutch – a bestiary with a gold-leaf cover. My Prior General lent it to me, and I was going to redeem it this week, because he wants it back. What shall I say to him? He will skin me alive!’

‘You borrowed the money to buy yourself a pair of red shoes,’ said William with gleeful spite. ‘So it serves you right.’

‘What shall we do?’ asked Suttone, his shocked voice cutting through Thelnetham’s waspish retort. ‘How will we buy food, fuel and teaching supplies? Or pay the servants?’

‘Easily,’ replied Hemmysby. ‘We shall forfeit our stipends.’

Bartholomew was appalled. He had no other income, given that most of his patients could not afford to pay him, and while he was not concerned for himself, it would mean an end to free medicine for a sizeable proportion of the town’s poor. He had thought his troubles on this front were over when he had been left some money by his brother-in-law, but it had been needed to repair the wall roof after a violent storm, leaving him as impecunious as over.

‘That is very kind,’ said Langelee wretchedly. ‘But our stipends have gone, too. We have five marks due in tithes from our church in Cheadle, along with fees from those students who have not yet arrived. And that is all. We shall have nothing more until Christmas. Nothing!’

There was a dismayed silence.

‘Then I had better see about catching the thief,’ said Michael eventually.

‘How?’ asked Langelee in despair. ‘Nearly every College and decent home in Cambridge has been burgled over the last two weeks, and you have told me countless times that the thief leaves no clues. This is just one in a long chain of crimes.’

‘Potmoor,’ said Thelnetham, shooting Bartholomew a disagreeable glance. ‘We all know he is the culprit. You must arrest him at once, Michael.’

‘I
have
arrested him,’ said the monk crossly. ‘But with no actual proof that he is guilty, I was forced to let him go again.’

‘But Potmoor is a wealthy man,’ said Bartholomew doubtfully. ‘I do not see him demeaning himself by clambering through windows in the dead of night.’

‘Well, he does,’ retorted Michael. ‘He is always braying that he likes to hone the expertise he acquired as a novice felon. It is a point of honour to him that he can still burgle a house with all the skill of Lucifer. And if you do not believe me, ask him. He will not deny it.’

‘It is true, Matt,’ said Hemmysby. ‘He claims he would never ask his henchmen to do anything he cannot manage himself, and he is reputed to be one of the most able housebreakers the shire has ever seen.’

‘And his henchmen are nearly as talented,’ added Langelee glumly. ‘Even if he is innocent, the chances are that one of them is responsible – with or without his blessing.’

Michael took a deep breath. ‘So let us see what we know about the crime he committed against us. Who was down here last?’

‘Me,’ replied Langelee. ‘I collected the fees from Bartholomew’s new medics after supper last night, and I came to put them in what I thought was a safe place. The hutch was here, whole and intact. And before you ask, yes I
was
careful to lock up again afterwards.’

‘He was,’ interjected Cynric. ‘I came down here with him, to hold the lamp.’

‘Did anyone see or hear anything unusual after that time?’ asked Michael.

Everyone shook their heads, and Langelee closed his eyes in despair. ‘So it is no different from all the other burglaries – executed with a ruthlessly brilliant efficiency that shows the perpetrator to be a felon of some distinction.’

‘Potmoor,’ put in Thelnetham a second time. ‘And we all know it.’

‘We shall have to keep this quiet,’ said Suttone worriedly. ‘If our students think we cannot supply what they have paid for, they will demand a refund so they can go elsewhere. When we fail to oblige, we will lose our charter. This
must
stay between us.’

‘How?’ asked Bartholomew. ‘One of them might have seen something that will help us identify the culprit, but to find out, we shall have to ask questions. We cannot do that without revealing what has happened.’

‘True,’ agreed Michael. ‘So I suggest a compromise: we admit that the hutch has gone, but the loss of all the College’s money and deeds will remain our secret.’

‘How long can we last without funds?’ asked Hemmysby. ‘I know we have enough fuel for a few weeks, because I bought some in August, but what about food? If we have any more nuts, we should sell them. They will fetch a good price at the market, and they are a silly extravagance anyway – I cannot abide the things.’

‘We had the last of them today,’ replied William, who was a regular visitor to the kitchen and its stores. ‘But we have peas and beans for a month. The hens will stop laying soon, so I suggest we eat them and—’

‘
No!
’ said Clippesby fiercely. He had one of the birds in his arms, and he hugged her protectively. ‘There is nothing wrong with living on vegetables and grain for a while.’

‘I am not giving up meat,’ stated Michael. ‘I would rather go naked.’

‘Let us hope it does not come to that,’ said Thelnetham, shuddering at the prospect. ‘However,
I
can dine in the Gilbertine Priory, so I am not concerned about food. What does worry me is the loss of the deeds that prove we own our churches and manors.’

‘I shall forge replacements,’ determined Michael, ignoring the blatant selfishness of Thelnetham’s remark. ‘And we will just have to brazen it out if anyone challenges them.’

‘Fair enough,’ said William. ‘No one will question our probity.’

‘Someone might question yours,’ muttered Thelnetham, eyeing the grimy Franciscan in distaste. ‘Then we shall all be exposed as liars.’

‘You have not seen the high quality of Michael’s forgeries,’ said Hemmysby with a smile, speaking before William could respond. ‘They will convince even the most distrustful of sceptics.’

‘I blame Winwick Hall, personally,’ said William. ‘The town hates the idea of another College, while our fellow scholars are suspicious of a place that has been founded with such unseemly haste. Someone has burgled us in revenge.’

