Free Murder by the Book by Susanna Gregory Page A

in Cambridge, where every other man you meet can write, and I shall have no trouble finding replacements. But I liked Adam and the London brothers.’
    ‘We shall all miss them,’ added Ruth in a small voice. ‘Philip and John were so …’ She trailed off, unable to speak.
    ‘Calm,’ supplied Bonabes. ‘When business was frantic, with everyone screaming at us for completed exemplars, they soothed hot tempers with quiet words.’ He shot Weasenham a pointed glance. ‘And they were always quick to point out the undesirability of gossip.’
    ‘They were sanctimonious in that respect,’ nodded Weasenham. ‘And I am not a gossip. I just like to share what I know with other people.’
    ‘You gossiped to Browne about the Carmelites buying land from the University,’ said Michael.
    ‘I never did,’ declared Weasenham, although his eyes were furtive, while Ruth and Bonabes exchanged a pained glance that made it clear the stationer was lying.
    ‘What is wrong with you?’ Michael was exasperated and angry. ‘You know how irate our scholars get over anything to do with the Common Library.’
    ‘That is hardly my fault,’ said Weasenham defensively. ‘And I had the tale on good authority, anyway – Tynkell came to my shop this morning, and I heard him tell Sawtre that Newe Inn’s garden will be worth a lot of money one day, because it is strategically sited near the town centre.’
    Bartholomew regarded him askance. ‘That is hardly the same as Tynkell saying he will sell it to the Carmelites.’
    ‘Of course he will sell it to the Carmelites,’ said Weasenham irritably. ‘They want it, and will pay above the odds to get it. Of course the University will trade with them. It is a matter of logic.’
    ‘It is an erroneous assumption that caused a quarrel,’ said Michael sternly.
    Weasenham’s eyes brightened. ‘Really? Was there any violence? But of course there was, and I am not surprised. The Batayl men are fierce and aggressive, while that Browne is a nasty—’
    ‘There was no violence,’ interrupted Bartholomew hastily, appalled by the way Michael’s words were being twisted.
    Ruth took Weasenham’s hand. ‘Please, husband. The Carmelites are good men. They do not deserve to be set at odds with Batayl.’
    ‘They are good men,’ admitted Weasenham. ‘Although I cannot say I like Riborowe and Jorz. Whenever they come to my shop, I am always under the impression that they are spying.’
    ‘Spying?’ asked Michael warily. ‘On what?’
    ‘On our paper-making experiments,’ explained Bonabes. ‘They run a scriptorium, so any advances in the manufacture of writing materials is of interest to them.’
    ‘Of course, spying will do them no good now the London brothers have gone,’ said Weasenham gloomily. ‘They were the ones who enjoyed meddling with dangerous substances, and the rest of us do not really know what we are doing. Perhaps we had better give up now that they are no longer here to guide us.’
    ‘No,’ said Bonabes. There was a catch in his voice. ‘They worked hard on this, and succeeding meant a lot to them. So I shall continue their endeavours, in my own time, if necessary. And when I learn how to do it, I shall name the paper-making process after them.’
    Weasenham’s sly features softened. ‘There is no need to use your own time,’ he said, his voice uncharacteristically gruff. ‘You are right: they did work hard to succeed,and it would be a pity to let their labours go to waste. We shall all help you finish what they started.’
    Bonabes turned away at his master’s unexpected and uncharacteristic kindness, and Ruth began to cry again. Bartholomew and Michael left Weasenham trying ineptly to comfort them.
    They had not taken many steps towards Michaelhouse when they were intercepted by Meadowman, Michael’s favourite beadle, who had come to say that a quarrel had broken out between Bene’t College and Essex Hostel, and the Senior Proctor’s presence was needed to