said in disgust. ‘Longton and his cronies are drunk, even though it is not yet noon. And they wonder why John Gisbyrn despises them!’
‘John Gisbyrn is a very comely man,’ sighed Alice wistfully. ‘Especially in his ceremonial red leggings. It is a pity that Longton’s meddling means we shall not see him in them very often.’
‘He was elected as our bailiff last year,’ explained Helen, seeing Bartholomew’s bemusement at the remark. ‘But Longton refuses to let him take the post. They have been at war ever since.’
‘Can Longton do that?’ asked Bartholomew. ‘If Gisbyrn was legally elected …’ He trailed off, realising he actually had no idea how such matters worked.
‘He said John had stolen money from the city,’ she replied. ‘It was nonsense, of course. Longton just wants one of hisown cronies in the post – one of his debauched landowners, who inherited their wealth and have never done a day’s labour in their lives. By contrast, John works hard for
his
money, and so do his fellow merchants.’
‘Their quarrel means the rest of us have a choice,’ said Isabella with weary resignation. ‘To support dour merchants who are overly interested in gold, or licentious rakehells who exist only to drink themselves senseless.’
‘Not an easy decision,’ said Langelee sympathetically. ‘And not one I was obliged to make when I lived here, thank God. Their squabbles were more private then.’
‘Did you come to York to assess the quality of the medical services we provide?’ asked Fournays of Bartholomew. ‘If so, I shall show you our hospitals. We have several.’
‘No, he came because of Huntington,’ explained Alice. Bartholomew wished she had kept quiet, because he would have liked to accept Fournays’s offer. ‘As you know, the vicars have claimed it.’
‘So they did,’ acknowledged Fournays. ‘The very same day that Cotyngham left the place and arrived in York.’
‘But it is not what our uncle intended,’ said Isabella. ‘He wanted Michaelhouse to inherit.’
‘Will you serve as a witness to strengthen our case?’ asked Langelee. ‘You said in Abbot Multone’s solar that you heard him express a desire to favour our College. I did, too, but Dalfeld will not accept my testimony – he considers it tainted.’
‘It will be my pleasure,’ replied Isabella with a smile. ‘Helen heard him, too – not on his deathbed, like you, but before, when he was still fit enough to manage his affairs. There will be a codicil. It is just a case of locating it.’
‘How can you be so certain?’ asked Bartholomew, hoping she was right.
‘Because our uncle was an efficient administrator, whowould not have overlooked such an important detail,’ replied Isabella with quiet conviction. ‘Dalfeld was probably lying when he said one had not been drafted. He is not an honest man, and rarely tells the truth.’
‘Isabella is right,’ said Helen. ‘Our uncle would not have neglected to produce a codicil, and I would like to see Huntington go where he intended. You must let us know if there is anything we can do to help. Besides, the vicars-choral are already wealthy: they do not need another church.’
The crowd was still squabbling when the stretcher arrived. Longton shouldered Bartholomew and Fournays away, and in a belated attempt at concern, insisted on carrying his brother himself. The moment he had gone, voices became calmer and people began to drift away, sensing the excitement was over. Frost and his companions also left, although the red-headed henchman lingered long enough to secure a private word with Lady Helen. When she gave him a distracted nod, he blushed and grinned inanely.
‘I had better accompany Sir William, too,’ said Fournays. ‘He is my patient, after all.’
‘Is he?’ asked Bartholomew uncomfortably. ‘Lord! I am sorry. I hope you do not—’
‘You saved his life,’ interrupted Fournays, smiling. ‘There is nothing to be sorry about. I
‘John Gisbyrn is a very comely man,’ sighed Alice wistfully. ‘Especially in his ceremonial red leggings. It is a pity that Longton’s meddling means we shall not see him in them very often.’
‘He was elected as our bailiff last year,’ explained Helen, seeing Bartholomew’s bemusement at the remark. ‘But Longton refuses to let him take the post. They have been at war ever since.’
‘Can Longton do that?’ asked Bartholomew. ‘If Gisbyrn was legally elected …’ He trailed off, realising he actually had no idea how such matters worked.
‘He said John had stolen money from the city,’ she replied. ‘It was nonsense, of course. Longton just wants one of hisown cronies in the post – one of his debauched landowners, who inherited their wealth and have never done a day’s labour in their lives. By contrast, John works hard for
his
money, and so do his fellow merchants.’
‘Their quarrel means the rest of us have a choice,’ said Isabella with weary resignation. ‘To support dour merchants who are overly interested in gold, or licentious rakehells who exist only to drink themselves senseless.’
‘Not an easy decision,’ said Langelee sympathetically. ‘And not one I was obliged to make when I lived here, thank God. Their squabbles were more private then.’
‘Did you come to York to assess the quality of the medical services we provide?’ asked Fournays of Bartholomew. ‘If so, I shall show you our hospitals. We have several.’
‘No, he came because of Huntington,’ explained Alice. Bartholomew wished she had kept quiet, because he would have liked to accept Fournays’s offer. ‘As you know, the vicars have claimed it.’
‘So they did,’ acknowledged Fournays. ‘The very same day that Cotyngham left the place and arrived in York.’
‘But it is not what our uncle intended,’ said Isabella. ‘He wanted Michaelhouse to inherit.’
‘Will you serve as a witness to strengthen our case?’ asked Langelee. ‘You said in Abbot Multone’s solar that you heard him express a desire to favour our College. I did, too, but Dalfeld will not accept my testimony – he considers it tainted.’
‘It will be my pleasure,’ replied Isabella with a smile. ‘Helen heard him, too – not on his deathbed, like you, but before, when he was still fit enough to manage his affairs. There will be a codicil. It is just a case of locating it.’
‘How can you be so certain?’ asked Bartholomew, hoping she was right.
‘Because our uncle was an efficient administrator, whowould not have overlooked such an important detail,’ replied Isabella with quiet conviction. ‘Dalfeld was probably lying when he said one had not been drafted. He is not an honest man, and rarely tells the truth.’
‘Isabella is right,’ said Helen. ‘Our uncle would not have neglected to produce a codicil, and I would like to see Huntington go where he intended. You must let us know if there is anything we can do to help. Besides, the vicars-choral are already wealthy: they do not need another church.’
The crowd was still squabbling when the stretcher arrived. Longton shouldered Bartholomew and Fournays away, and in a belated attempt at concern, insisted on carrying his brother himself. The moment he had gone, voices became calmer and people began to drift away, sensing the excitement was over. Frost and his companions also left, although the red-headed henchman lingered long enough to secure a private word with Lady Helen. When she gave him a distracted nod, he blushed and grinned inanely.
‘I had better accompany Sir William, too,’ said Fournays. ‘He is my patient, after all.’
‘Is he?’ asked Bartholomew uncomfortably. ‘Lord! I am sorry. I hope you do not—’
‘You saved his life,’ interrupted Fournays, smiling. ‘There is nothing to be sorry about. I
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