not write’. ‘Very well. What is it?’
Julianna regarded him appraisingly for a moment. ‘You must promise not to tell.’
Bartholomew strongly suspected he was about to be drawn into something of which he would disapprove, or, worse still, which might lead him into trouble.
‘I hope this is nothing illegal …’
Julianna dismissed his objections with a wave of her hand. ‘Do not be ridiculous! What do you think I am?’ Bartholomew refrained from answering and Julianna continued. ‘You must tell Ralph to be prepared to admit me to his chambers at midnight tonight. He should have a priest at the ready and we will exchange our marriage vows in St Michael’s Church.’
Bartholomew regarded her dubiously and wondered, not for the first time, whether she was totally in control of her faculties. ‘How do you plan to get past the porter?’
She gave a snort of disdain. ‘Your porter sleeps all night. That will be no problem.’
‘Not since he was attacked,’ said Bartholomew. ‘Although I am sure his vigilance will not last for much longer.’
‘Damn!’ said Julianna, chewing her lip. She brightened suddenly. ‘No matter. I will meet Ralph at the church instead. That will be better anyway – it is not so far to walk.’
‘And where is Langelee supposed to find a priest who will marry you in a dark church in the depths of the night?’
Julianna shrugged. ‘Ralph says Michaelhouse is full of priests.’
‘Not ones who will agree to perform that sort of ceremony,’ said Bartholomew. ‘And what do you plan to do afterwards? Go back to his chamber and ask his room-mate John Runham to turn a blind eye while you consummate your union?’
‘Ralph is to have horses ready and we will flee into the night.’ She twirled around happily, her eyes glittering with excitement.
‘Flee where?’ persisted Bartholomew. ‘And what of Langelee’s position as Master of Philosophy? Is he to abandon it?’
Julianna gave another impatient sigh. ‘Of course he is. But that is none of your affair. You owe me a favour and I charge you to deliver this message to him.’
Bartholomew raised his hands. ‘All right, I will tell him of your plan. But have you considered that he might prefer a more conventional form of courtship? I see no reason why your uncle should refuse him permission to marry you now that your betrothal to Edward Mortimer is dissolved.’
Julianna pouted. ‘Uncle does not like Ralph.’ Bartholomew could see why. ‘He would not accept him willingly into our family. And, anyway, I am with child.’
‘Langelee’s child?’ asked Bartholomew tactlessly.
Julianna gave him a nasty look. ‘Of course,’ she said sharply. ‘And I will not be able to conceal it much longer. Look.’
Bartholomew glanced down to where she pulled her loose dress tight around her middle, and saw that she was right. It was fortunate that the novice’s habits at Denny had been loose-fitting, or her aunt might have noticed some weeks before. No wonder Julianna was prepared to go to such desperate lengths to leave Denny and to return to the arms of her paramour. He rubbed a hand through his hair and shrugged yet again.
‘I will pass your message to Langelee, but will return to inform you if he cannot make it at such short notice.’ He could not imagine that Langelee would agree to a midnight flight with Julianna, and did not like to think of her wandering the streets after dark alone – although, he reminded himself, she was more than able to look after herself if there were large stones to hand.
Julianna opened the door and ushered him out into the snow. She stood on the front step, her hands on her hips, and winked at him in a conspiratorial way that made several passers-by nudge each other and point at him. He wondered how she had succeeded in avoiding learning even a modicum of the decorous behaviour usually expected in the female relatives of wealthy merchants. He walked back to Michaelhouse in low spirits, and knocked at the door of the comfortable chamber Langelee shared with the smug Runham.
The philosopher was sitting at a table, scowling in concentration over Aristotle’s
‘What do you want?’ he growled when Bartholomew put his head round the door. ‘I am busy.’
Bartholomew repeated Julianna’s message and watched Langelee’s eyes grow wide in his red face. When Bartholomew had finished, declining to mention Julianna’s advanced pregnancy, Langelee expelled his breath in a whistle and sat down on his bed.
‘She certainly knows her mind,’ he said admiringly. ‘Do you think Brother Michael will do the honours?’
‘You mean to go through with this?’ asked Bartholomew, astounded.
Langelee looked surprised. ‘Well, of course I do! Deschalers will never permit me to marry her otherwise. He thinks I want his money. I would not mind it, actually, and perhaps he will change his mind when presented with a
‘Perhaps he will disown the both of you,’ said Bartholomew. ‘Perhaps he will claim you took Julianna by force and apply to have the marriage annulled.’
‘He will do nothing so petty!’ said Langelee confidently. ‘Now, let me think. I must arrange for horses. Meanwhile, you ask Brother Michael whether he will marry us. He is more likely to agree if you put it to him.’
He bustled out of the room leaving Bartholomew to follow. Speechless, the physician walked into the courtyard, staring at Langelee’s broad back as he strode purposefully across the yard, humming to himself. And then he started to laugh. Michael, emerging from the kitchen after devouring a large plate of honey cakes – originally intended for Alcote who had paid for the ingredients – saw him, and picked his way mincingly across the slippery snow.
‘What were you doing in Langelee’s room? And what is so funny?’
Bartholomew told him, and Michael narrowed his eyes in thought. Bartholomew’s jaw dropped in horror, feeling the humour of the situation evaporating like the Fen mist in the sun.
‘Do not tell me you are going to oblige! This is madness, Brother. Deschalers would never let the matter rest: Julianna is all he has in the way of an heir for his business, and he will not let her go to someone he does not approve of.’
‘This was not your idea?’ asked Michael, surprised. ‘You suggested to Matilde that you would see if you could persuade Julianna to spirit Langelee away so that we could be rid of him. I simply assumed all this was your doing.’
‘It most certainly was not my idea. I want nothing to do with it.’
‘But it might be an excellent opportunity for us to lose Langelee. He can hardly remain a Fellow of Michaelhouse if he has eloped with a merchant’s niece. Fellows are not permitted to marry.’
‘But how can you consider implicating yourself in all this?’ protested Bartholomew. ‘You are always stressing how important it is to maintain good relations with the merchants. Deschalers will be outraged if you marry Julianna to that brute of a man.’
‘We must weigh up the pros and cons,’ said Michael smoothly. ‘And being free of Langelee is a pro not to be lightly dismissed.’ He thought for a moment. ‘I think I will accede to their request. I can always claim later I did not know the arrangement was anything but legitimate.’
‘In the middle of the night? In a dark church?’
Michael rubbed his chin. ‘You have a point. But my grandmother tells me Julianna is pregnant, so I can always claim I thought the secrecy was because of that. Speaking of which, I must tell her about this. It will amuse her no end!’
He strolled away, whistling, leaving Bartholomew speechless for a second time. He determined to put the whole unsavoury business from his mind and went to bed early that night so that Michael might not be tempted to ask him to help. He was overtired, and thoughts of his sister and her continuing distress over Rob Thorpe tumbled through his mind in an uncontrolled fashion. His room was freezing and flakes of snow found their way through the cracks in the window shutters to form damp little piles on the table: he did not know whether to be grateful or irritated that his teeming, unpleasant dreams were so often interrupted because he woke from the cold. When Michael shook his shoulder to wake him for mass early the following morning, he felt exhausted.
