He regarded her uncertainly, not at all sure that she did.
While Bartholomew tried to distract her with some coloured ribbons being sold by a chapman, Edith began a sweeping search of the Market Square to see whether she could locate a suitable partner there and then. He saw her eyes linger briefly on the substantial figure of Adela Tangmer, the daughter of an immensely wealthy vintner, and felt his spirits flag. Adela’s consuming passion was horses, and Bartholomew, who knew little more about them other than that they had four legs and a tail, suspected he would be a bitter disappointment to her. Even discussing the price of fish held more appeal to him than endless monologues about fetlocks and foaling and the merits of deep chests.
But, with relief, he recalled that Edith did not like Adela Tangmer, and even the prospect of seeing her brother happily married would not induce her to recommend Adela to him. Edith considered Adela overbearing, and disliked her mannish ways. However, Adela had a half-sister who was very different, and Edith had extolled the virtues of Joan Tangmer on a number of occasions.
He was relieved when Edith’s gaze moved on. To his horror, though, he saw her look rather keenly at the willowy form of old Mistress Mortimer, the long since widowed mother of the town’s spice merchant, who was easily old enough to be Bartholomew’s grandmother. He saw Edith give an almost imperceptible shake of her head, although he could tell that Mistress Mortimer had by no means been permanently discounted as a prospective sister-in-law. Edith then began to assess the three young step-daughters of Mayor Horwoode, the oldest of whom was barely past puberty.
‘No,’ said Bartholomew firmly, as Edith opened her mouth to speak.
‘Hello, Matthew,’ came a loud, braying voice behind them that made them both start. It was Adela Tangmer. ‘And Edith, too. What brings you from the country to the town? Rat poison?’
‘I beg your pardon?’ asked Edith suspiciously. She was not the only one to be nonplussed: Bartholomew also had no idea what Adela was talking about.
‘Rat poison,’ repeated Adela. She put her hands on her hips and regarded Edith and Bartholomew askance. ‘Do not tell me that you did not know the Franciscan friars always sell their famous rat poison on the last Thursday of the month? I thought the sale of one of the most vital commodities known to man was an event of national significance!’
‘I do not think about rats very often,’ replied Edith archly. ‘But my husband usually lays in a store of the Franciscans’ poison, and I leave such matters to him.’
‘I would never trust a man with something so important,’ declared Adela. ‘If I left the purchase of rat poison to my father, we would be overrun and eaten alive in a week! And, of course, I have the nags to think of – they do not appreciate rats in their hay at all.’ She gave them a grin full of big yellow incisors.
‘What a handsome dress,’ said Edith, looking down at the unattractive brown garment that fitted Adela’s heavy body like a sack around corn. ‘It suits you very well.’
Bartholomew held his breath, certain that Adela would know she was being insulted. Adela, however, took Edith’s words at face value.
‘Well, thank you. It is a little faded, but it is one of my favourites. It is excellent for riding, because the grease in it means the rain runs off instead of soaking through, and it is much more comfortable than the tight garments that are so fashionable these days. Do you not agree, Matthew?’
‘It has been some time since I went riding in a dress,’ said Bartholomew, ‘so I am not in a position to say.’
Adela roared with laughter and gave him a hefty slap on the shoulders that made his eyes water. ‘I heard your husband bought that new filly from Mayor Horwoode,’ she said to Edith conversationally. ‘She will be a good investment for him – she is a sweet-tempered beast.’
‘Speaking of sweet tempers,’ said Edith, ‘Matt was just saying that he felt the men at the University should see more of the town’s women.’
‘I was not,’ said Bartholomew, startled. ‘I–’
‘It is a good idea,’ continued Edith, cutting across him as though he had not spoken. ‘It would make them all less aggressive, and they would have a more rational view of life. Him included.’
‘Good breeder,’ said Adela.
Bartholomew and Edith gazed at her uncomprehendingly.
‘The filly,’ said Adela. ‘She will be a good breeder. I can always tell, you know. It is all to do with the shape of the flanks.’
‘Will you and your sister Joan be going to watch the mystery plays outside St Mary’s Guildhall next week?’ asked Edith, giving Bartholomew a none too subtle dig in the ribs, prompting him, he presumed, to display some kind of interest in accompanying Joan.
‘Lord, no!’ said Adela, hands on hips. ‘I have a foal due soon – an unusual time of the year, but there it is. No predicting nature, eh, Matthew?’
‘But Joan …’ began Edith.
‘Joan is betrothed to Stephen Morice, so I imagine he will take her,’ said Adela carelessly. ‘He is a wealthy man and a burgess, too. It is a good match, and it is about time she stopped mourning for the husband she lost to the plague.’
Edith shot Bartholomew a withering look that implied the impending marriage was his fault for not acting sooner.
‘You will miss her when she goes to live with Morice,’ said Bartholomew, who knew that Adela, Joan and their father Henry Tangmer all shared a house on Bridge Street.
‘More than you can possibly imagine,’ said Adela fervently. ‘My father has been urging us to marry for years, and now she is betrothed, I will have to bear the brunt of his complaints alone. But I suppose that is the way of families. Does Edith nag you about your reluctance to select a spouse, Matthew?’
‘She does,’ agreed Bartholomew.
‘I do not,’ said Edith, at the same time.
Adela looked from one to the other in amusement. ‘Actually, I am pleased to have run into you, Matthew,’ she went on cheerfully. ‘Do you have any tried and tested remedies for ending unwanted pregnancies?’
Once again, Bartholomew and Edith gazed at her speechlessly. Her voice had been loud, and one or two people had overheard. It was hardly a matter for bellowing across the Market Square, and abortion was not looked upon kindly by the authorities. If Bartholomew was caught dispensing that sort of treatment, losing his licence would be the least of his worries.
‘It is not for me,’ Adela bawled, giving her braying laugh when she saw what they were thinking. ‘One of my old nags is pregnant, and I do not think she will survive bearing another foal. I am fond of her, and do not want her to die.’
‘Sorry,’ said Bartholomew, keenly aware that people were still looking at them. ‘I have no idea what would end a pregnancy in a horse.’
‘Just tell me what you recommend for people, then,’ pressed Adela, undeterred. ‘I often use human remedies on my horses – and sometimes they even work. Perhaps I could give you some of my horse cures, and you could adapt them for use on your patients. That would be jolly.’
‘Not for my patients,’ said Bartholomew, edging away.
‘Do not be so narrow-minded,’ Adela admonished him. ‘But you can always let me know if you change your mind. You know where I live. Goodbye.’
She strode away, an eccentric figure in her old-fashioned wimple and unflattering dress. The handsome blue riding cloak and well-made leather shoes were the only indication that she was a woman of some wealth. When she was out of earshot, Bartholomew started to laugh.
‘Not her,’ said Edith, laughing with him. ‘I do not want a sister-in-law who will raise that sort of topic at the dinner table. Now let me see.’ She began to scan again.
‘I must go,’ said Bartholomew quickly. ‘My students …’