There was a moment when he thought Katrina would deny it again, but then she sagged in resignation. ‘Very well, then. Come with me and inspect Bonde’s pretty handiwork.’
Although Bartholomew knew he should spend every moment of his last few hours in Clare helping Michael, he still followed Katrina down the stairs. One part of his mind told him that his ‘discovery’ regarding Suzanne might allow him to name Bonde as the killer for certain, but the saner part told him that all it would actually do was underscore what he already knew – that Bonde was a vicious and unlikeable tyrant who abused his position of power.
Katrina had been clever in her choice of hiding place, and had selected a tiny chamber built into the thickness of the Oxford Tower wall. Its entrance was concealed by a heavy tapestry, and there was no reason for anyone to know of its existence, although when she unlocked the door and pushed it open, he saw a window that would be visible from the outside: a keen observer would know a room was there. It was very dark inside, as the shutter was closed, although he could make out plenty of cushions and rugs.
‘What are you doing?’ came a shocked voice, making Bartholomew and Katrina turn quickly. Ella was behind them. ‘We swore to keep this a secret, and you bring a stranger here?’
‘A physician,’ said Katrina. ‘He wants to know about Bonde – what kind of monster he is.’
‘You could have just told him,’ snapped Ella. ‘You did not have to show–’
‘We need help, Ella,’ interrupted Katrina quietly. ‘The Lady was ill last month, and we all thought she would die. What will happen to Suzanne when she does? Her heirs will be all over the castle, and Suzanne will be found. We must plan for the future.’
Before Ella could reply, footfalls sounded on the stairs below. It was Quintone, bringing treats for ‘the birds’. Quickly, Katrina bundled Bartholomew and Ella into the room and locked the door behind them. In the darkness, they heard her thank Quintone politely and send him on his way. His footsteps receded.
A moment later, Katrina unfastened the door and joined them inside, while Ella strode to the window and opened it, allowing daylight to flood into the room. It illuminated a young woman, huddled in one corner like a frightened rabbit. She had long silky hair and her skin was as soft as peaches. The scar across her cheek was not as terrible as Bartholomew had anticipated, although it had still been an unconscionably cruel thing to do. Unsurprisingly, Suzanne was very fat – Katrina stole her vast quantities of food, while proper exercise would be all but impossible in the cramped little chamber.
‘This is Doctor Bartholomew,’ Katrina told her brusquely. ‘One of the scholars who has been exploring what happened to Margery. You must tell him about Bonde. I am fairly sure that her murder can be laid at his feet, and it is time to end his reign of terror.’
‘Bonde did not kill her – Quintone did,’ countered Ella, clearly furious with Katrina for breaking their trust. ‘My father and the Lady were wrong to pronounce him innocent, because he has always been an arrogant pig. Just look at the way he seduced poor Isabel.’
‘It was “poor Isabel” who did the seducing there,’ said Katrina wryly. ‘And Master Marishal has now established that three separate people saw Quintone lugging ale from the cellars. Ergo, he has an alibi. But Bonde does not. Go on, Suzanne. Repeat what you told me just an hour ago.’
Suzanne spoke with obvious reluctance, all the while casting petrified eyes in Bartholomew’s direction. ‘Bonde was lurking by the Cistern Tower just after nocturns that night. I saw him through my window. It was dark, but I would know his silhouette anywhere.’
Bartholomew went to the window. It afforded an excellent view of the cistern door, much better than the one from the birds’ room above, because that window was glazed – theirs was distorted by imperfections in the glass, while Suzanne’s view was clear and unimpeded.
‘Why were you awake at such an hour?’ he asked.
‘Because I have slept badly ever since … I saw Bonde just a few moments after Katrina and Sir William Albon went into the chapel for nocturns.’
‘Albon,’ muttered Katrina in disgust. ‘What a wicked waste of an eligible bachelor! Now I shall have to start looking all over again.’
‘What was Bonde doing?’ Bartholomew asked Suzanne.
‘He went to the cistern door, and then I lost him in the shadows. A short while later, I saw him creeping away.’
‘Was this “short while” long enough for him to have gone down the stairs, killed two people, and climbed back up again?’
‘Yes,’ whispered Suzanne. ‘I believe it was.’
‘Then why did you not mention it sooner?’ demanded Bartholomew, exasperated. ‘If you were afraid to speak to Michael, Lichet or Albon, why could you not have told Katrina or Ella? They would have ensured it reached the right ears.’
‘Because any investigator worth his salt would have demanded words with me directly,’ replied Suzanne miserably. ‘And rightly so, when a man’s life depends on it. But people here hate me – they think it is my fault that Anne is in an anchorhold. I cannot face them.’
‘Did you see anyone other than Bonde, Albon and Katrina?’ asked Bartholomew.
‘Lots of folk. Margery, who took refreshments to those who worked all night; Roos, who we all called Jevan – I saw him go through the cistern door; Quintone and Isabel frolicking together; two Austins and a scholar, who entered the chapel; Jan the hermit, who was following Bonde; Richard the watchman, who did a few laps around the bailey to stretch his legs as is his wont …’
Which explained why Richard had not mentioned Bonde disappearing at the salient time, thought Bartholomew – he had been wandering about alone himself. Had Richard been afraid that he might be accused of the murders if he could not prove his whereabouts for every moment of that fateful night? Or had he kept quiet out of loyalty to a man who stood watch with him? Or was it simple expediency, as Bonde was not only the Lady’s favourite henchman, but a violent criminal who had already evaded charges of rape, murder and assault?
‘… Ereswell went to the Constable Tower for some early business with Marishal,’ Suzanne continued. ‘And I think Lichet left his quarters at one point, although I cannot be sure. It was too dark to see him properly.’
Bartholomew rubbed his eyes tiredly, feeling the solution to the crime slip further away with every name that fell from her lips. He and Michael would never identify the killer in the allotted time left now, and he was sorry that Michaelhouse was going to lose its last chance of survival.
Katrina was more interested in solving a different problem. ‘We need help, Ella. You and Thomas cannot keep everyone distracted with pranks indefinitely. It has been eighteen months now, and it is obvious that you are running out of ideas, because your japes are becoming increasingly stupid, annoying or dangerous.’
‘Yes, I know,’ acknowledged Ella ruefully. ‘We have resorted to desperate measures of late – such as encouraging the squires to wear silly clothes.’ She glanced at Bartholomew. ‘And setting Adam the baker alight when he was ordered to clean all the rooms on this floor. Thank God he was a thief, and we were able to divert him with a silver box filled with hot embers.’
‘It will be more difficult than ever now that no one is going to France,’ Katrina went on. ‘And it is only a matter of time before bored squires come up here to poke about in a tower that we have so far managed to keep them out of.’