‘But then you wanted it back,’ said Bartholomew. ‘His hat was ripped–’
‘How many more times must I tell you?’ snarled Heslarton. ‘I did not kill Drax, and neither did my daughter. If his badge was stolen, then it had nothing to do with us.’
‘Dickon Tulyet saw you and Odelina slip out of Celia’s house the night Gib was murdered,’ lied Cynric, not seeming to care that there was now a dangerous light in Heslarton’s eyes. Bartholomew hoped Heslarton would not kill the boy for the book-bearer’s fabrications – or him and Cynric for reintroducing Odelina into the conversation. ‘Did Odelina order you to murder Gib, and tie a yellow wig on him? As another nail in Chestre’s coffin?’
‘She did not–’ began Heslarton uncomfortably.
‘Obviously, she could not overpower Gib, and toss him over the Great Bridge by herself,’ Cynric went on, ignoring Bartholomew’s warning glance that he was pushing Heslarton too far. ‘But you were there, ready to help with the dirty work.’
Heslarton’s expression was hard and cold. ‘I did what was necessary to protect my daughter. Like any loving father.’
‘So she is the yellow-headed thief,’ said Cynric with bitter satisfaction. Bartholomew closed his eyes, having reasoned the same, but dismayed that Cynric should share such a conclusion with her fiercely devoted father. ‘And you helped her kill Gib, so everyone would stop looking.’
‘No!’ declared Heslarton. ‘She would never … she is not…’
‘Your guilt was obvious when you failed to go out scouring the Fens for the thief the day Gib was found.’ Cynric pressed on relentlessly. ‘You knew there was no point, because you learned the previous night that your beloved Odelina was the culprit. You doubtless told Emma to say Gib was definitely the yellow-haired invader, too.’
‘Odelina is not a thief,’ cried Heslarton. ‘She wanted Gib blamed in order to protect another…’
Cynric waved a dismissive hand. ‘The next day, she was careful to remind everyone that Gib knew his way around your house – that he had acted as Kendale’s messenger when Emma was thinking of funding a scholarship, so would know where to look for valuables. She was very clever.’
‘I was right,’ said Heslarton coldly. ‘You know far too much. I am sorry for Emma – I would take the risk to save her if it was just me you were accusing. But I will not let you harm Odelina.’
‘Do not worry, Father.’ Bartholomew looked up to see Odelina standing at the door. ‘Grandmother is too ill to listen to their stories now. Doctor Bartholomew can save her without the slightest risk to ourselves. And if he fails, we will kill him and his servant.’
The prisoners were shoved out of the stable and into the yard. Bartholomew was not sure he was capable of surgery – even the comparatively straightforward business of removing a tooth – because his vision was blurred, his legs were unsteady and his hands shook. It would be irresponsible of him to attempt it, and he told Odelina so.
‘You will, or your book-bearer will die,’ she said coldly. She leaned close to him and lowered her voice, so her father would not hear. ‘And if you try to say one word to my grandmother about what you have surmised, I will kill you where you stand.’
‘Odelina,’ said Bartholomew softly, hoping to appeal to the dreamy girl who had harboured a fancy for him. ‘You must see that what you are doing is wrong.’
Odelina pulled a disagreeable face. ‘Celia told me I was stupid to see you as one of my heroes, and I should have listened. She said you cast a spell on me, to make me adore you, but you did not love me back. Well, I am wiser now. Your gentle manners will not beguile me again.’
‘I accept your anger with me,’ said Bartholomew. ‘But Cynric–’
‘You will both be released as soon as my grandmother is well,’ snapped Odelina. ‘So you can stop your begging. I do not want to hear it.’
‘Do not trust her,’ said Cynric. ‘The moment you fulfil your end of the bargain, she will–’
‘I will certainly kill you if you annoy me,’ blazed Odelina, whipping around to glare at him. ‘But Isnard has a barge leaving for France tomorrow, and I will arrange for you both to be locked in its hold. You will be released – unharmed – when it reaches the coast. By the time you return, we will be gone.’
‘How do you know the schedules of Isnard’s barges?’ asked Bartholomew, rubbing his aching head. He knew he was off on a tangent, but he could not help it.
‘The answer to that is obvious, boy,’ said Cynric, regarding Odelina with dislike. ‘Bargemen are not usually wealthy, but Isnard can afford Yolande de Blaston, the town’s most expensive prostitute. Obviously, he supplements his income by sending illegal cargos through the Fens.’
‘What illegal cargos?’ asked Bartholomew dully.
‘Good-quality tiles, window frames and timber,’ explained Cynric. ‘Which Emma gets from places like Michaelhouse. In other words, Yffi was hired to take the decent stuff from us and replace it with rubbish. Emma’s beneficence was nothing of the kind.’
‘Never mind this.’ Odelina made no effort to deny the accusation. ‘You have a choice, Doctor. You either help my grandmother, or we kill your servant. Then, when you are released later, you will have his death on your conscience.’
Bartholomew could see the bowmen were ready to do as she threatened, so raised his hands in surrender, ignoring Cynric’s grimace of disapproval. Odelina allowed herself a small grin of satisfaction, and there was a glitter in her eyes that was uncannily like her grandmother’s. Bartholomew was disgusted at himself for underestimating her: with forebears like Emma and Heslarton, he should have known there would be more to her than just someone who liked romantic ballads.
‘Everyone said you are clever,’ she said gloatingly, as they began to walk across the yard. Cynric trailed behind with Heslarton. ‘But you are not. We have outwitted you at every turn, and you are only now beginning to put the pieces together. You are a fool!’
‘Yes,’ agreed Bartholomew ruefully. ‘But at least I know why you picked on Gib. You developed an affection for him when he was carrying messages between Kendale and Emma. But he kept a prostitute, which disappointed your idealistic visions–’
‘It was sordid!’ Odelina declared, grabbing Bartholomew’s arm when he stumbled. She was very strong. ‘But he just laughed when I challenged him about it. When he turned his back on me, I hit him over the head with a stone. I thought I had killed him.’
‘So you raced to your father for help, then decided to use his corpse to your advantage. You tied a yellow wig on his head. But he was not dead, was he? He recovered, and you had a serious struggle on his hands when he fought back.’
Odelina did not reply, and they walked in silence the rest of the way to the door. Bartholomew thought about what he had learned, aware that he still did not have the whole story. The culprit had been clever, but he was not sure Odelina was sufficiently sly to have outwitted Michael for the best part of nine days, and he doubted Heslarton would be much help on that front. He recalled her precise words.
‘You said we outwitted you,’ he said, climbing slowly and unsteadily up the stairs towards the old lady’s bedchamber. ‘You and your father killed Drax, Alice, Poynton, Yffi and Gib, but neither of you were the yellow-headed man I chased. You have an accomplice. He is bold and quick, able to steal Emma’s box, snatch Poynton’s signaculum from–’