The Chancellor's Secret (Chronicles of Matthew Bartholomew) by Susanna Gregory

Author:Susanna Gregory [Gregory, Susanna]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Little, Brown Book Group
Published: 2021-08-05T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 11

Bartholomew did not want to visit Clare Hall and ask questions about where Gille might have gone, lest he ran into Donwich who was sure to be hostile, so he dragged his feet all along Milne Street. As he passed Edith’s house, she hurried out to take his hand and kiss it.

‘Thank you for saving Philip yesterday,’ she said, tears in her eyes. ‘He says he would have drowned if you had not raced to the rescue.’

Bartholomew had hardly raced, and was uncomfortable with her gratitude. He tried to resist when she drew him inside her house, but she was insistent. Once through the door, he breathed in deeply, savouring the comfortingly familiar scents of baking cakes, herbs and the cloth in the warehouses behind the house. It reminded him of his happy childhood, when Edith had been more mother than sister, and he had not been obliged to dabble in the murky business of murder.

She led him to the solar, where he was pleased to see Matilde, although he was less delighted to note that Lucy and Chaumbre were there, too. The women were sitting at the table, and Lucy explained that they were discussing a new dress for Edith. Chaumbre looked on indulgently, while Matilde’s eyes twinkled with humour at the seriousness with which her friend was taking the subject.

‘But Edith has several dresses already,’ said Bartholomew, bemused. ‘Why would she need another?’

‘To wear to our wedding, of course,’ explained Matilde gravely, although he could see she itched to laugh. ‘Obviously, none of us want to clash.’

‘No,’ agreed Lucy fervently. ‘So this is important.’

Bartholomew glanced at Chaumbre, who lounged in a cushion-loaded chair, being fussed over by servants. He saw the retainers were genuinely fond of him, perhaps because they knew who had stepped in to save them when Edith’s son had sold the roof from over their heads.

‘I shall never forget what you did for me yesterday, Matt,’ the dyer said, coming to clasp Bartholomew’s hand, although the physician managed to snatch it back before he could follow Edith’s example and kiss it. ‘Thank God Shardelowe is rebuilding the bridge, because I shall never set foot in a boat again.’

‘Good,’ said Edith, squeezing his arm affectionately. ‘I could not bear to lose you.’

At that moment, there was a tap on the back door, and a maid came to say it was a carter wanting payment for bringing a load of alum.

‘Where is my purse?’ asked Chaumbre, patting around his belt before giving a grimace of annoyance. ‘Damn, I keep forgetting! It is at the bottom of the river, along with everything else I collected from my Girton hoard. Do you have a few shillings I can borrow, Matt?’

Bartholomew had the money from the anonymous benefactor, but he could hardly part with that, as it was not his to lend. Fortunately, Matilde was able to oblige.

‘I will give it back on Friday,’ promised Chaumbre, beaming at her. ‘The monks at Ely have promised to pay me for thirty ells of cloth then.

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