‘Perhaps he did not want to be denounced as a hypocrite,’ suggested Joan with a shrug of her mighty shoulders. ‘We all know he enjoys a romp with–’
‘He believes in second chances,’ interrupted Katherine swiftly, and changed the subject. ‘The conloquium has been worthwhile for me, because it brought Clippesby’s thesis to my attention. Unfortunately, I still have not had the pleasure of meeting him.’
‘No,’ said Michael ambiguously. ‘You have not.’
‘I suppose the conference has been worthwhile,’ conceded Isabel grudgingly. ‘Magistra Katherine explained the nominalism–realism debate in a way we all understood. Then Sister Florence of York showed us how to get an additional habit out of an ell of cloth, while Alice taught us something called “creative accounting”.’
‘I would not recommend you follow that advice,’ said Katherine drily. ‘Her intention was to land you all in deep water with your bishops.’
Isabel shrugged off her bemusement and turned to Michael. ‘What of the murders? I have been praying for the victims’ souls, even though the ones at the Spital were insane and thus outside God’s grace.’
‘The insane are not outside God’s grace,’ objected Bartholomew, startled. ‘If anything, they are further inside it, as they cannot be held responsible for their sins. Unlike the rest of us.’
‘I would not know,’ retorted Isabel loftily. ‘I do not have any sins.’
‘Right,’ said Michael, after a short, startled silence. ‘We need to speak to Alice. Will someone fetch her? While we wait, I shall ensure your victuals are up to scratch. I am obliged to monitor all aspects of this conloquium, including the quality of the food.’
It was some time before Michael declared himself satisfied that the delegates were being properly fed. Then he and Bartholomew went to the church, where Alice had been ordered to sit until he was ready to see her.
The church was the convent’s crowning glory, a large, peaceful place with a stout tower. Parts of it had suffered from the lack of funds that affected many monastic foundations, so there were patches of damp on the walls, while some of the stained glass had dropped out of its frames. It smelled of mould, old wood and the wildflowers that someone had placed on every available surface.
Most nuns waiting in a holy place would have used the time for quiet prayer, but such a rash thought had not crossed Alice’s mind. She paced angrily, muttering under her breath about the indignities she was forced to endure. Abbess Isabel and Magistra Katherine were the names most frequently spat out, although some venom was reserved for the nuns who had opted to share their sleeping quarters with a horse rather than her. She scratched so vigorously as she cursed that Bartholomew asked if she needed the services of a physician.
‘All I need is to know why I was dragged here,’ she snarled. ‘I was in a session on medicine, learning lots of useful things. You hauled me out, so I missed most of it.’
‘Medicine?’ asked Bartholomew with interest.
‘Strong ones, used to cure serious ailments. I was enjoying myself.’
‘Perhaps you were,’ said Michael. ‘But only qualified medici should administer such potions, and we do not want any more suspicious deaths to explore.’
‘I am not a killer,’ declared Alice indignantly. ‘And if you are here to accuse me of stealing Joan’s comb again, I shall complain to the Bishop about being hounded for an incident that I have already explained away.’
‘We came to ask if you have remembered anything new since we last spoke,’ said Michael. ‘You will appreciate that we are eager to catch the rogue who murdered five Spital people, particularly as I suspect that he also stabbed a spicer and an elderly priest.’
‘You mean an elderly plagiarist,’ mused Alice. ‘Perhaps you should look to your University for a suspect, Brother, rather than accusing innocent nuns.’
‘I accuse no one,’ said Michael. ‘All I want from you is information. You were in the Spital when the killer struck, and I thought you might have noticed something to help us.’
Alice’s face was full of spite. ‘I can only repeat what I told you before – that I saw Katherine scurry off alone. She doubtless told you she was reading, but you cannot believe her. She is kin to the most evil, corrupt, dishonest man who ever lived – the Bishop of Ely!’
‘Of course,’ said Michael flatly. ‘Anything else?’
Alice gave the matter serious consideration, and for a while no one spoke. A bell rang to announce the end of one set of lectures, followed by a genteel rumble of voices as the nuns discussed which talk they wanted to attend next. Then the bell chimed to mark the beginning of the next session, after which there was silence. A dog barked in the distance, and an irritable whinny suggested Dusty was eager for attention.
‘I can tell you that it was easy to enter the Spital,’ said Alice eventually. ‘The Tangmers will claim they guard the gate assiduously, but I walked in unchallenged several times. Of course, I imagine they are more careful now.’
‘I hope so,’ muttered Bartholomew.
‘So the killer may have come from outside?’ asked Michael.
‘Well, the staff were more interested in monitoring the billeted nuns than guarding their madmen, so it is possible. The Tangmers are an odd horde, and their chapel is an accident waiting to happen, as it is stupid to store firewood in a place where oils are heated with naked flames. Perhaps that is what happened to the shed: Amphelisa was experimenting in it.’
‘Why would she do that when she has a well-equipped workshop?’
‘Because the workshop is in the chapel,’ explained Alice. ‘And thus out of bounds during services. Perhaps she could not wait until Mass was finished, so found somewhere else to work in the interim – in which case, she did the killer a favour by incinerating his victims.’
Bartholomew pondered the suggestion. Perhaps Amphelisa did find it frustrating to be ousted every time the chapel was needed, especially if Julien was the kind of priest who kept all his sacred offices. It was entirely possible that she had opted to use the shed, which everyone said was tinder-dry and filled with wood. No one had seen her near it, but the staff were her kin by marriage, so unlikely to betray her.
Michael continued to press Alice for more information, but when it became clear that she had said as much as she was going to, they took their leave.
‘I do not know what to think about this comb Alice is supposed to have stolen,’ said Michael, when he and Bartholomew were heading back to the town. He was astride Dusty and the physician walked at his side, careful to stay well away from an animal that he sensed was keen to bite, kick or butt him. ‘Is she guilty? Or is she falsely accused, as she claims?’
‘Does it matter?’ asked Bartholomew. ‘It hardly compares to murder, and I do not know why we are even talking about it.’
‘Because it is the key to the characters of some of our suspects and witnesses,’ replied Michael. ‘Whether they are thieves, liars or vindictive manipulators.’
‘Alice stole it,’ said Bartholomew impatiently. ‘Unless you believe she really was riffling through someone else’s bags in search of nose-cloths. There is something so distasteful about her that she is currently at the top of my list of suspects.’
‘Above Theophilis?’ asked Michael. ‘The Devil incarnate, according to you?’
‘Perhaps not above him,’ acknowledged Bartholomew. ‘He is deceitful, as illustrated by the fact that he spied on the triumvirate for you – betraying men who trust him.’