Heslarton leaned against the wall, and regarded his captives impassively. Behind him, the two men with bows stood alert and ready, arrows nocked. Bartholomew glanced at Cynric and hoped he would not attempt anything rash, because he could tell by the way the men stood that they would not hesitate to shoot. Fortunately, Cynric knew it too, and crouched motionless to one side.
‘I have no idea why you should want Kendale and his students blamed for the crimes you committed,’ said Bartholomew, struggling to make sense of what was happening. ‘But you will not get away with it.’
‘No?’ asked Heslarton softly. ‘We shall see about that.’
‘Why kill Yffi?’ asked Bartholomew. ‘What did he–’
‘He tried to blackmail me,’ replied Heslarton tersely. ‘Over Poynton.’
‘Poynton?’ asked Bartholomew. Details slithered together in his mind. ‘It was your dagger that killed him during the camp-ball game? And Yffi knew?’
‘It was an accident. But Yffi said he would claim it was deliberate, unless I paid him.’
‘So you stabbed him, then decided to put the body to good use – by leaving it in Chestre.’
Heslarton shrugged. ‘Why not? I have never liked those swaggering louts.’
‘What about us?’ demanded Cynric, before Bartholomew could remark that dislike was hardly a reason to devise such a hideous plot. ‘Will you have our murders blamed on Chestre, too?’
‘Yes,’ said Heslarton. There was no trace of the amiable rogue now; all that was left was the ruffian. His eyes did not twinkle, and his compact strength was intimidating. ‘I understand they convinced Michael that they are innocent, but your bodies should make him think again.’
‘It will not work,’ warned Bartholomew. ‘You left clues on Yffi that allowed Michael to deduce that the corpse had been dragged through a window, and you will make similar mistakes when–’
‘We have another plan – one involving Edmund House, which we are about to sell to the Gilbertines. And this time, there will be no misunderstandings.’ Heslarton gestured to the archers. ‘Clean shots, please. We do not want a mess.’
‘Why are you selling it?’ asked Cynric quickly, a feeble attempt to delay the inevitable.
‘Because he no longer needs it to frolic in with Celia,’ said Bartholomew, speaking before Heslarton could answer for himself. He recalled the shadow he had seen there when he had tended Brother Jude’s gashed leg some days before; doubtless, they had been there then. ‘Now Alice and Drax are dead, they do not require a secret place for their trysts. That is why the family have always refused to part with it before.’
Heslarton wrinkled his nose. ‘As I said, you know too much.’ He nodded to the bowmen.
‘Wait!’ Bartholomew struggled to his feet. ‘Let Cynric go. He has nothing to do with this.’
‘I cannot.’ Heslarton sounded genuinely apologetic, and Bartholomew saw he was uneasy with the situation in which he found himself. ‘He represents too great a danger. I am sorry – I would have spared you both if I could.’
‘Yes, you will be sorry,’ agreed Cynric venomously, as the bowmen took aim. ‘Because Doctor Bartholomew is the only one who can save your mother-in-law from an agonising death.’
Heslarton raised his hand to prevent the archers from shooting. ‘What?’
‘None of the other physicians know how to cure her,’ Cynric went on. ‘I heard them talking about it last night. Emma will die of her fever if she is left to them.’
‘She will not,’ said Heslarton, although he looked uneasy. ‘It is only a bad tooth, for God’s sake.’
‘It has been left too long, and has poisoned her blood,’ stated Cynric with great conviction. ‘She needs a surgeon to pull it out. And Meryfeld, Rougham and Gyseburne do not perform cautery. You know this – it is why you summoned Doctor Bartholomew this morning, not them.’
Heslarton was silent for a moment, and when he did speak, it was more to himself than his captives. ‘I do not see how this can be safely achieved now.’
Bartholomew frowned. It was an odd thing to say. He watched Heslarton go over to mutter to one of his men; the other kept his bow trained unwaveringly on the prisoners. The archer left after a moment, and Heslarton came back. Bartholomew could only suppose the fellow had been sent for reinforcements. Gradually, more answers drifted into his mind.
‘Emma has no idea what you have done, does she?’ he said challengingly. ‘And you are afraid that if you take us to help her, we will tell her that her beloved son-in-law is nothing but a killer and a thief. Your curious words – “I do not see how this can be safely achieved now” – mean you do not see how we can save her without your role being exposed.’
‘I have an alibi for Drax’s murder,’ snapped Heslarton. ‘One the Sheriff himself acknowledges. And I have one for Gib’s death, too, because I was with Celia. So, if I am innocent of those two crimes, then I am innocent of the pilgrim-badge thefts, too. You have nothing on me!’
Other than the fact that he was wearing Edith’s stolen cloak, thought Bartholomew, trying not to stare at it.
‘And your wife?’ demanded Cynric. ‘Can you prove you did not kill Alice, too?’
‘Why should I kill her? I did not want her dead, and I certainly would not have done anything to put my daughter at risk.’
‘No,’ agreed Bartholomew, able to put the facts together at last. ‘Odelina is responsible for what happened to Alice. She loves you and Celia, but she did not care for her mother. She committed murder, so you and Celia might marry.’
Heslarton regarded him contemptuously. ‘If that were the case, she would not have swallowed the poison herself. She nearly died.’
‘She read the pharmacopoeia in Celia’s house, which is full of silly advice. One example is that wolfsbane can be counteracted with a hefty dose of milk. She followed the instruction – I saw a jug of it next to the wine – but there is no truth in the claim, and she became ill, too.’
‘You do not know what you are talking about,’ snapped Heslarton. ‘She would never–’
‘Odelina had to drink the wine, because it would have looked suspicious if Alice had died, but she had conveniently abstained. Then, terrified because her “antidote” was not working, she crawled under the bed. She was lucky we found her.’
Heslarton shook his head in disgust. ‘You should be ashamed of yourself, spinning such vile tales about an innocent young woman who thinks the world of you.’
‘She killed Drax first, though,’ Bartholomew went on. ‘He and Celia argued a lot, and Odelina is nothing if not loyal to her friends. She decided Celia would be happier without him.’
‘She is a girl,’ argued Heslarton. ‘Girls do not kill. Besides, she says she did not harm Drax, although I admit to helping her move his body to Michaelhouse after she happened across it.’
‘Why there?’ asked Bartholomew, sensing he was on dangerous ground by mentioning Odelina’s involvement, so changing the focus of the discussion.
‘Because she wanted the Chestre men blamed. And they probably were the culprits, anyway – they did quarrel with him the morning he was dispatched. I did not think we would manage it unseen, but Physwick Hostel went out mid-afternoon, and Yffi unwittingly provided a perfect distraction with a ribald discussion about Yolande de Blaston.’
‘You sold Drax a pilgrim badge,’ said Bartholomew, deciding there was no point in protesting Chestre’s innocence. ‘It was–’
‘He was driving Celia insane by harping on about getting one, so I obliged him, to give her some peace. We made the transaction outside the Gilbertine Priory, although I think we were seen – your cronies Clippesby and Thelnetham were both nearby that night. And I denied it when you asked because it was none of your damned business.’