The Killer of Pilgrims (11 page)

Gyseburne understood what he was trying to do, though. He added oil to the next cup of water, along with a few drops of something
Bartholomew assumed was an emetic.

‘Foxglove,’ said Bartholomew urgently, when he pressed his ear to Odelina’s chest and heard her heart pumping sluggishly.
‘There is some in my bag.’

He administered the dose Gyseburne handed him, and was gratified to detect a more normal rhythm a few
moments later. Odelina began to shiver, so he wrapped her in a blanket.

‘Please,’ she whispered. ‘I am thirsty.’

‘Oh, thank God!’ breathed Emma. ‘It is a good sign, is it not? For her to speak coherently?’

Bartholomew nodded. ‘A very good sign.’

While the maid went to fetch fresh water from the kitchen, Odelina indicated that she wanted to sit up. When she reeled, Meryfeld
released Heslarton, who dashed to support her. Odelina clung to him tearfully. He tried to lift her into the bed, but the
task was beyond him, so he was obliged to enlist Bartholomew’s help. Once she was settled, sipping water brought from the
kitchen, Bartholomew began to relax, knowing she was going to recover.

‘When my mother and I were first struck down, I tried to call for help,’ Odelina whispered, as Heslarton fussed about her
with blankets. ‘But I could not speak. I crawled under the bed because I was frightened. I heard her … Is she …’

‘She is dead, child,’ said Emma, patting her shoulder comfortingly. ‘Even with three physicians in the house, she was beyond
saving. Fortunately, they had better luck with you.’

Heslarton sat next to his daughter, holding her hand in a grip that looked tight enough to be painful, and it was left to
Emma to arrange the removal of his wife’s corpse from the room.

‘Your quick thinking saved Odelina,’ said Gyseburne in Bartholomew’s ear. ‘She would be dead, if you had not thought to look
under the bed.’

‘But it was you who identified the poison,’ Bartholomew pointed out. ‘I would not have made her vomit without your diagnosis.’

Gyseburne gave what was almost a smile. ‘Then we make a fine team, you and I. Perhaps we should work together more often.’

Bartholomew smiled back, thinking it would be pleasant to have a colleague with whom to confer sometimes. He had avoided doing
so thus far, lest it led to more accusations of heterodoxy.

‘She will live?’ asked Heslarton unsteadily. ‘All that roughness paid off ? She will be well now?’

‘We believe so,’ replied Gyseburne. ‘Although someone should stay with her tonight.’

‘I will,’ offered Meryfeld immediately. ‘A physician is better than a layman. And I am the Colvyll family’s
medicus
now.’

Bartholomew was only too happy to pass the responsibility to Meryfeld, sure the worst was over anyway. He turned to leave,
but Odelina caught his sleeve.

‘Thank you,’ she whispered hoarsely. ‘I shall always be grateful.’

‘And so will I,’ said Emma, addressing all three physicians. ‘I am sorry for Alice, but I shall not hold it against you. Clearly,
you were called too late.’

‘We had better throw away all the wine in the house, to ensure no more of this poison lurks,’ said Heslarton grimly. ‘And
then I shall find out who put it there.’

‘It was that yellow-headed thief,’ declared Emma. Her black eyes flashed with fury. ‘I have been wondering why he did not
make off with more of my valuables. It was because he was busy tampering with our wine, and my box was all he had time to
grab before he was obliged to flee.’

‘Theft and murder are two very different—’ began Bartholomew uncertainly.

‘It was him,’ declared Emma firmly. ‘Other than you, he
is the only person – outside family and staff – to have set foot in my house this month.’

‘What about Celia Drax?’ asked Meryfeld, somewhat out of the blue. ‘She visits you a lot.’

Heslarton regarded him in surprise. ‘Celia is our friend, and I doubt she knows about poisons!’

‘Of course she does not,’ agreed Emma. ‘The culprit is that thief, and I shall not rest until he is caught. Thomas will resume
the hunt as soon as Odelina no longer needs him. However, given the seriousness of the crime, we should tell Brother Michael
and the Sheriff to look for the murdering scoundrel, too.’

Bartholomew offered to inform them, then took his leave, Gyseburne trailing at his heels.

‘Meryfeld is mad,’ said Gyseburne. ‘Wild horses would not encourage
me
to physic a family like that – something will go wrong, and they will kill him for it.’

