Two Fridays before. That was three days after Philippa had become ill. So Abigny had not been impersonating her at least until then.
'Do you know where he went?' Bartholomew asked.
The tavern maid shook her head. "I ran after him, but he had gone.'
The landlord shouted for her to serve other customers, and she left. Bartholomew thought about what she had told him: Abigny had been in the church at Trumpington terrified of something.
He tried to bring the general conversation round to what Abigny's reasons could be, but the suggestions were so outrageous that he knew no one had any solid facts to add.
Bartholomew and Gray talked with the locals for a while longer, and decided to stay with Edith for the night. Perhaps he would have more luck with his search tomorrow.
Gray was already up and admiring the horses in Stanmore's stable by the time Bartholomew awoke.
He threw open the window-shutters and looked out over the neat vegetable patches to the village church.
He could see the Gilbertine Canon, standing outside the porch talking to the early risers who had been to his morning mass. The weak winter sun was shining, glittering on the frost that lay over everything like a white sheet of gauze. Bartholomew took a deep breath, and the air was clean and fresh. He understood why Stanmore preferred not to live at the house in Milne Street so near the stinking ditches and waterways of Cambridge.
He went to the garderobes and broke the ice on a bowl of water. Shivering and swearing under his breath, he washed and shaved as fast as he could, and borrowed one of Stanmore's fresh shirts from the pile on the shelf in the corner. He went down to the kitchens, where a large fire blazed, and he and Edith sat on stools and discussed Philippa's disappearance. It seemed he could have saved himself a walk, because she had been busy on his behalf, collecting scraps of information from the Trumpington folk.
She, too, had spoken to the tavern girl, and had also questioned the Canon. He had told her that Abigny had frequented the church a great deal following Philippa's arrival. Abigny had seemed restless and agitated, and once the Canon had alarmed him by standing up suddenly from next to the altar where he had been meditating.
Abigny had turned so white that the Canon had been genuinely concerned for his health. The day after, he had disappeared. The Canon had assumed that Abigny had been waiting while Philippa was ill, and as soon as she was well again, he had returned to Michaelhouse.
'So,' said Edith, 'Giles may have been in the house pretending to be Philippa as early as the day her fever broke, since that was when either of them was last seen.
I do not understand why he did not just come here. He has stayed with us before.'
Bartholomew nodded in agreement.
'Of course,' she continued, 'since none of us actually saw Philippa once her fever had gone, there is no reason to assume that she was alone in the room.'
Bartholomew stared at her. 'What do you mean?' he asked.
'Perhaps as soon as Philippa was out of danger from the plague, he climbed up to her window to be with her.
Perhaps there were two people in the room for some of the time, not just one. I thought she had rather a voracious appetite; she always ate everything we left on the trays outside the door, and we began leaving her larger and larger amounts. I thought it was just a reaction to the fever, or even boredom, making her eat so much.
'And you know what that means?' Edith continued, after a pause. 'It means that he probably nursed her himself for a time, before she left and he took her place.
It means that she was not spirited away while she was still weak, but when she was stronger. So she probably went voluntarily.'
Bartholomew was not sure whether this was good or bad. 'But why was she spirited anywhere? Why did she not stay here? Why did Abigny feel obliged to keep up such a pretence? And why did Philippa and Giles not feel that they could trust us enough to tell us what was going on?'
Edith patted his hand. 'These are strange times, Matt,' she said. 'Oswald told me that one of his apprentices hanged himself two days ago, because he had accidentally touched a plague victim. He was so afraid he might catch it, he decided he would rather die by his own hand. Do not question too much. I am sure you will find Philippa eventually. And Giles.'
But even if he did, Bartholomew thought, things would never be the same. If Edith was right, and Philippa had gone from the house willingly, it meant that she had not trusted him enough to tell him her motives. The same was true of Giles.
Edith stood up. "I must do some work,' she said. 'Did you know that we have the children from the village who have been orphaned in our stable loft? It is warm and dry there, and we can make sure they are fed properly. The bigger ones are helping to tend the vegetable plots, and I take care of the little ones here. Labour is becoming scarce, Matt. We will all starve if we do not continue to look after the fields.'
Bartholomew was not surprised at his sister's practicalities, nor of her carefully concealed charity. She would not offend the children's dignity by giving them meals and a place to stay for nothing, but provided them with small duties that would make them feel they were earning their keep.
Stanmore took a small cart into Cambridge so that Bartholomew and Gray would not have to walk. Richard went too, sitting in the back interrogating Gray about life as a student in Cambridge, and making comparisons with his own experiences in Oxford.
Bartholomew alighted at St Botolph's Church to see Colet, while the others went on to Milne Street.
The monks knelt in a line before the altar, although Bartholomew noted that there were fewer than there had been previously. Colet, however, was not there.
Bartholomew went to Rudde's Hostel in search of him, but was told by the porter that he had gone out early that morning, and had not been seen since. Bartholomew's spirits rose a little. Did this mean that Colet had recovered and was visiting patients again?
The porter, seeing the hopeful look on Bartholomew's face, shook his head.
'No. he saddled as ever. He had his hood pulled right over his face, and said he was going out to pick blackberries. At this time of year! He has been saying that every day recently. He will be back later to sit and dribble in the church.'
Bartholomew thanked him, and walked back to Michaelhouse. On the way, he met Master Burwell who asked if there was any news of Abigny. Bartholomew shook his head, and asked whether Giles had seemed afraid.of anything on the last few occasions that Burwell had seen him. Burwell scratched his head.
'Yes. Now that you mention it. The hostel is a noisy place, and he was constantly jumping and looking round.
I just assumed it was fear of the plague. Several of the students are in a similar state, and I have heard Master Colet is far from well in his mind.'
'Was there anything specific?'
Burwell thought again. 'Not that I can put a finger on. He was simply nervous.'
After Bartholomew had enquired after Cedric Stapleton, they parted, and Bartholomew returned to his room. He looked around carefully to see if Abigny had been there, but the minute fragments of rushes that he had secretly placed on Abigny's belongings were still in place. Gray burst in, full of enthusiasm, but he was less so when Bartholomew dispatched him to buy various herbs and potions from the town herb-seller, known locally as 'Jonas the Poisoner' following an incident involving several poorly-labelled bottles some years before.
Bartholomew went to examine his patients in the commoners' dormitory, to find that three students had died in the night. Roger Alyngton was no better, but no worse. That morning, the frail Father Jerome had complained of a fever, and was lying restlessly next to him. Bartholomew wondered whether Jerome would have the strength or the will to fight the sickness.