‘That makes no sense,’ said Thelnetham impatiently. ‘Why pick on us?’

‘Because the Senior Proctor lives here,’ explained William. ‘And he runs the University. They think
he
brought Winwick into being, even though we know he is innocent.’

‘It is possible,’ sighed Hemmysby soberly. ‘Winwick Hall has caused a lot of resentment. Perhaps someone
has
decided to punish us for Michael’s role in bringing it into being.’

Thoroughly rattled, Langelee organised a more systematic search of the College and its grounds to ensure that a student had not hidden the chest as a prank, leaving Michael to question the other two hutch managers. The monk spoke to Thelnetham and William in the cellar, while Bartholomew prowled with a lamp, looking for clues and listening with half an ear to the discussion.

‘When did you last see the Stanton Hutch?’ Michael asked them.

‘In July,’ replied William promptly. ‘We have had no requests for loans since then, so there has been no need to look at it.’

‘I saw it last week.’ Thelnetham regarded William coolly. ‘
I
take my responsibilities seriously, even if you do not. I check regularly to ensure it is safe.’

‘I did not think it was necessary,’ countered William. ‘We never had trouble with thieves before
you
arrived. Yet you must get the money from somewhere to pay for your fripperies…’

‘I inspected the chest six days ago – Tuesday,’ said Thelnetham to Michael, not gracing the accusation with a response. ‘I did not open it, but it was in its usual spot. However, it occurred to me then that it was vulnerable – Langelee keeps the key to the cellar in his quarters, which he often leaves unattended. It would not be difficult for someone to walk in and take it.’

‘We have a good porter,’ objected William. ‘He repels anyone he does not know.’

‘That assumes the thief came from outside,’ Thelnetham pointed out. ‘But if that were true, how did he know where to find the key? And the door
was
opened with a key, because there would be scratch marks on the lock if it had been forced or picked, and there are none.’

Bartholomew stopped prowling to stare at him. ‘I hope you are not suggesting that a member of College is responsible.’

‘It is an unpleasant notion, I know,’ replied the Gilbertine. ‘But the reality is that the culprit knew exactly how to get in.’

‘No,’ said Bartholomew firmly. ‘No one here would do such a thing.’

Michael asked a few more questions, then nodded to say that William and Thelnetham could go. They bickered as they went, their haranguing voices echoing as they climbed the stairs.

‘Actually, Thelnetham makes a good point,’ said Michael when it was quiet again. ‘No stranger would be aware of the fact that Langelee keeps the cellar key in his room.’

‘Thieves can be cunning and determined,’ argued Bartholomew. ‘One might have been planning this invasion for weeks, gathering information and watching what we do. Moreover, our porter is effective when he is at the gate, but what happens when he does his rounds?’

‘True,’ acknowledged Michael. ‘And I am much happier with the notion of the culprit being a stranger than a viper from within. However, we must remember that a lot of new students have enrolled this term, and we do not know them yet.’

‘Their seniors will keep them in order,’ said Bartholomew firmly.

Michael nodded, but did not look convinced. ‘I know you are busy, but I shall need your help with this. No, do not argue! How will you physick your paupers if you have no stipend to spend on medicine? Your best hope is to help me catch the culprit before he squanders it all. Then you might still be paid.’

Bartholomew gave his reluctant assent, wondering whether Lawrence would agree to treat more of the town’s needy until the situation was resolved. And the lectures he had to prepare for the coming term and his daily visits to Edith? He supposed he would just have to forgo more sleep.

‘Thank you,’ said Michael. ‘We shall start by speaking to our colleagues, to see if they have remembered anything new now that they have had time to reflect.’

Clippesby, Suttone and Hemmysby were in the conclave. The Dominican still held the hen, a feisty bird who chased any cat or dog that dared trespass in her domain, and who ruled the other fowl with a beak of iron. She was gentle with Clippesby, though, and her eyes were closed as she dozed on his lap.

‘I noticed nothing odd.’ Hemmysby ran a hand through his bushy hair. ‘I forgot we owned the thing, to tell you the truth. I do not manage a hutch, so I never think about them.’

‘I saw Thelnetham go down to the cellar last Tuesday,’ supplied Suttone. His plump face was troubled. ‘I hope
he
did not take it, aiming to have William blamed. I would not put it past him. I wish they would end this silly feud. Such rancour is hardly seemly for men in holy orders.’

‘Are you
sure
none of you saw anything unusual?’ pressed Michael desperately. ‘Clippesby? What about your animal friends?’

The Dominican had a habit of sitting quietly to commune with nature, which meant he often saw things not intended for his eyes. His observations had helped with enquiries in the past, although the intelligence he provided invariably required careful decoding.

‘No,’ he replied, uncharacteristically terse. ‘Or I would have said the first time you asked.’

Although Michael and Bartholomew spent the rest of the day asking questions of Fellows, students and servants, they learned nothing useful. Everyone was shocked by the news, especially when they heard that the Stanton Cup had gone, too, and Bartholomew did not relish the prospect of eventually confessing that the College’s entire fortune had disappeared into the bargain.

At sunset, he went to visit Edith. She lived in a pleasant manor in the nearby village of Trumpington, but since her bereavement, she had preferred to stay at the handsome, stone-built house on Milne Street, from which the family cloth business was run. Bartholomew was glad, feeling its lively bustle was better for her than the quiet serenity of the countryside.