Bartholomew sincerely hoped he was wrong.

The next day dawned bright and clear. It was a glorious winter morning, where the sky was blue, the frost brittle and white
on rooftops, and the sun a pale gold orb rising over the distant horizon. It was cold, though, and the wind that sliced in
from the north-east was bitter. Bartholomew shivered all through mass in St Michael’s Church, and then shivered as Langelee
led his scholars home along St Michael’s Lane. He said nothing as Michael fell into step beside him, lost in a reflection
on whether he might not feel so chilled if he were not so hungry.

‘I am sorry, Matt,’ said Michael. ‘I meant to save you some food, but by the time I remembered, it had all been eaten. There
was not enough of it, you see, and we all came away half starved.’

‘It does not matter,’ said Bartholomew, although he
thought he might change his mind if there was nothing for breakfast.

‘I can still scarcely credit what you told me last night. I know Emma and her family are unpopular, but poison is so indiscriminate
– a servant might have sneaked a swig and died for it.’

‘Yes, and I am glad it is the Sheriff’s responsibility to investigate Alice’s death, not yours.’

‘On the contrary,’ said Michael. ‘Emma claims the yellow-headed thief tainted her wine, and Heslarton’s enquiries have shown
that the same yellow-headed thief stole Poynton’s pilgrim badge. As I am under obligation to solve the theft, it means I am
hunting Alice’s killer, too.’

‘I thought you were dead set against the notion that they are the same man.’

‘I was, but only because petty thieves tend to be cowards. I thought the one you chased would be lurking in the Fens, thanking
God for his lucky escape. But now I learn he is a murderer, it puts a different complexion on matters. Poisoners are ruthless
and bold, so such a fellow may well have committed one crime, then promptly returned to the town to snatch Poynton’s
signaculum
.’

‘Drax was missing a
signaculum
, too,’ Bartholomew reminded him. ‘The one he wore in his hat.’

Michael rubbed his chin. ‘Then our killer had a busy day. He burgled Emma’s house and left wolfsbane, was chased by you to
the Griffin Inn, slipped back into the town to stab Drax and steal his token, then rushed to the Carmelite Friary for Poynton’s
badge, and finally returned to Michaelhouse to arrange for Drax’s body to be left behind Yffi’s tiles.’

‘Yes,’ agreed Bartholomew. ‘Although there was more time between these events than you are acknowledging. However, it does
look as though all these crimes were
committed by one culprit. Do not tell Emma you are looking into the matter, though. It will raise her expectations, and she
does not handle disappointment very well.’

‘No,’ agreed Michael. ‘She and Odelina both – they are too used to having their own way. I pity the man Odelina marries, because
no matter how noble a fellow he is, the reality will fall short of her romantic ideals and she will grow to hate him. I am
glad my habit puts
me
out of her reach.’

‘You think she might have made a play for you, had you been available?’ asked Bartholomew, amused as always by the monk’s
perception of himself as a svelte Adonis.

‘Of course,’ replied Michael, without the flicker of a smile. ‘Women find me irresistible, as I have told you before, especially
the ones with a penchant for romantic ballads. Like the heroes of their stories, I combine dashing good looks with integrity
and courage.’

‘I see,’ said Bartholomew. Then some of Yffi’s scaffolding gave an ominous creak, and he turned to more realistic matters.
‘I wish Michaelhouse had not accepted charity from a woman who skates so close to the edge of the law. Moreover, I did not
like Gyseburne’s contention that Emma might dispatch Meryfeld if he does not cure her.’

‘Meryfeld knows the risks in treating a woman with her reputation – he is not stupid. But if
I
am to meddle in her affairs, I shall need help. I know you are busy with teaching and patients, but …’

‘I will do what I can,’ promised Bartholomew. ‘And I have been thinking about the yellow-headed thief, too. Emma’s house is
stuffed full of valuables, yet he chose to take a small box – one she claims contains sentimental keepsakes from her dead
husband. But why would a thief target that? I suspect the contents of this chest are more significant than she is letting
on.’

‘Possibly,’ acknowledged Michael. ‘But a short while later, he stole a pilgrim badge, so maybe he is just an opportunist.
Or perhaps his main objective was to leave the poison, and he snatched the box to lull her into thinking that his motive was
theft, not something more sinister.’

