‘Enough of this nonsense,’ snapped Odelina curtly. ‘I am tired of it.’
‘Your poor father,’ said Bartholomew softly. ‘He knew nothing of your association with the thief until recently, did he? If he had, he would not have tried so hard to catch him. He helped you with Gib and Drax, because he loves you and did not want to see you in trouble. But he had no idea that you are in league with a felon. When did you tell him? After you made him a gift of Edith’s stolen cloak?’
‘I said stop!’ hissed Odelina.
‘Who is he?’ persisted Bartholomew. ‘A scholar? A townsman?’
‘Someone who is better than you,’ she snarled. ‘And I did not kill Drax, by the way. I admit to dispatching my mother and Gib, but I never touched Drax. I found him dead in Physwick’s dairy – I went there to give him a piece of my mind about how he was treating Celia – and I put him in Michaelhouse to … But no. I shall not talk about that.’
‘It was your accomplice’s idea,’ surmised Bartholomew. ‘Doubtless he also told you how to make use of Gib and Yffi’s bodies. Who is he, Odelina? You cannot protect such a rogue.’
‘Stop! I am not talking about it any more, so unless you want to be shot, you had better shut up.’
She clearly meant it, so Bartholomew tried to work out the fellow’s identity for himself. Fen? One of his medical colleagues? Thelnetham? All were self-assured and intelligent, and might well secure the affections of a lonely, gullible woman desperate for a champion.
Or, more likely than any of them, was it Celia, who had an eye for valuable jewellery and was Odelina’s good friend? And Celia was a liar, as evidenced by the fact that she had denied being able to read, claiming the books in her house belonged to her husband. But according to Kendale’s testimony, Drax was illiterate. The more Bartholomew thought about it, the more he was sure he was right. Celia was the villain.
Emma had indeed taken a turn for the worse. Her face was flushed, and her eyes were bright with fever. She moaned in pain, and when Bartholomew and Cynric were shoved unceremoniously into the room, she reached out a gnarled hand towards them.
‘Make me well again, Meryfeld,’ she breathed. ‘Or I will cast a spell on you, and God will turn His face from you for ever. It will not be the first time I have done it.’
‘Perhaps she has already put one on you, boy,’ Cynric whispered. ‘It would explain a lot.’
Bartholomew did not want to think about it. He tried to inspect Emma’s mouth, but the light was poor and his vision swam. He blinked several times, but it made no difference, and he knew it was wrong to try to treat her.
‘I cannot do this,’ he said, backing away, hand to his head. ‘Send for Gyseburne–’
‘You will do it,’ Odelina hissed. ‘Or your book-bearer will die.’
Bartholomew looked at Cynric, who was shaking his head, urging him to refuse. He blinked again, and the blurriness eased. He took the lamp, and peered inside Emma’s mouth, then tapped very softly on the infected tooth with a metal probe. Emma released a howl that made his ears ring. It also had Odelina wincing and Heslarton surging forward.
‘Hurt her again, and you are dead,’ he snarled furiously.
‘But it will hurt,’ said Bartholomew helplessly. ‘That is why she has always refused to let me do it before. And it will be worse now, because of the delay.’
Heslarton scowled, but indicated that he should continue. Servants brought hot water and bandages, then were dismissed, although one archer was ordered to stay, bow at the ready. Father and daughter held long daggers, and it was clear they would use them if an attempt was made to escape.
Bartholomew turned his attention to medicine, and began cleaning the implements he would need. He took his time, hoping the delay would ease the throbbing in his head. Heslarton soon became impatient.
‘Why are you wasting time?’ he snapped. ‘She is becoming worse while you dither, and you have polished those pliers at least twice. Get on with it.’
Reluctantly, Bartholomew bathed Emma’s gums with a numbing potion, and asked Cynric to hold open her jaws. The book-bearer was not very happy about it, but Bartholomew had a plan of sorts. He laid a number of little knives on the cloth at the side of the bed. Cynric saw what he was expected to do, and palmed a couple when Bartholomew ‘accidentally’ upset a basin of water.
‘Are you sure about this?’ he asked, speaking so low the physician struggled to hear him. ‘What happens if Emma dies during the…’ He waved his hand, not sure how to describe it.
‘She might, so be ready to act: lob the blade at the archer, then run for help. I will deal with Heslarton and Odelina.’ Bartholomew turned to their captors before Cynric could point out that help for him would probably come far too late. ‘You two will have to hold her down.’
‘Us?’ asked Heslarton uncomfortably. ‘I do not want to see what you are doing, thank you. And you have your servant to assist.’
‘He is not enough. This is going to be painful, and you must keep Emma still.’
With a muttered oath, Heslarton positioned himself across his mother-in-law’s chest, pinioning her arms to her sides, while Odelina took her legs. Bartholomew blinked hard, then gripped the offending tooth with a pair of pliers. As hauling would leave the rotten root in the gum, it had to be twisted out gently with his left hand, while the right held back the inflamed tissue. It would not be easy, and he hoped the thing would not drop to pieces on him.
Immediately, Emma began to buck and writhe. Cynric looked away as blood welled, and Bartholomew heard him swallow, audible even over the wails of agony emanating from the patient. He wondered whether the effort of making such a racket alone would kill Emma, and then what would happen to him and Cynric? He blinked again as Emma’s bleeding maw swam in and out of focus, then took a deep breath and continued, ignoring both the screams and the thrashing. Cynric was doing a good job of keeping the head still, for which he was grateful.
Unfortunately, the tooth was malformed, and refused to come out, so he took a knife and began to cut away the bone that held it. Emma’s shrieks intensified, and Bartholomew experienced a great wave of dizziness as the din seared through his pounding head. But then there was a click, and the tooth was free. He watched pus well out of the resulting cavity – a lot of it – and was not surprised she had been in agony.
‘Two stitches,’ he said, more to himself than his reluctant assistants. ‘To hold the flap over the exposed bone. Then it is done.’
Straining to see in the unsteady gleam of the lamp, he inserted first one suture, and then a second, careful to leave a gap for the wound to drain. Then he packed it with pieces of boiled cloth. Emma was silent at last, her face white and bathed in sweat.
‘Now what?’ asked Heslarton. His voice shook: the procedure had upset him. Odelina was made of sterner stuff, and went to sit by the window, while Cynric edged towards the door. Bartholomew could tell by the way the book-bearer stood that a knife was concealed in each hand.
‘We wait,’ he replied, leaning against the wall and wiping his forehead with his sleeve. ‘She needs to be monitored, to ensure the wound stops bleeding.’
‘A physician,’ said Cynric immediately. ‘A servant cannot be entrusted with such a delicate task. You cannot send Doctor Bartholomew off to France in a barge until–’
‘Can she hear us?’ interrupted Odelina, touching her grandmother’s face, very gently.
Bartholomew shook his head.
‘Good,’ said Odelina. ‘Because I do not want her to know what is going to happen next.’ She turned to the bowman. ‘Kill them.’
The archer and Heslarton regarded Odelina askance. Cynric nodded grimly to himself, to say he had been right to distrust her, while Bartholomew sagged against the wall.