Free Death by Disputation (A Francis Bacon Mystery Book 2) by Anna Castle

senior Fellows want to settle up, especially first Mondays. I’ll have three or four of ‘em lining up out there.” He jerked his chin at the tall table. “Always in a hurry and a few shillings short. Especially Mr. Barrow, with his crowd. Half of ‘em scholarship boys, each one a different account. And always a little behind, between you and me. Then there’s Mr. Jenney.” He broke off with a scowl.
    “He was here?”
    The butler rolled his eyes. “He’s here every Monday, first through last, badgering me over every jot and tittle. If you’re asking if I noticed when Diligence took away that jug, I did not. I had Mr. Jenney standing right where you are now, pestering me about a so-called missing payment, when I can’t very well write down what hasn’t been sent, now can I?”
    Tom shook his head. Any one of the senior Fellows could have meddled with that jug while the butler’s attention was occupied. He’d probably learned all he could here. He drained his cup and shifted his weight to signal his intent to take his leave.
    The butler didn’t notice. He was warming to his theme. “Then, mind you, on top of all the usual first Monday bustle, here comes the headmaster himself, breezing past the rest as if they were ghosts.” The butler shot Tom a sly grin. “Bet you can’t you guess what he was after.”
    Tom shrugged. “I can’t imagine.”
    “Blanchet and dried safflowers. I ask you! Does this look like the kitchen?”
    “What’s blanchet?”
    “The finest of fine white flour. We don’t have much call for it here.”
    What could Dr. Eggerley want with flour and herbs? It was an oddity, and Bacon had taught him to pay special attention to such things. “Why would he come himself? Why wouldn’t he send his wife?”
    “ Send? Mistress Superbous, the high-handed Queen of Corpus Christi College? Nobody sends her! She comes sailing in here every Monday morning, skirts as wide as that passage, pushing Fellows out of her path. She comes in and tells me — me — to make certain we’ve stocked wine enough for her table. She expected me to drop everything and run down to the wine cellar to make sure her precious rundlets of Rhenish were stored properly. On a Monday morning! As if I didn’t have sixteen balls in the air already.” He glowered at Tom as if he were the one who had ordered the cursed Rhenish and cast it carelessly into the cellar. “Not to mention that they’re not supposed to use college stores in the master’s lodge.” He jabbed his finger at Tom for emphasis. “That’s why they put in their own cellar in the first place. She’s supposed to buy her own. Treats the college like her private estate, she does.”
    Tom had evidently struck a very sore nerve. He wished he hadn’t finished his beer.
    “Headmasters with wives,” the butler rattled on, scowling darkly. “A college is no place for a woman. The queen don’t like it, and neither do I. No good can come of it, no good at all.”
     
    ***
     
    Tom enjoyed having a woman in the college, though he wasn’t fool enough to say it. The butler held traditional views about celibate scholars, hardly surprising for a man in his trade.
    He returned to his rooms. The study chamber was empty except for Diligence sitting at his desk, writing in the small cloth-bound book he treated as a great secret. A diary, most likely. All the godly folk kept them. Tom pretended not to know about it.
    “What ho, Dilly!” Tom grinned as he walked to his own desk. He sat on his stool and starting flipping through his commonplace book, pretending to be reviewing something while watching Diligence out of the corner of his eye. After a minute or two, the boy closed his book. Tom was prepared for the stealthy glance that came next and carefully kept his eyes on his own desk. He counted to thirty and then yawned and stretched noisily. He stood up and ambled over to lean against the wall by Dilly’s desk.
    “How’re you feeling, Diligence?”
    The boy