The page was grimy, but so were all the others, and he could not decide whether it had been marked in any particular way. At the bottom was a section about antidotes, describing how to swallow the plant without harm. He knew the claims were false, because gulping down a dose of quicksilver was likely to bring its own set of problems, while milk would have no effect one way or the other. He turned to the entry for mandrake, and read with disbelief that no one would die from taking it, if they first lined their stomachs with a paste of dried earthworms.
‘Found anything interesting?’ Celia’s voice so close behind him made him jump.
‘Not really,’ he replied, turning to face her. ‘Are you interested in herbs?’
‘No, and I cannot read, anyway. John could, though, and he was always pawing through that book, and it made me rather nervous, to tell you the truth. Perhaps he intended to poison me, but God struck him down first.’
‘God did not kill your husband,’ said Bartholomew quietly. ‘Do you have any idea who–’
‘No,’ interrupted Celia curtly. ‘As I told you before, no one would want to kill John. He was not a saint, but he was not a villain, either. He was just a man, with a man’s failings. He was not generous to those who patronised his taverns, but he was honest. And while he drove a hard bargain with the scholars who rent Chestre Hostel, they never had to wait long for repairs.’
‘I have heard you and he quarrelled, and–’
‘Of course we quarrelled: we were married! But you will not understand that, living away from the society of women. You will know nothing of the ups and downs of marital life.’
‘No,’ said Bartholomew sadly. ‘What about his friends? You are close to Odelina, but he–’
‘He was not a man for forming close relationships. You may go now. Thank you for coming.’
It was hardly a profitable interview, and Bartholomew felt as though he had squandered an opportunity as he returned to the College. When Michael arrived, he told him about the encounter, along with Dickon’s claim that the couple had argued. The monk listened thoughtfully.
‘You think one of their spats turned violent, and she stabbed him? And then she carried him to Michaelhouse, although there is no sensible reason for her to do so, and left him behind the tiles?’
‘Well, someone did,’ said Bartholomew tartly. ‘And she was married to Drax, and she frequents the house where Alice was poisoned.’
Michael sighed. ‘True. But your suspicions are not enough to let us arrest her. We need solid evidence. So I suppose I had better visit Drax’s taverns, and ask his patrons what they thought of the pair of them. If I have time, I shall ask for Fen’s alibi for Drax’s murder, too, although I shall be home for a little something to eat by mid-afternoon, naturally.’
‘Naturally,’ said Bartholomew.
Chapter 4
While Michael embarked on his trawl of Drax’s taverns, Bartholomew dedicated himself to teaching. As a result, his pupils found themselves subjected to one of his vigorous questioning sessions, and by the time the bell rang to announce that the next meal was ready, their heads were spinning. Bartholomew was despondent, disappointed by their performance. He ignored both their indignant objections that he had quizzed them on texts they had not yet studied, and their grumbles that he had no right to push them as hard as he pushed himself.
‘Emma de Colvyll sang your praises today,’ said Michael, as they stood at their places at the high table, waiting for Langelee to say grace. ‘You made a friend when you saved Odelina.’
‘I thought you planned to spend your day in alehouses.’
‘I did, but it was tedious and unprofitable, so I visited Emma instead, to see whether I could winkle out more information about this yellow-headed thief.’
‘And did you?’
Michael shook his head. ‘No, although I hope to God we catch him before she does – she will have him torn limb from limb and dumped in the marshes. Heslarton is conducting a thorough and sensible search, which surprises me. I thought him a brainless lout, but he is showing intelligence over this manhunt, and I am afraid he might succeed.’
‘Perhaps the intelligence is Emma’s,’ suggested Bartholomew. ‘He would not be averse to taking instructions from her. They respect each other.’
‘They do. Perhaps Heslarton is a brainless lout, then, although he is by far the most likeable member of that family. Alice was spiteful and cruel, Odelina is a spoiled brat, and Emma … well, the less said about Emma the better.’
‘Do you have any new suspects for poisoning Alice or stabbing Drax?’
‘Yes, unfortunately. There are a lot of people who would like to see Emma’s entire household poisoned, and who are delighted that Drax is dead. These same folk may also be inclined to steal pilgrim badges in the hope that they will save them from Purgatory.’
‘Who are they?’
‘People who object to the ruthless business practices of Drax and Emma. Especially Emma – I have not met anyone yet who likes her. Then there is Edmund House. She bought it from the Gilbertines in a very sly manner, and now she flaunts the incident by letting the place fall into disrepair under their very noses. They must find it galling.’
‘You think the Gilbertines are killers and thieves?’
‘Hush!’ Michael glanced uneasily at Thelnetham, but the canon was talking to Langelee, and had not heard. ‘No, of course not, but the Gilbertines are popular in the town, because they give charity. Perhaps someone has taken offence on their behalf.’
Bartholomew supposed it was possible. ‘Who else?’
‘The pilgrims, especially Fen.’
‘Fen cannot be the culprit, because he did not dash in from the street and grab Poynton’s badge – he was standing next to Poynton at the time. Moreover, he does not have yellow hair.’
Michael ignored him. ‘And do not forget that Prior Etone showed him our College the morning Drax was murdered – Blaston saw them. Doubtless he thought then that Michaelhouse was a good place to dispose of a body.’
Bartholomew saw the monk was not in the mood for a logical discussion, so changed the subject. ‘Did you speak to Emma about Yffi leaving holes in the roof while he fiddles with the windows?’
‘I did, but she said it is not her place to interfere.’ Michael looked disgusted. ‘She interferes when she feels like it, and is a hypocrite. But here is Langelee at last. Good! I am famished.’
Langelee intoned grace, and indicated that the servants were to bring the food. It was uninspiring fare, and although meals at Michaelhouse were supposed to be taken in silence, it was not long before the Fellows – always the worst culprits for breaking this particular rule – began talking.
‘Pea soup again,’ grumbled Michael, digging his horn spoon into the bowl that was set for him and Clippesby to share. ‘And there is no meat in it.’
‘There is bread, though,’ said William, taking the largest piece from the basket that was being passed around. ‘If you soak it in the soup, it becomes soft enough to eat.’
Bartholomew picked listlessly at the unappealing offerings, still full from the handsome breakfast William had provided.
‘I visited Celia today, too,’ Michael was saying to the table in general. ‘She was sorting through her husband’s belongings, making piles for the poor.’
‘That is laudable,’ said Suttone. ‘They need charity in this bitter weather. Of course, Drax only died two days ago, and it seems rather soon to be disposing of his possessions.’
‘Just because she is not drowning in sorrow does not mean she did not care about him,’ said Langelee. ‘She may just be practical. Like me. I would not wallow in grief if any of you were stabbed and left behind a stack of tiles.’