Michael blanched. ‘I sincerely hope you are wrong! What led you to this conclusion?’
‘Because the theft took place in the Gilbertines’ chapel,’ explained Edith. ‘The only townsfolk present, other than us, were Emma, Gyseburne and Meryfeld. None of them are likely to steal a cloak, so the thief had to have been a member of the University – a student or a cleric.’
‘We said nothing to Prior Leccheworth, of course,’ added Stanmore. ‘We did not want to offend him by denouncing one of his guests as a scoundrel. But it was distressing to fall victim to a crime that took place on holy ground – a betrayal of trust.’
‘Can you remember who else was there?’ asked Michael unhappily.
‘Yes,’ replied Edith. ‘All the Gilbertines and all the Carmelites, the scholars from Chestre … although I cannot imagine why they were invited, because they are a surly crowd.’
‘They were included because the Gilbertines have taken the hostels’ side in the University’s latest quarrel,’ explained Stanmore. ‘And Chestre is very vocal against the Colleges.’
‘Those four pilgrims were present, too,’ Edith went on. She frowned. ‘Of course, they are not members of the University, so perhaps we are wrong to accuse a scholar of the crime…’
‘You mean Fen?’ pounced Michael eagerly. ‘The pardoner?’
Edith nodded. ‘And finally, Thelnetham had invited Ayera. And that was all – there was no one else. But the most important fact is yet to come. Tell them, Oswald.’
‘We saw a man with yellow hair,’ announced Stanmore. ‘We thought nothing of it at the time, but then we heard the description of the villain who robbed Emma, the Mayor, Welfry, Celia Drax, Poynton and God knows who else.’
‘It was definitely a wig,’ added Edith. ‘And we suspect one of the guests shoved it on his head to disguise himself while he stole my badge. He may have pilfered other things, too, then reverted to his normal appearance to shake hands and smile at his hosts as he left with his ill-gotten gains.’
Michael groaned. ‘A scholar stealing signacula and murdering townsfolk! We shall have a riot for certain, and the University is already in turmoil with the hostels at the Colleges’ throats.’
‘We shall say nothing, Brother,’ said Stanmore quietly. ‘You see, we have just been to visit Emma, and we do not want to be responsible for her making war on scholars for stealing her box.’
‘We did not want to go,’ added Edith. ‘But she summoned us, and we did not dare refuse.’
‘Really?’ asked Michael, still dazed from what he had been told. ‘Why?’
‘Because she is powerful,’ explained Stanmore. ‘I am happy to ignore the orders of others I find objectionable, but there is something about her that makes me want to stay on her good side.’
‘Actually, I meant why did she summon you,’ said Michael. ‘You do not need to justify your reluctance to annoy her, because I feel the same way.’
‘She wanted to talk to us about Matt,’ said Edith. ‘Because he saved her granddaughter from poison, and she was eager for his family to know his efforts were appreciated.’
‘I did very little,’ said Bartholomew, startled. ‘Gyseburne and Meryfeld were there, and–’
‘And stood by while you did all the work,’ interrupted Stanmore. ‘We had the tale from her own lips. But this is bad news! It is risky to offend her, but it is equally risky to earn her affection. She intends to dismiss Meryfeld and rehire you, because she thinks you are more likely to cure her.’
‘The only way that will happen is if a tooth is removed,’ said Bartholomew.
‘Do not extract her fangs!’ cried Stanmore in horror. ‘First, tooth-pulling is the domain of surgeons, and you should not perform such lowly tasks. And second, if anything goes wrong, I doubt she will be very forgiving.’
‘But it must come out,’ said Bartholomew, tired of explaining the obvious. ‘It is rotting, which means it will release bad vapours into her blood. I have seen such cases turn fatal.’
Stanmore glanced behind him, to ensure he could not be overheard, then lowered his voice. ‘Would that be such a terrible thing? The woman is evil – I feel it with every bone in my body. Perhaps you should let nature take its course.’
The Blaston home was a chaos of noise when Bartholomew and Michael arrived. At least four children were crying, several were enjoying a game that involved slamming pots against a table, and the rest were engaged in a furious argument about whose turn it was to go for water. It was colder inside the house than out, and there was no evidence that a fire would be lit for dinner. One child was sobbing more from distress than demands for attention, so Bartholomew picked it up.
‘There is something wrong with him,’ said Yolande, watching. Her usually hard face was tender. ‘He will not stop grizzling.’
‘He is hungry,’ said Bartholomew, noting the bloated belly and overly large eyes.
‘Poor mite,’ murmured Michael, not liking the sound of that.
‘But he vomits up the stew I feed him,’ said Yolande in frustration. ‘He will not keep it down.’
‘Because he needs milk sops,’ explained Bartholomew. ‘Valence will bring him some later.’
‘We do not accept charity,’ said Blaston stiffly.
‘It is not charity,’ countered Bartholomew shortly. ‘It is medicine.’
Blaston sat at the table and put his head in his hands. Yolande went to stand next to him, resting her hand on his shoulder. Suddenly, the older children stopped arguing, the middle ones ended their assault on the table, and the babies ceased bawling. The silence was eerie.
‘I do not know how we will survive,’ said the carpenter brokenly. ‘Summer is a long way off still, and work is scarce.’
‘Not for me,’ said Yolande comfortingly. ‘I can get plenty of new clients. Do not fret, Rob. Doctor Rougham is giving me an extra shilling tonight, and Alfred earned three pence by running errands for Master Walkot at King’s Hall yesterday.’
‘And I will pay you for information,’ added Michael. ‘I need you to think really carefully about what happened when Drax died. You said you were in the stable, but did not see anything.’
‘Not again, Brother!’ whispered Blaston, fixing him with haunted eyes. ‘How many more times must I tell you that it had nothing to do with me?’
‘We know,’ said Bartholomew soothingly. A rather dangerous expression was creeping across Yolande’s face; she would not stand by quietly while her husband was harassed. ‘But you are our best hope for a clue as to the killer’s identity. You were closer to where Drax was dumped than anyone else.’
Blaston scrubbed at his cheeks. ‘The business has plagued my thoughts ever since, and I have replayed it again and again in my mind.’
‘And?’ prompted Michael, when the carpenter hesitated.
‘And I may be wrong, but I think I heard Drax being dragged into the College.’
Michael laid several coins on the table, although the information was hardly worth them. ‘I knew you would remember something.’
‘There is more. I am fairly sure I heard footsteps, too. Two sets. In other words, two men came, carrying Drax between them. They could have left him out in plain sight, but instead they hid him behind the tiles and made sure he was under that sheet. I think they did it to confuse you.’
‘Explain,’ ordered Michael.
Blaston raised his hands in a shrug. ‘To make you appreciate that someone cunning is behind the affair. Not some spur-of-the moment killer, who struck out blindly, but someone with an agenda.’