Free Mystery in the Minster by Susanna Gregory Page B

exchanged a pained glance. Rather stiffly, the Master growled something about questioning fletchers about the arrow, and Cynric offered to go with him. Equally cool, Michael said that he, Radeford and Bartholomew should visit the minster library before any more of the day was lost.
    ‘All of us must look for the codicil,’ said Michael warningly, seeing Bartholomew brighten at the prospect of a few hours among medical texts. ‘We cannot afford time for pleasure until we have it. Once we do, you may read your ghoulish books to your heart’s content. But not before.’
    Bartholomew opened his mouth to point out that he was supposed to be resting, but the monk was already striding away. Bartholomew trailed after him resentfully, then stopped when he saw Fournays by the precinct gate. The surgeon had finished settling Sir William, and was on his way to St Leonard’s Hospital, where a resident had an unusual kind of flux. He invited Bartholomew to accompany him.
    ‘Oh, you must go,’ said Michael acidly, not breaking step. ‘Radeford and I do not mind labouring while you enjoy yourself.’
    He was startled when Bartholomew took him at his word, and abandoned his duties without a backward glance. The physician experienced a momentary twinge of guilt, but reminded himself that he had been dragged the length of the country with promises of great libraries and hospitals, so he was within his rights to take advantage of opportunities to inspect them.
    However, any remorse he might have harboured was forgotten when he stepped into St Leonard’s. The first thing he noticed was its spotless floors, and the second the scent of herbs known for their cleansing properties. The laundry far exceeded his expectations, and bedding, clothes and bandages were washed regularly and thoroughly. One of the resident physicians even confided that he frequently rinsed his hands, something unheard of in Cambridge, where Bartholomew’s insistence on it was regarded as an irrational but largely harmless eccentricity that came from his studying medicine under an Arab tutor.
    For several hours Bartholomew was shown every corner of the foundation, after which Fournays was summoned to the scene of an accident. Bartholomew went with him, and the resulting surgery took some time, so it was dark by the time he returned to the abbey, wet and cold, but delighted to have learned a new technique for treating head wounds. York, he decided, was going to be far more interesting than Langelee had promised – and the Master had painted an absurdly rosy picture of the place.
    Bartholomew arrived at the hospitium to find that Langelee had forgiven Radeford for refusing to be corrupted, although his red, sweaty face said it had been done with copious quantities of wine. Michael’s rosy cheeks indicated that the Master was not the only one who had been drinking. Radeford was writing at a table, squinting in the unsteady light of a guttering candle, and Cynric was still out.
    ‘The minster library was locked, and no one knew where the Dean had put the key,’ said Michael. ‘So Radeford and I spent the afternoon talking to the canons instead. They all agree that Zouche did intend Michaelhouse to haveHuntington, and he talked about it often in the weeks before his death. They are sure a codicil to his will exists.’
    ‘Our situation is looking more promising,’ nodded Radeford. ‘Afterwards, we met Lady Helen, and she invited us for wine and cakes. Isabella was with her.’ His expression was oddly dreamy.
    ‘I think I might make a play for her,’ slurred Langelee. ‘Helen, I mean. Isabella is too skinny, and I like a woman with a bit of meat on her bones. What do you think?’
    ‘Isabella is not skinny,’ objected Radeford. ‘She has a perfect figure.’
    ‘I imagine Lady Helen has better taste than to fall for you, Master,’ said Michael rather coolly. ‘You are not much of a catch.’
    ‘And you are?’ asked Langelee archly, snapping his fingers at