He turned to her in concern. 'What is wrong? Do you have a fever? Are you in trouble?'
She rubbed a dirty hand over her face and tears began to roll. He saw a half-empty bottle on a table in the middle of the room, and poured some of its contents into a drinking vessel that had not been washed for days. He handed it to her and then made her sit on one of the stools. He sat opposite, and patted her hand comfortingly, feeling ineffectual.
Eventually she looked up at him, her eyes swollen and red. 'I am sorry,' she sniffed.
'What is wrong?' Bartholomew said helplessly. 'Please tell me. I may be able to help.'
She shook her head. 'You are a kind man, Doctor,' she said, 'but there is nothing you can do to help me.
I am doomed.'
Bartholomew was nonplussed. 'Doomed? But why?'
Sybilla sniffed loudly and scrubbed her nose across her arm. "I saw him,' she said, her eyes full of terror, and began to cry again. Bartholomew waited until the new wave of sobbing had subsided, and made her drink more of the cheap wine from the clay goblet.
'Tell me what happened,' he said. 'And then we will decide what to do.'
She looked at him, her eyes burning with a sudden hope in her white face. Just then, the door swung open and a woman entered. Bartholomew rose politely to his feet. She stopped dead as she saw him, and looked from him to Sybilla, her face breaking into a wide smile.
'Oh, Sybilla!' she said. 'I am glad you have decided to go back to work. I told you it would do you good. You look better already. I will leave you in peace.'
She turned to leave. Bartholomew was half embarrassed and half amused at her assumption.
'You misunderstand, Mistress,' he said. 'I am only a physician.'
The woman beamed at Sybilla. 'Better than that stonemason you had! You are doing well.'
Sybilla rose unsteadily and grasped the woman's arm.
'He is not a customer,' she said.
The other's attitude changed. 'Well, what do you want then?' she demanded of Bartholomew. 'Can you not see she is unwell?'
'Yes, I can,' said Bartholomew. 'That is why I am trying to help.'
'Help?' asked the woman suspiciously. 'How do you think you can help?'
'I cannot know that,' said Bartholomew, his patience fraying slightly, 'until I know what ails her. She was about to tell me when you came in.'
'Have you told him?' she asked Sybilla. Sybilla shook her head. 'Then do not. How do you know this is not him, or someone sent by him to find out what you know?'
Sybilla shrank back against the wall, and more tears began to roll down her face.
'If I were "him",' said Bartholomew testily, 'you have just told me that Sybilla knows something, and you have put her life in danger.'
The woman looked at him aghast. 'God's blood,' she swore in horror. She turned her gaze on Sybilla. 'What have I done?' She pulled herself together suddenly, seized a rusty knife from the table, and brandished it at Bartholomew. 'Who are you, and what do you want from us?' she demanded, steel in her voice.
Bartholomew calmly took the knife from her hands, and placed it back on the table. The woman glanced at Sybilla, stricken.
'I am no one who means Sybilla any harm,' he said calmly. 'My name is Matthew Bartholomew, and I came because I saw her running from St Botolph's churchyard the day that Isobel died.'
The woman gazed at him. You are the University physician?' she said.
'One of them,' he said, sitting down on the stool and gesturing for the women also to sit. Sybilla sank down gratefully, but the other woman was wary. Bartholomew studied her. She was tall, graceful, and wore a simple dress of blue that accentuated her slender figure. But it was her voice that most intrigued Bartholomew; she did not have a local accent, but one that bespoke of some education. Her mannerisms, too, suggested that she had not learned them in the town's brothels, as Sybilla had done.
Her eyes met his even gaze, and she stared back.
'Agatha told me about you,' she said.
Bartholomew was not surprised. Agatha had so many relatives and friends in the town that he could go nowhere where she had no links.
'My name is Matilde,' said the woman.
Bartholomew smiled. So that explained her accent.
'Agatha has told me about you, too,' he said.
Matilde inclined her head, accepting without false modesty that she might be an appropriate topic of conversation in the town. Agatha had told him about a year ago that one of her innumerable cousins had taken a lodger who was said to have been a lady-in-waiting to the wife of the Earl of Oxford. Rumour had it that this woman had been caught once too often entertaining men of the court in her private quarters, and had been dismissed. She had come to Cambridge to ply her trade in peace and was known locally as 'Lady Matilde' for her gentle manners and refined speech.
'Matilde is my friend,'Sybilla blurted out.'She has been bringing me food since…' She trailed off miserably and gazed unseeingly at her bitten fingernails.
'Since Isobel was murdered,' finished Matilde, looking coolly at Bartholomew.
'Tell me what you saw,' said Bartholomew to Sybilla.
'Do you know the man who killed Isobel?'
Sybilla shook her head. 'I did not recognise him, but I saw him,' she whispered.
Matilde seized Bartholomew's wrist with surprising strength. 'Now you know, you carry a secret that could bring about her death,' she said, her eyes holding his.
Bartholomew gazed back, his black eyes as unwavering as her blue ones. 'I know that,' he said, firmly pulling his wrist away. 'But so might anyone else who saw her run screaming from Isobel's body on Monday.'
Matilde winced, and looked at Sybilla, who hung her head. "I was so frightened, I do not remember what I did,' she said, beginning to weep again. Matilde took matters in hand.
'You must pull yourself together,' she said firmly to Svbilla. 'You told me no one knew that you had seen Isobel's killer. Now it looks as though half the town might know. I think it would be best if you told the doctor what you saw. He might be able to use his influence to catch this evil monster who is killing our sisters, since the Sheriff is unwilling to act.'
Sybilla took a great shuddering breath and controlled herself with difficulty. 'I was just finishing with one of the baker's apprentices in St Botolph's churchyard, when we heard the University Proctor and his patrol going past.
The apprentice was able to slip off the other way, but I had to hide until they had gone. The Proctor's men usually leave us alone unless we are with scholars, but it is always best to avoid being seen when you can. It looks bad if you are seen about too often after the curfew.
'I decided to stay where I was, hidden in the bushes.
The Proctor and his beadles were discussing that fight between two hostels last month, arguing about whether it could have been stopped if they had arrived earlier. I must have fallen asleep. When I woke, the Proctor and his men had gone. I was about to climb out of the bush when I heard a noise. At first I thought it was just a rat or a bird, but then I saw him.'
She stopped and turned great fearful eyes on Bartholomew. 'Go on,' prompted Matilde.
Sybilla swallowed loudly, wiped her nose on the hem of her dress and continued. 'He was skulking about in the bushes by the road. Then I saw Isobel coming back from one of her regulars. She kept looking behind her, and I saw that horrible black cat that the Austin Canons feed. It was following her, and she kept looking round as if she could hear it. If that vile cat had not been distracting her and making her look behind, she might have seen the monster in the bushes waiting for her. I wanted to call out, but I was too frightened.'
She stopped again and Matilde took one of her hands to encourage her to finish. 'He leapt at her, and I saw the flash of his knife as he cut her throat. I think I must have fainted,' she said, and was silent for a moment. 'When I came round, Isobel was lying on the ground and the man had gone. I stayed in the bush for ages, trying to bring myself to go to her. When I did finally, she was covered in blood, and I ran. I do not remember going home. I only remember Matilde talking to me later.'