‘Our news about Gib did not surprise them in the slightest, though – I believe they already knew. So the question is, did they know because someone ran to tell them, or because they are his killers?’
‘We spent time at St Clement’s, and with Welfry and Odelina,’ Bartholomew pointed out. ‘So the tale may well have preceded us. And despite Kendale’s claims of manliness, Neyll had been crying – his eyes were inflamed. Of course, they could have been tears of rage.’
‘And Kendale’s hands were shaking,’ added Michael. ‘They were upset, all right, although they did an admirable task of masking it. Of course, we have no way of telling whether it was guilty fear or innocent distress.’
‘What about the other matter? Kendale’s explanation for spying on Michaelhouse on Monday?’
The monk grimaced. ‘It was a pack of lies – of course he did not expect to see Gib there.’
‘So we learned nothing at all?’
‘It is all grist for the mill,’ said Michael, although he did not look convinced by his own optimism. ‘And now we must tackle Heslarton.’
Chapter 9
Bartholomew and Michael were silent as they continued to walk along the High Street, each pondering the questions they had failed to answer. There were too many, and Bartholomew did not think he had ever been involved in an investigation that was so full of people he could not read.
The streets were still busy, and he was alarmed by the proliferation of students who had taken to wearing blue or red. Heltisle, the haughty Master of Bene’t, waylaid Michael to complain about it.
‘We were managing to stay aloof from the dispute, but then Kendale announced his camp-ball game, and now our lads feel compelled to take a stand. I cannot imagine what possessed you to give him permission to hold such an event, Brother. It was hardly sensible.’
‘I did everything I could to stop it,’ countered Michael irritably. ‘But some things are beyond even the power of the Senior Proctor.’
‘Then let us hope that keeping the peace on Tuesday is not one of them,’ said Heltisle acidly.
They were delayed yet again when Michael was obliged to quell a quarrel between Ovyng Hostel and the Hall of Valence Marie – another two foundations that had only recently entered the feud. It was confined to a lot of undignified shoving, but Essex Hostel was not far away, and so was King’s Hall – two places that loved a skirmish – and Bartholomew suspected they would have joined in, had the spat been allowed to continue.
It was late afternoon by the time he and Michael eventually arrived at Emma’s house, and the family was dining. Celia Drax was sitting next to Heslarton, neat, clean and elegant. She picked delicately at a chicken leg, stopping frequently to dab her lips with a piece of embroidered linen. By contrast, Heslarton tore at his hunk of beef with his few remaining teeth; grease glistened on his face and ran down his brawny forearms. Odelina, still clad in her tight red kirtle, ate like her father: not for her the dainty appetites of the ladies in the ballads.
Emma, meanwhile, all fat black body and shiny eyes, appeared slightly feverish. Her plate was full, but she only picked at what she had taken, and when she did raise a morsel to her lips, it was to chew with obvious discomfort.
With cool aplomb, Michael perched on a bench and reached for the breadbasket. Odelina and the servants gaped their astonishment at his audacity, although Heslarton gave him an amiable, oily-handed wave of welcome. Emma merely gave a curt nod to say Bartholomew should join them, too.
‘Yes, come and sit here.’ Odelina patted the space next to her. ‘It is me you have come to see.’
‘Is it?’ asked Heslarton, regarding her in surprise. ‘How do you know?’
‘A woman can tell these things,’ purred Odelina.
She stood and stalked towards the physician. He took several steps away, but the room was crowded, and there was nowhere to go, so it was comparatively easy for her to grab his hand. He tried to disengage it, but Odelina’s fingers tightened and he could not free himself without a tussle – and he did not want to use force while a protective father was watching.
‘You are thin,’ said Odelina, pinching his arm as a butcher might test the quality of meat. ‘Sit with me, and I shall cut you a selection of the fattiest bits of meat.’
‘We cannot stay,’ said Bartholomew, shooting Michael a desperate glance. But the monk was more interested in the food than the plight of his friend. ‘We are very busy.’
‘Then I am doubly flattered that you are here,’ crooned Odelina. ‘Come upstairs, so we can talk without being overheard.’
‘Talk about what?’ asked Bartholomew in alarm.
‘Yes, what?’ demanded Heslarton, a little aggressively.
‘My health,’ said Odelina, giving Heslarton the kind of look all fathers knew to distrust. ‘I do not want to air personal information in public, but he needs my secrets to calculate a horoscope.’
She began to haul on Bartholomew’s sleeve. He resisted, and there was a ripping sound as stitches parted company.
‘Was that you or me?’ asked Odelina, inspecting her gown in concern.
‘It had better be him,’ muttered Heslarton darkly.
‘He is a warlock, Odelina,’ said Celia, watching her friend’s antics with aloof amusement. ‘You should be wary of making him uncomfortable, lest he disappears in a puff of toxic smoke.’
It was enough to make Odelina loosen her grip, enabling Bartholomew to slither free. Celia came to her feet when the younger woman began to advance again, making a gesture to Heslarton to say she had the situation under control. She intercepted Odelina and led her to a corner, where they began whispering, hands shielding their mouths. They looked like a pair of silly adolescents, thought Bartholomew, watching in disgust.
‘My daughter will be a wealthy woman one day,’ said Heslarton, giving the physician a hard look. ‘Many men pay court to her, but I shall not let her go to anyone who is not worthy.’
‘And a poverty-bound scholar is not his idea of a good match,’ said Emma with a smirk that was impossible to interpret. ‘I see his point. I have other ambitions for my only grandchild, too.’
‘Why are you here?’ Heslarton asked. ‘To tell us about Gib, or to ask after my mother’s teeth?’
‘Meryfeld tells me his remedy is working, but I am still in agony,’ said Emma, before either scholar could reply. ‘I have reached a decision, though. He has until Wednesday, and if I am not better by then, you may remove my tooth, Doctor. Meanwhile, you can give me some of that strong medicine.’
‘Actually, I cannot,’ said Bartholomew, uncharacteristically pleased to be able to refuse her. ‘It may react badly with whatever Meryfeld has prescribed.’
Heslarton stood suddenly, one greasy hand resting on the hilt of his sword, and for a brief moment Bartholomew thought he was going to take the tonic by force.
But Heslarton merely smiled at Emma. ‘We must listen to him, mother. We do not want you made worse.’
‘The real purpose of our visit is to discuss Gib,’ said Michael, unwisely giving the impression that he did not much care about the state of Emma’s well-being. ‘Who may be your yellow-headed thief.’
‘He is.’ Emma smiled at his surprise, a rather nasty expression with more glittering of the eyes than usual. ‘I went to view his mortal remains when Odelina gave us the news. Gib was the villain.’
‘You knew him,’ said Bartholomew. ‘He brought messages from Chestre when you were thinking of sponsoring a scholarship. So why did you not recognise him when he stole your box?’