‘And look where such dishonesty has taken you both – him accused of murder and you shamed in front of everyone. If you had told the truth, I might have been able to protect you.’
Isabel sneered at him. ‘Oh, yes! I should have confessed that I was lying with a man. What does my reputation matter?’
‘Well, nothing now,’ Michael pointed out drily. ‘But why him? Surely you could do better?’
‘You mean one of the squires? They bed us happily enough, but they do not want marriage. And now I am in trouble, which was never a problem when Anne was here to … offer advice.’
‘So what will you do?’ asked Bartholomew, his voice more kindly than Michael’s.
Isabel looked away. ‘I do not know. Visit kin in the country for a few months, I suppose. Perhaps the Lady will take me back afterwards. She has overlooked these mishaps in the past.’
‘Tell us what happened on the night of the murders,’ ordered Michael. ‘Truthfully this time, if you please.’
Isabel glared at him. ‘There is no more to telclass="underline" Quintone and I were together most of the night, then he left to fetch us some ale. He was longer than he should have been, and he told me that he had had to broach another keg. I believed him at the time.’
‘And now?’
Malice flashed in Isabel’s eyes, and it was clear that more untruths were in the offing, but then she looked at Michael and thought better of it. ‘He did not kill anyone. Why would he? We both liked Margery, and neither of us knew the scholar.’
‘I suspect you did – it transpires that Roos donned a beard and called himself Philip de Jevan.’
Isabel gaped her astonishment. ‘Truly? But they are so different – one smart with a white mane, the other scruffy and unshaven. Are you sure?’
Michael inclined his head. ‘So tell us what you know about Roos.’
‘He was always panting after Margery when he came for council meetings. Me and the other girls took bets on how long it would be before he cornered her alone. She hated it, so we often contrived to rescue her.’
Michael regarded her coolly. ‘You did not tell me this before, either.’
‘Why would I? As far as I was aware, “Jevan” was miles away, lurking in whatever hole he lives in when he is not here. I had no idea that he was a factor in Margery’s death.’
‘So his attentions were definitely unwanted?’ pressed Bartholomew.
‘Yes – she was a married woman and respectable.’ Isabel gave a bitter smile. ‘Not like me. But Roos was annoyingly persistent. He fawned and simpered, and would not leave her alone.’
‘But she loved her husband?’
‘She did. Master Marishal neglected her shamefully, but she loved him all the same.’
Armed with the new information, Michael descended on others who might have known about Roos’s unhealthy obsession with another man’s wife. Bartholomew helped for a while, then slipped away when he saw Katrina emerge from the hall, where she had just dined. She was carrying a basket, which he offered to carry. As they approached the Oxford Tower, they heard Grisel screeching furiously on the top floor, while Quintone howled piteously in the basement.
‘I hope Quintone does not carry on too long,’ said Katrina. ‘Grisel does not like it.’
Bartholomew felt like pointing out that Quintone would be none too happy with the situation either, but he held his tongue. Her basket was heavy, and when he tweaked aside the cover, he was astonished at what lay within: cakes, fruit, a platter of meat, bread and a flask of wine.
‘I hope this is not all for the birds,’ he said as he followed her up the stairs. ‘It is unsuitable–’
‘You think I would feed them wine? No, that is for me, although it is not something I shall ever admit to the kitchen staff. You see, I cannot always abandon my charges when meals are served in the hall, and only a fool does not take precautions to protect her stomach.’
She and Michael had a lot in common, thought Bartholomew.
‘God the save Queen,’ declared Grisel when they arrived, then added hopefully, ‘Nuts?’
‘Margery’s funeral is today,’ said Katrina, paring an apple into thin slices, while three pairs of eyes watched in greedy anticipation. ‘I hope there is no trouble – she would not have liked it.’
‘Nicholas thinks it will pass off peacefully, out of respect for her.’
‘Yes, but that was probably before the Lady decreed that it should be the castle chaplain who conducts the ceremony, not Nicholas. The town will be affronted on their priest’s behalf.’
‘Van the bolt bring down,’ declared Grisel, accepting a piece of apple. ‘Queen the save God.’
‘They are fellow Austins,’ said Bartholomew. ‘Nicholas will not mind.’
‘Oh, yes, he will, and he will bray his indignation in no uncertain terms. Heselbech will decline the “honour”, but the Lady will insist, and Prior John will tell Heselbech to obey her – he has no choice, unless he wants to risk the money she gives his convent.’
Slighting Nicholas was a bad move on the Lady’s part, and appeared to be deliberately provocative. ‘Why would she do such a thing?’ asked Bartholomew, bemused.
‘Because I think she aims to end the feud by forcing it to a head,’ explained Katrina. ‘It will result in a skirmish, which she will win, because she has armed troops at her disposal. Once the town is defeated, she can sue for peace on her own terms, and the conflict will end.’
‘But the townsfolk outnumber her soldiers by a considerable margin. She might lose.’
Katrina grimaced. ‘Lichet told her she would not, and no one was there to challenge him – Marishal was drugged, Albon was investigating murder, and Lichet had given everyone else jobs to do. Prior John came to talk sense to her, but the Red Devil refused to let him in.’
‘Well, Marishal is back now. Lichet’s reign of ineptitude is over.’
‘But the damage is done. Worse, she ordered Heselbech to preside over the rededication ceremony, too. If Margery’s funeral does not ignite a riot, that insult certainly will. Still, at least she stopped Lichet from executing Quintone. I do not like Quintone, but he should not hang on evidence fabricated by the Red Devil. Besides, I am sure the murderer is Bonde.’
‘Why? Have you learned something new since we last spoke?’
‘No, but everyone knows that he has killed before. Besides, he is a monster and I hate him.’
She spoke with such passion that Bartholomew regarded her askance. ‘Why do–’
But Katrina raised a hand to stop him. ‘I have said too much already, and I can see Brother Michael down in the bailey, looking around for you. You had better go.’
Bartholomew glanced out of the window, and saw she was right. ‘Please tell me what you know about Bonde,’ he said quietly. ‘It may help us catch Margery’s killer.’
‘I do not believe it will. However, I know one thing that might. It regards the priest who chanted the office of nocturns on the night of the murders …’
‘That was Weste. Heselbech was too drunk, so Weste did it for him.’
Katrina nodded impatiently. ‘Yes, I know. I heard them discussing it while the trouble with Quintone was raging – it is what set me thinking. Weste recited nocturns, Langelee had gone, Albon knelt by the rood screen and I was at the back of the chapel. But what was Heselbech doing?’
‘Sleeping – Weste heard him snoring in a corner.’
‘But not for long, or Albon would have complained. Our noble knight is a pious man, and would not have tolerated a lot of snoring while holy words were being uttered. Which means that Heselbech spent part of the time doing something else.’
‘Or he shifted into a different position, where his throat did not vibrate so much.’
‘Maybe. But there was something about Heselbech’s eyes during his discussion with Weste … I cannot explain exactly, but you could do worse than speak to him again.’