‘What are you doing?’ he demanded, pressing a fat hand to his pounding heart. ‘It is not nice to loom out of the darkness and startle innocent men.’
‘Are you innocent, Brother?’ breathed Tysilia huskily. ‘Shall we find out?’
‘We shall not!’ said Michael firmly, and Bartholomew heard the distinctive sound of a hand being slapped away. ‘Behave yourself! What would Blanche say if she found you here unescorted with two men in the middle of the night?’
‘I imagine she would be rather jealous when she saw that one of the men was you,’ gushed Tysilia. ‘I think she has taken a liking to you herself. And anyway, she met a lot of young men alone in the dark when she was young. She told me so herself.’
‘What do you mean?’ asked Michael, interested, despite his nervousness.
‘I mean that she had lots of lovers before her marriage,’ explained Tysilia patiently. ‘She told me about a churchman she wooed, because she said she did not want me to fall into the same pit. She said he gave her a child, and that it had almost ruined her life.’
‘And what did you think of that?’ asked Michael curiously.
‘I told her that my lovers had already given me three children, but that the brats either died before I ever saw them, or someone kindly took them off my hands. She seemed rather shocked. I cannot imagine why, when all I did was tell her that we had shared the same experiment.’
‘Experience,’ corrected Bartholomew before he could stop himself. ‘What else did she say?’
‘She gave me lots of meaningful looks and kept holding my hands. I had no idea what she was trying to tell me. I do not know why she did not just come out and say whatever it was.’
‘Did it ever occur to you that your mother might have been a lady like Blanche?’ asked Michael. Bartholomew held his breath. Educating Tysilia about her parentage was not something for discussing at such a time or in such a place, and he was surprised that Michael was prepared to broach such a delicate subject.
‘Of course,’ said Tysilia carelessly. ‘But she must have been a real beauty to produce me, so that takes Blanche out of the running. She looks like a pig.’
‘De Lisle told me that Blanche was extremely pretty when she was young,’ pressed Michael.
‘But he has sworn one of those vows of celery, so he is no judge,’ said Tysilia.
For the first time, it occurred to Bartholomew that in later life Tysilia might come to resemble the woman she claimed to find so ugly. Tysilia would be a lot bigger than the squat, buxom Blanche, and the combination would not be an attractive one. He had always considered Tysilia’s claims of beauty rather exaggerated in any case. He felt a surge of compassion for the bleak future she faced, when her looks would no longer guarantee her the lovers she craved.
‘Anyway,’ Tysilia went on, ‘there is a very good reason why Blanche cannot have mothered me. She is not William’s mother, so she cannot be mine.’
‘Lord!’ breathed Michael in exasperation. Bartholomew heard him clear his throat, then adopt a more reasonable tone. ‘Tell us about William. How did you meet? Was he ever your lover?’
Tysilia sighed heavily. ‘Of course not! I am not a pervert, you know.’ She turned to Bartholomew. ‘You should tell Michael that decent women do not take their siblings to bed.’
‘I am sure he needs no tuition from me about suitable bed-mates,’ said Bartholomew. ‘But why did you take Blanche’s cup?’
‘I took it because William promised to spirit me away from this place,’ said Tysilia. ‘I happen to know that staying in clean taverns and hiring horses is expensive. I have travelled a lot while attending the University of Life.’
‘Did you take the book, too?’ asked Bartholomew, ignoring the fact that most of the time she was locked up somewhere fairly remote.
‘No. I only removed things that would be easy to sell.’
‘A chalice would not have been easy,’ Bartholomew pointed out.
‘Any monk or friar would take it,’ said Tysilia carelessly, and Bartholomew could see the white gleam of her vacant grin, even in the darkness. ‘They spend all their lives in churches, and so we could have sold a chalice to any of them.’
‘Not many would buy one that they thought was stolen,’ said Bartholomew.
‘Rubbish,’ said Tysilia and Michael at the same time. Bartholomew saw Tysilia interpret this as a sign that they were made for each other, and she moved closer to him again. Michael stepped around Bartholomew, and the physician found himself in the middle of an unpleasant grappling contest until he pushed them both firmly away.
‘Do you think one of Blanche’s retinue might have owned this book?’ he asked tiredly. It was very late, and he was growing weary of prising information from Tysilia. He began to acknowledge that Michael was right, and that she knew nothing worth telling after all.
‘None of them can read,’ said Tysilia. ‘A book is no good if you cannot read it, unless it has a lot of pictures. Those are the ones I like.’
‘Tell us about William,’ said Bartholomew, electing not to mention that the book they had found was full of beautiful illustrations. That she seemed not to know was probably proof that she was not the person who had stolen it. He sensed Michael was as exasperated with the interview as he was, and decided it was time to draw it to a close. ‘You said you knew a lot about him earlier. You were afraid that he might be in danger. Are you still afraid?’
‘I had forgotten about that,’ said Tysilia, glancing around her in agitation. ‘You should not have reminded me. Now I feel frightened, and Michael will have to put his arms around me.’
‘Michael will not,’ said the monk firmly. ‘Why did you think William was in danger?’
‘Glovere was dead,’ replied Tysilia. ‘And William said that he and I would be the killer’s next victims.’
‘Why did he say that?’ asked Bartholomew, feeling that they were finally getting somewhere.
‘Because I was speaking too loudly,’ said Tysilia sulkily. ‘He said we would be next because I was shouting, and that people would see us together when we met in the cemetery.’
Michael made an impatient sound. ‘He did not mean that literally. It sounds as though he was just trying to make you understand the need for discretion.’
‘Glovere died because he had enemies,’ Tysilia went on, oblivious to Michael’s frustration. ‘When I was still with Blanche, he told me that someone might try to kill him. He did not appear to take it seriously. But it seems he should have done.’
‘Who was going to kill him?’ demanded Michael immediately.
‘I do not know. Blanche said he was talking about the Bishop, but dear, sweet Uncle would harm no one. And then later, when I met William again, he told me there were dangerous people in Ely. He did not say who, though, before you ask.’
‘I see,’ said Michael. When he spoke again, his voice was more gentle; apparently he had decided he would learn more from her with kindness. ‘We must catch the killer before more lives are lost, Tysilia. Can you think of anything – anything at all – that might help us? Did William give you any clues about the identity of the killer?’
‘No,’ said Tysilia. ‘He talked about the places we would see together when we left Ely, but he said we would always come back here.’
‘Did he indeed?’ said Michael, surprised. ‘I had assumed that his removal of some of the priory’s property would have eliminated the notion of a triumphant return. Where did he say you might go?’
‘Upriver,’ said Tysilia. ‘But only for a short time. He was going to be Prior when Alan died, then Bishop when my uncle dies.’
‘How long have you known William?’ asked Bartholomew.
Tysilia regarded him uncertainly. ‘He is my brother. So I have known him since I was born, although I only met him a few days ago. But why are you asking all these questions when Michael and I could be doing something much more fun?’
‘Did you notice any change in William’s behaviour as time went on?’ asked Bartholomew, refusing to become sidetracked. ‘Has he seemed different to you? Nervous or uneasy?’