‘I do not associate with mere students,’ said Emma in disdain. ‘He delivered his missives to my servants, and I never met him in person. However, the boy in St Clement’s was the villain who invaded my home. He was missing his yellow hair, but his great paunch is distinctive.’
Bartholomew did not recall an ale-belly as he had chased the culprit up the High Street, and again found he was not sure what to believe about Gib. Or about Emma, for that matter.
‘We live in a wicked world,’ she went on softly. ‘I thought your University would be gracious to me, after I spent so much money on your College. But now I learn it was a scholar who broke into my home and left poison for my beloved granddaughter.’
‘We are sorry,’ said Bartholomew, wondering why she had not asked the obvious question: whether her box was in the dead man’s possession. The omission was suspicious, to say the least.
‘You do not need to apologise to me,’ she said, reaching out to pat his cheek. It was all he could do not to cringe away. ‘It is not your fault students are such devious creatures.’
Bartholomew was ready to leave after Emma had identified Gib – Celia had disappeared, muttering something about going to organise a feast to celebrate her late husband’s life, which meant Odelina was on the loose again – but Michael still had questions.
‘Did you hunt the killer-thief again today?’ he asked Heslarton, while Bartholomew backed around the table and took refuge behind Emma’s chair. Odelina started to follow, but sank down on the bench at a warning glare from her grandmother.
‘No,’ replied Heslarton. ‘He is dead, so there was no need for me to scour the marshes. Of course, now I learn the villain was in the town all the time, safely inside a hostel.’
Bartholomew pounced on the inconsistency. ‘You could not have known he was dead until the body was found, which was mid-morning. And if you had intended to “scour the marshes”, you would have been gone long before then, to take advantage of the daylight.’
Heslarton shot to his feet a second time, and Bartholomew saw, belatedly, that he should have put the question more succinctly. ‘My horse was lame. Not that it is your affair.’
‘Do you only have one nag, then?’ asked Michael innocently. ‘I assumed you would have lots.’
Heslarton glared. ‘I only have one trained for riding in bogs. The others are too expensive to risk in such perilous terrain.’
‘Gib was killed between midnight and five o’clock,’ said Bartholomew. He struggled to be more tactful this time. ‘We want to exclude as many people from our enquiries as possible, so would you mind telling us where you were?’
‘Surely, you cannot suspect me?’ growled Heslarton dangerously. Emma’s eyes narrowed.
Bartholomew raised his hands defensively. ‘It is a question we are asking all the killer-thief’s victims. Even my sister,’ he added, when the reassurance did not seem to allay Heslarton’s irritation.
‘I was here,’ said Heslarton shortly. He scowled, daring them to pursue the matter. Bartholomew did not think he had ever heard a more brazen lie. But help came from an unexpected quarter.
‘Tell the truth, Thomas,’ ordered Emma briskly. ‘Someone may have seen you out and about, and that may lead Brother Michael and Doctor Bartholomew to draw erroneous conclusions – ones that may work to our detriment.’
Heslarton gazed at her. ‘But it is none of their business!’
‘It is,’ countered Emma. ‘They are trying to solve a nasty crime, and they will not succeed if people mislead them. Tell them what they want to know. It is for the best.’
‘No!’ said Heslarton. He would not meet the eyes of anyone in the room.
‘It is all right,’ said Odelina suddenly. She looked at Bartholomew. ‘My father is reluctant to speak because he does not want to hurt me. But the truth is that he spent the night with Celia.’
‘It is not what you think,’ blurted Heslarton. He licked dry lips, and his eyes were distinctly furtive. ‘It was her first night alone in the house without Drax – she has been staying here since his death – and she was nervous. We read a psalter all night.’
‘Your wife is barely cold,’ said Michael with monkish disapproval. ‘Drax, too.’
‘Nothing untoward…’ blustered Heslarton. Emma was regarding him with wry amusement, indicating the affair was no news to her. ‘She was lonely and unsettled. I did the Christian thing.’
‘Celia lives by the Great Bridge,’ said Michael pointedly. ‘Where Gib died.’
‘I stayed in her house all night,’ said Heslarton firmly. ‘And she can verify it, although I would rather you did not ask her. I do not want her reputation sullied.’
‘We can be discreet,’ said Michael.
‘I am sure you can,’ said Emma. ‘But there is no need to pursue the matter further. Thomas has shared his secret with you, and that should be enough to satisfy your curiosity.’
‘Has your box been returned?’ asked Bartholomew, deciding to come at the matter from a different angle. ‘Or is it–’
Emma’s expression was distinctly unfriendly. ‘I do not object to you questioning Thomas, or even toying with the affections of my foolish granddaughter, but that question was an insult to me. It implies I had something to do with the death of this thief – that I arranged his demise, and removed my property from his person. And that is plain rude.’
‘Far from it,’ countered Michael hastily. ‘He was actually going to ask whether you want us to look for it when we search Gib’s home.’
Emma nodded slowly. ‘My apologies, Doctor. And yes, my box is still missing.’
‘It will have been opened and ransacked by now,’ said Michael. ‘Will you give us a precise description of its contents, so we can identify any individual pieces? You declined to do so before, but if you want them back, we must have some idea of what to look for.’
Emma was silent for a moment. ‘Letters of affection from my husband, a lock of his hair, and three pewter pilgrim badges from the shrine of St Thomas Cantilupe of Hereford.’
‘Is that all?’ asked Michael, disappointed. ‘I thought it held something valuable.’
‘These are valuable,’ said Emma, turning her black eyes on him. ‘They are worth more than gold to me. If you find them, I shall reward you handsomely. I will even order Yffi to finish your College roof before building the Carmelites’ shrine.’
Bartholomew left Emma’s lair confused and uncertain. ‘We learned nothing,’ he said in disgust. ‘Well, we confirmed that Heslarton and Celia are lovers, but that is about all. And the camp-ball game is the day after tomorrow – we are running out of time if we are to present a culprit for these crimes in the hope that it will defuse any trouble.’
Michael nodded although the anxious expression on his face said he was not sure whether having a culprit would help the situation. ‘So we shall have to speak to Celia, to see whether Heslarton was telling the truth about his whereabouts. We had better hurry, though, because time is passing, and I have a bad feeling I shall be needed to quell more hostel–College squabbles tonight.’
‘But Celia lies,’ said Bartholomew morosely. ‘So even if she does corroborate Heslarton’s tale, I am not sure we should believe her. And, before you say it, my antipathy towards her has nothing to do with the fact that she likes to tell everyone that I am a warlock.’
‘Perish the thought. But I wonder what an elegant, attractive lady sees in an ignorant lout like Heslarton.’
‘Perhaps he has hidden depths. And he is infinitely preferable to the rest of his family. But more to the point, why does Celia want the company of a sinister hag like Emma, or whisper and giggle with the brainless Odelina? I have not forgotten the pharmacopoeia in her house, either.’