‘What do you think I did?’ she demanded, incredulous that he should even enquire. ‘I left and rode home as fast as Horwoode could carry me. Why? What would you have done?’
‘I do not know,’ said Bartholomew with a shrug. ‘Probably tried to see whether the leg belonged to someone who might need my help.’
‘If it had been a fetlock, I might have done the same,’ said Adela. ‘But since it was a human leg, and it occurred to me that they were concealing the corpse of a person, I did what any sane woman would do – I beat a prudent and hasty retreat, and did not linger to meddle in affairs I wanted nothing to do with.’
‘And these five men were definitely from Bene’t College?’
‘Oh, yes,’ said Adela. ‘I know them all, because my father is Master of one of the two guilds that founded Bene’t, remember? I recognised that haughty Heltisle, that snivelling de Walton, that gaudy Simekyn Simeon who dresses like a woman, and those two revolting porters.’
‘Osmun and Ulfo?’
‘The very same. They are an unsavoury pair. I wonder that Heltisle keeps them on. They cannot be good for his College’s reputation.’
‘And Heltisle’s henchman, Thomas Caumpes? Was he there, too?’
‘No. Caumpes tends to keep his distance from the rest of that crowd. Who can blame him?’
‘He did not keep his distance when I was rash enough to pay Bene’t a visit yesterday. He seemed very much a part of their unpleasant little community.’
‘Doubtless he strives to give the appearance of unity to outsiders. He is an intensely loyal man, and cares very much about what other people think of his College.’
‘Then he should persuade Heltisle to rid Bene’t of Ulfo and Osmun.’
‘Perhaps he has tried. My father says he is the most reasonable of the Bene’t men and that he makes fewer outrageous demands on the Guild of St Mary and the Guild of Corpus Christi than do the others. As scholars go, he is the least offensive one that I know – other than you, I suppose.’
‘And it was definitely a leg you saw poking from behind this crowd who had gathered at the altar rail?’
‘As opposed to what?’ demanded Adela archly. ‘I may be a spinster, Matthew, but I know a leg when I see one. It was thin and scrawny with pale goldish hairs on it. Not particularly attractive. I prefer legs with a bit more meat on them.’
‘You would approve of Brother Michael’s, then.’
‘Not that much meat, thank you. I like something with muscle, as well as fat.’
‘Why wait until now to tell me this?’ asked Bartholomew, hastily changing the subject before they became too bogged down in anatomical details. ‘You have seen me several times since the day that happened, and you must have known the proctors are making enquiries into Brother Patrick’s death.’
‘It did not occur to me to tell you until Matilde mentioned that you were helping Brother Michael to investigate the matter when I met her this afternoon,’ said Adela. ‘I always thought you were more concerned with the living than the dead, Matthew. You are not interested in Patrick because you want his corpse to dissect for your students, are you?’
‘It is already buried,’ said Bartholomew. ‘But Brother Michael occasionally asks me to examine bodies for him.’
‘I see,’ said Adela, regarding him doubtfully. ‘Well, each to his own, I suppose. Matilde mentioned that you sometimes delve into the unsavoury world of murder. Most distasteful, I thought. You should develop an interest in horses instead. It would be much healthier.’
‘You seem to have had quite a lengthy discussion with Matilde about this. Did you also admit to her that you and I do not have an arrangement?’
Adela’s laughter echoed around the church again. ‘An “arrangement”! What a quaint way of putting it, Matthew! You mean did I tell her that you are free to pursue her, should she desire it?’
Bartholomew was not quite sure how to reply, seeing pitfalls in every direction.
Adela sighed. ‘She already knew I have no binding claim on you, although she did ask me to confirm it. I assumed that because Edith is so busy assessing all the available spinsters and widows in the town on your behalf, you were free of such attachments. I had no idea there were women who have a hankering for you.’
‘Are there?’
She smiled at him. ‘You seem more interested in my discussion with Matilde than in my leg story. Typical man! I risk my life telling you about something I was not meant to see, and all you can do is fix your lustful sights on a lady.’
‘Do you think the Bene’t scholars might harm you because you saw this leg?’ asked Bartholomew, concerned.
Adela’s smile remained, although it became wistful. ‘So, you do harbour a little feeling for me after all. You are worried lest they try to silence me, as I suspect they silenced Brother Patrick. I imagine he saw the body they were trying to hide, and now he is dead.’
‘Have you told anyone else about this?’
‘Not a soul. When it first happened, I assumed I had walked in on one of those silly fights you scholars so love. My instincts told me to forget what I had seen, and hope the Bene’t men would assume they had been successful in concealing the body from me. Then I discovered that the murdered friar and the man who had fled from the church were one and the same, and I realised the matter was a little more serious. I saw I should remain silent no longer.’
‘Why? You did not need to put yourself in danger.’
‘You know why,’ she said, looking down the nave and refusing to meet his eyes. ‘I felt I ought to make amends for the trouble I have caused you by claiming we were betrothed. But I am sure you will be careful with my information. I do not see you as the kind of man to go straight to that band of lunatics at Bene’t proclaiming that I saw them hiding a corpse in one of the town’s churches.’
‘I will be careful,’ he promised. ‘But why did you make up the story about our “betrothal” in the first place?’
‘Exasperation and desperation,’ she said with another sigh. ‘My father will not stop talking about marriage. I have horses to tend to, and have no time to listen to him prattling about heirs and childbirth and other equally unappealing topics. So, I said I was betrothed just to shut him up. Of course, then he wanted to know who to.’
‘Why pick me?’
‘I am sorry to disillusion you, Matthew, but you were the first appropriate mate who sprang to mind. I almost said Master Lynton from Peterhouse, because he had been helping me with a sick colt that afternoon, and I only just recalled in time that he is one of those chastity-bound fellows. Then I remembered you. It worked better than I could have hoped. My father kept quiet about weddings for a good four days. But then I heard that he had been spreading the news.’
‘He certainly had,’ agreed Bartholomew. ‘Edith was furious with me.’
Adela gave an apologetic grin. ‘But you and I did agree to become allies against marriage. I thought you would not mind if we put our understanding to some practical use, and was hoping we would have a long betrothal with no wedding day to mar our lives, which would leave us both free to do what we liked.’
‘Well, I suppose there is no harm done,’ said Bartholomew. He had been leaning against a pillar, and he straightened in anticipation of leaving.
‘It was blissful for a while,’ said Adela dreamily. ‘My father even bought me a new saddle, so delighted was he that he would soon have a brood of grandchildren galloping around his feet. And he was pleased to think he would have a contact with your brother-in-law, too. Good for business, he said.’
‘I must go,’ said Bartholomew, stretching. He wanted to return to the College to see whether Michael had made any headway in uncovering the killer of Runham.