‘I am sorry, Matt,’ said Michael. ‘I meant to save you some food, but by the time I remembered, it had all been eaten. There was not enough of it, you see, and we all came away half starved.’
‘It does not matter,’ said Bartholomew, although he thought he might change his mind if there was nothing for breakfast.
‘I can still scarcely credit what you told me last night. I know Emma and her family are unpopular, but poison is so indiscriminate – a servant might have sneaked a swig and died for it.’
‘Yes, and I am glad it is the Sheriff’s responsibility to investigate Alice’s death, not yours.’
‘On the contrary,’ said Michael. ‘Emma claims the yellow-headed thief tainted her wine, and Heslarton’s enquiries have shown that the same yellow-headed thief stole Poynton’s pilgrim badge. As I am under obligation to solve the theft, it means I am hunting Alice’s killer, too.’
‘I thought you were dead set against the notion that they are the same man.’
‘I was, but only because petty thieves tend to be cowards. I thought the one you chased would be lurking in the Fens, thanking God for his lucky escape. But now I learn he is a murderer, it puts a different complexion on matters. Poisoners are ruthless and bold, so such a fellow may well have committed one crime, then promptly returned to the town to snatch Poynton’s signaculum.’
‘Drax was missing a signaculum, too,’ Bartholomew reminded him. ‘The one he wore in his hat.’
Michael rubbed his chin. ‘Then our killer had a busy day. He burgled Emma’s house and left wolfsbane, was chased by you to the Griffin Inn, slipped back into the town to stab Drax and steal his token, then rushed to the Carmelite Friary for Poynton’s badge, and finally returned to Michaelhouse to arrange for Drax’s body to be left behind Yffi’s tiles.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Bartholomew. ‘Although there was more time between these events than you are acknowledging. However, it does look as though all these crimes were committed by one culprit. Do not tell Emma you are looking into the matter, though. It will raise her expectations, and she does not handle disappointment very well.’
‘No,’ agreed Michael. ‘She and Odelina both – they are too used to having their own way. I pity the man Odelina marries, because no matter how noble a fellow he is, the reality will fall short of her romantic ideals and she will grow to hate him. I am glad my habit puts me out of her reach.’
‘You think she might have made a play for you, had you been available?’ asked Bartholomew, amused as always by the monk’s perception of himself as a svelte Adonis.
‘Of course,’ replied Michael, without the flicker of a smile. ‘Women find me irresistible, as I have told you before, especially the ones with a penchant for romantic ballads. Like the heroes of their stories, I combine dashing good looks with integrity and courage.’
‘I see,’ said Bartholomew. Then some of Yffi’s scaffolding gave an ominous creak, and he turned to more realistic matters. ‘I wish Michaelhouse had not accepted charity from a woman who skates so close to the edge of the law. Moreover, I did not like Gyseburne’s contention that Emma might dispatch Meryfeld if he does not cure her.’
‘Meryfeld knows the risks in treating a woman with her reputation – he is not stupid. But if I am to meddle in her affairs, I shall need help. I know you are busy with teaching and patients, but…’
‘I will do what I can,’ promised Bartholomew. ‘And I have been thinking about the yellow-headed thief, too. Emma’s house is stuffed full of valuables, yet he chose to take a small box – one she claims contains sentimental keepsakes from her dead husband. But why would a thief target that? I suspect the contents of this chest are more significant than she is letting on.’
‘Possibly,’ acknowledged Michael. ‘But a short while later, he stole a pilgrim badge, so maybe he is just an opportunist. Or perhaps his main objective was to leave the poison, and he snatched the box to lull her into thinking that his motive was theft, not something more sinister.’
Bartholomew supposed they would have to ask him when he was caught. He nodded to where the workmen were trooping in through Michaelhouse’s front gate, Blaston in the lead, cheerful and eager as usual, and Yffi and his apprentices slouching unenthusiastically at his heels.
‘You said yesterday that you thought Yffi had not been entirely honest with us about Drax. Should we interview him again now?’
‘We should. And we can ask why he failed to appear for work yesterday, too.’
‘Drax was cold when we found him,’ mused Bartholomew. ‘So I think we can safely say he was killed not long after dawn. Ergo, we need to know where our suspects were then, rather than later.’
‘Yes and no, Matt. We have two crimes here: Drax murdered, and Drax brought to Michaelhouse. Drax may have died early, but I suspect he was dumped later – probably when Yffi was praising Yolande’s talents. So I want to know where our suspects were on both occasions.’
Yffi reeked of ale. He was also unsteady on his feet and his eyes were glazed in a way that said he had spent the previous night in the tavern and was still not quite sober. Bartholomew did not like the notion of him clambering around on the roof. He had a family, and although the physician had no great liking for the fellow, he did not want a wife and children left destitute.
‘Actually, we are going to lay off the roof for a while,’ said Yffi, when Bartholomew voiced his concerns. ‘We plan to mend the ground-floor windows for the next few days.’
Michael’s eyes narrowed. ‘You mean you intend to leave the roof exposed to the elements?’
Yffi shrugged. ‘It will not rain, and I feel like working on solid ground for a bit.’
‘This is not a good idea,’ argued Michael. ‘It may be fine today, but weather can change. And I dislike that sheet billowing above my head when I am trying to sleep. What if it blows off?’
‘Then one of my boys will nail it back on again.’
‘He will come in the middle of the night, will he? Or am I expected to sleep under the stars until morning? Or, more likely, under scudding rain clouds?’
‘That is not my problem. If you do not like the way I work, tell Emma de Colvyll.’
‘Oh, I shall,’ said Michael icily. ‘But I am not here for a debate – I want information. Tell me what happened on Monday, when we found Drax.’
‘Again?’ groaned Yffi, rolling his eyes. His apprentices did the same, although Blaston was more respectful. ‘How many more times must I tell you that we heard and saw nothing? If you do not believe me, then climb up the scaffolding yourself. The yard cannot be seen from the roof, so a whole army of killers could have shoved corpses behind stacks of tiles, and we would have been none the wiser.’
‘It is true, Brother,’ added Peterkin, seeing his master’s insolence was doing nothing to help. ‘I wish we did have some clues to share with you, but we do not.’
‘What were you doing yesterday?’ demanded Michael.
Yffi blinked. ‘Yesterday? Why do you want to know that?’
‘Because I am eager to learn why you failed to appear for work,’ snapped Michael.
‘We went to church for the Purification,’ replied Yffi with mock piety. ‘And before that, we were working elsewhere. We have commissions other than in this place, you know.’
‘Only because you fail to finish what you start,’ muttered Blaston, regarding him with dislike.