‘Perhaps she does not know it might have been used for purposes other than culinary. Or perhaps she is not as squeamish as you are.’
‘So, she or one of her retinue may be the killer,’ muttered Michael. ‘You suggested the killer was a monk. But you could be wrong, because the guests who stay in the Outer Hostry also have access to the vineyards and the hospital.’
‘I was right when I said we did not need any more information, though,’ muttered Bartholomew. ‘The more we have, the further away seems the solution.’
‘Can I help you?’ asked Blanche, stretching her arms and flexing her fingers in anticipation. It appeared that, for her, eating involved a considerable amount of physical exercise. ‘I would invite you to dine, but the monks have not been generous in their portions, and I would not like to go hungry because you have chosen to visit me now when it would have been more polite to defer.’
‘Murder is a business that will not wait,’ said Michael pompously. ‘I will do whatever is necessary to catch this killer – even interrupt meals.’
‘You already have your killer,’ said Blanche wearily. ‘The Bishop.’
‘That is unlikely, given that other men have died since Glovere,’ said Michael. ‘I know for a fact that he did not kill Thomas. And if he is innocent of that, then he did not kill the others.’ Glibly he omitted the fact that he knew no such thing, and that, as far as Bartholomew was concerned, de Lisle was still firmly on their list of suspects.
Blanche registered her irritation. ‘I am not saying that he murdered them with his own hands; I am saying that he issued the instructions and that others obeyed them. De Lisle threatened to kill my steward, and I am sure De Lisle ordered Glovere’s death. Pass me one of those trout, will you? It will save me standing.’
Michael produced the ivory-handled knife he used for cutting up his own food, and speared a dead fish on its point. Grease dripped across the table as he transferred it from the serving dish to Blanche’s trencher. All around them, hands stretched and grabbed as the retainers began their own meal, although no one spoke. The conversation between Michael and Blanche was too interesting for that.
At that moment, the door opened behind them and Tysilia entered the room with Ralph at her heels. The Bishop’s steward looked grey and tired, as though less than a day in Tysilia’s company had already drained him of energy. When Tysilia saw Michael, she gave a squeal of delight.
‘Michael! I did not expect to find you here, although I was going to persuade Ralph to make a detour to see whether we could find you a little later. It will be night, and fewer people will observe us.’
‘What are you doing here?’ demanded Blanche, none too pleased to see her charge back again. ‘I hope the Bishop does not intend to foist you on me a second time. If so, he can think again.’
‘He thinks you may try to strangle me,’ said Tysilia brightly. ‘That is why he has charged Ralph to remain with me at all times, to make sure that you do not.’
‘Shall I step outside for a few moments?’ Bartholomew heard Ralph mutter to Blanche. The physician was not entirely sure that the words were spoken in jest.
‘Then why have you come?’ demanded Blanche of Tysilia. ‘If you seriously think I might throttle you, you should not be here at all.’
‘She says she has left a doll,’ said Ralph wearily. ‘She claims she will not sleep until she has it. And believe me, I would very much like her to sleep.’
‘A doll?’ asked Michael doubtfully. ‘You mean a child’s toy?’
‘It is a sorry-looking thing,’ said Blanche. ‘But she always has it with her in bed – at least, when she is sleeping. It is usually ousted when she has other company.’
‘Three would be awfully crowded,’ explained Tysilia sincerely. ‘Especially if one of them was the size of Brother Michael.’ She eyed him up and down in a way that made even Bartholomew feel uncomfortable.
‘I can imagine,’ said Blanche dryly. ‘Your doll is in the window. I was planning to have it delivered to you tomorrow, along with all your other possessions, so that you would not think of returning to me.’
‘I would not think of that,’ said Tysilia guilelessly. ‘I did not like living with you. You are ugly, and you drive away the most handsome men with your sharp tongue. I will have a much happier life with my uncle.’
‘Fetch your doll,’ snapped Blanche, taking hold of the trout and ripping it apart as if dead fish were not the only things she would like to dismember. Bartholomew thought de Lisle had been wise to remove the aggravating Tysilia from the King’s kinswoman. Although Blanche doubtless knew perfectly well that Tysilia was her daughter, he imagined it would be extremely difficult to develop maternal feelings for her.
Tysilia skipped across to a shelf near the window, and began to toss things this way and that as she searched. Meanwhile, Ralph looked around him with interest, as though hoping to learn something he could use against Blanche for the benefit of his Bishop. Bartholomew saw his gaze linger on a pile of documents that lay on a table, but since the steward could not read, staring did him no good.
Michael edged as far as he could from the window where Tysilia was creating havoc among skeins of silk, packets of needles and sundry other objects, and spoke to Blanche’s assembled household.
‘Do any of you recognise these items?’ he asked. He raised the cup so that everyone would be able to see it, and then produced the book of hours. ‘Or this book?’
‘That cup is mine!’ exclaimed Blanche, standing up to snatch it back. ‘I always insist that my own vessels are used for masses celebrated in my presence. I missed this two days ago – on Wednesday – and I wondered what had happened to it. I thought it had been stolen.’
She fixed Tysilia with a hard stare, and crammed a large piece of fish into her mouth. Tysilia beamed back at her, and hugged the doll she had finally retrieved. Blanche was right: it was a sorry thing with a painted head that had been chewed and a grubby gown that needed washing.
Bartholomew recalled that Tysilia had been known to steal the property of others in the past, although she had not been very good at hiding what she had taken and was invariably caught before she could profit from her crimes. It was entirely possible that she had taken the cup. But then how had it come to be in the granary with William’s coins and the mysterious book of hours? Had she given it to William, perhaps in return for a promise that he would take her with him when he fled? Tysilia had not been happy with Blanche, and might well have been seduced by a silver tongue that promised freedom in return for treasure. William had a reputation for plots and intrigues, and was perhaps the kind of man to promise something he had no intention of delivering.
‘The chalice was hidden in a sack in the barn,’ explained Michael. ‘Do you have any idea as to how it might have arrived there?’ He addressed his question to Blanche, although it was Tysilia at whom he looked.
‘No,’ said Blanche. ‘But my chalice was stolen. It is valuable, so I suppose some thief took a fancy to it. It was a foolish thing to take, because it is not easy to sell church vessels for gold.’
This, too, was directed towards Tysilia, who seemed oblivious to their pointed comments. She stood clutching the doll to her chest, swinging this way and that as she whispered to it. Her eyes, however, were fixed on Michael, and were dark and unreadable.
‘I imagine not,’ said Bartholomew, declining to ask how Blanche would know that selling stolen church silver was difficult. ‘But you noticed it gone on Wednesday, you say? That was when William disappeared.’
‘I dislike all the yelling and shrieking as the monks compete with the parish priest in the cathedral, and I decided to hear mass from my own chaplain that evening. When he went to fetch the chalice, he found it gone. He assures me it was there at dawn that day.’
‘So, it was stolen between Wednesday morning and dusk,’ surmised Michael thoughtfully. ‘Has anyone been lurking around here who looks suspicious?’