Bartholomew supposed they would have to ask him when he was caught. He nodded to where the workmen were trooping in through
Michaelhouse’s front gate, Blaston in the lead, cheerful and eager as usual, and Yffi and his apprentices slouching unenthusiastically
at his heels.

‘You said yesterday that you thought Yffi had not been entirely honest with us about Drax. Should we interview him again now?’

‘We should. And we can ask why he failed to appear for work yesterday, too.’

‘Drax was cold when we found him,’ mused Bartholomew. ‘So I think we can safely say he was killed not long after dawn.
Ergo
, we need to know where our suspects were
then
, rather than later.’

‘Yes and no, Matt. We have
two
crimes here: Drax murdered, and Drax brought to Michaelhouse. Drax may have died early, but I suspect he was dumped later
– probably when Yffi was praising Yolande’s talents. So
I
want to know where our suspects were on
both
occasions.’

Yffi reeked of ale. He was also unsteady on his feet and his eyes were glazed in a way that said he had spent the previous
night in the tavern and was still not quite sober. Bartholomew did not like the notion of him clambering around on the roof.
He had a family, and although the physician had no great liking for the fellow, he did not want a wife and children left destitute.

‘Actually, we are going to lay off the roof for a while,’
said Yffi, when Bartholomew voiced his concerns. ‘We plan to mend the ground-floor windows for the next few days.’

Michael’s eyes narrowed. ‘You mean you intend to leave the roof exposed to the elements?’

Yffi shrugged. ‘It will not rain, and I feel like working on solid ground for a bit.’

‘This is not a good idea,’ argued Michael. ‘It may be fine today, but weather can change. And I dislike that sheet billowing
above my head when I am trying to sleep. What if it blows off?’

‘Then one of my boys will nail it back on again.’

‘He will come in the middle of the night, will he? Or am I expected to sleep under the stars until morning? Or, more likely,
under scudding rain clouds?’

‘That is not my problem. If you do not like the way I work, tell Emma de Colvyll.’

‘Oh, I shall,’ said Michael icily. ‘But I am not here for a debate – I want information. Tell me what happened on Monday,
when we found Drax.’

‘Again?’ groaned Yffi, rolling his eyes. His apprentices did the same, although Blaston was more respectful. ‘How many more
times must I tell you that we heard and saw nothing? If you do not believe me, then climb up the scaffolding yourself. The
yard cannot be seen from the roof, so a whole army of killers could have shoved corpses behind stacks of tiles, and we would
have been none the wiser.’

‘It is true, Brother,’ added Peterkin, seeing his master’s insolence was doing nothing to help. ‘I wish we
did
have some clues to share with you, but we do not.’

‘What were you doing yesterday?’ demanded Michael.

Yffi blinked. ‘Yesterday? Why do you want to know that?’

‘Because I am eager to learn why you failed to appear for work,’ snapped Michael.

‘We went to church for the Purification,’ replied Yffi
with mock piety. ‘And before that, we were working elsewhere. We have commissions other than in this place, you know.’

‘Only because you fail to finish what you start,’ muttered Blaston, regarding him with dislike.

Michael glared at Yffi, who took an involuntary step backwards. ‘You will not disappear again until our roof is finished.
Do I make myself clear? And you would do well not to annoy me, because you are in a very precarious position. A body was found
among
your
supplies.’

Yffi scowled. ‘It is hardly my fault that some villain decided to leave a corpse behind the tiles! If you want someone to
blame, then pick on your idle porter.’

‘Or Blaston,’ said Peterkin slyly. ‘
He
was down here all alone. You have not accused him, because you have known him for years, but he is just as capable of wielding
a knife as the next man.’

‘I want to know where you were from dawn until the body was found,’ said Michael, cutting across Blaston’s indignant denials.
‘All of you.’

Yffi sighed impatiently. ‘We were on the roof – as your porter will confirm. One or two of my lads came down for supplies,
but that only took moments, and I would have noticed prolonged absences. We all have alibis in each other.’

‘I work alone,’ said Blaston uncomfortably. ‘But the only time I went out was to buy nails, as I told you. The smith will
confirm that I left money under his anvil, though. That is an alibi.’

They began to argue, and were still sniping at each other when Michael decided there was no more to be learned from them and
took his leave.

‘I detected a furtiveness among the masons, Matt,’ he said as he walked. ‘I wonder why.’