‘Odelina does seem to worship her,’ agreed Bartholomew, watching them together. ‘But what does Celia gain from the association?’
‘According to Langelee, a warm welcome in the house of the town’s most influential businesswoman. There is a lot a resourceful, ambitious lady like Celia can learn from Emma.’
Before he could say more, Celia began to haul on the ring that still adorned one of Drax’s two remaining fingers. Unfortunately, it was a tight fit, and she could not twist it free. After a few moments, during which Bartholomew was obliged to make a lunge for the coffin, to prevent it from being yanked off its trestles, she turned to him.
‘Will you get it for me? You are always clamouring to hack out Emma’s bad tooth, so I am sure you have a knife to hand. If not, then borrow mine.’ Celia removed a slender blade from her belt. ‘But hurry, if you please. I do not like this church. It is draughty and smells of dead birds.’
Bartholomew did as she asked, pointedly avoiding the use of sharp implements. He blinked in disbelief when she immediately donned the retrieved ring, flexing her hand to admire the effect. Odelina was also dismayed by the brazen materialism, and he supposed it did not square with her image of Celia as the noble heroine.
‘What happened to John?’ Celia asked, turning abruptly to Michael. ‘You say he was found dead in your College, but I do not understand why he should have been there in the first place.’
‘Neither do we,’ replied Michael, also struggling to mask his distaste. ‘He was stabbed, and his body hidden behind some tiles. Unfortunately, a member of our College tugged on the sheet that covered them, causing a couple to topple–’
‘You mean he was murdered?’ demanded Celia. For the first time since entering the church, she seemed shocked. ‘You must be mistaken! No one would kill John.’
‘Unfortunately, it would seem someone did,’ said Michael. ‘But I shall find out who.’
‘Lord!’ breathed Celia, gazing at him. ‘He always expected to die in bed at a ripe old age.’
‘You discussed death with him?’ asked Michael keenly.
Celia nodded. ‘Sometimes, when we were bored and had nothing else to do. These winter evenings are very long, and it is easy to run out of nice things to talk about.’
‘I cannot say I have ever had that problem,’ said Michael. ‘What exactly did–’
‘I suppose I had better start making arrangements for his funeral,’ interrupted Celia. ‘But before I go, there are a couple more things I want from his corpse: the medallion he wore around his neck and the pilgrim brooch pinned in his hat. However, now I know he was murdered, I do not feel equal to rummaging for them myself. Would you mind obliging me, Doctor?’
‘Yes, I would, actually.’ Bartholomew felt as though he was being asked to rob a grave.
‘Odelina,’ said Celia, turning to her friend with a coaxing smile. ‘You love me, do you not? Slip your hand inside the box and grab the trinkets.’
‘No!’ cried Odelina, appalled. ‘I cannot touch a murdered man in a church! It might bring me bad luck regarding getting a husband.’
‘Perhaps you should leave them where they are,’ suggested Michael coolly. ‘The dead are entitled to carry some personal effects to the grave, and you already have his ring.’
‘I am not one for making sentimental gestures over corpses,’ retorted Celia. ‘Gold is gold, and it belongs with the living. Or is there another reason why Michaelhouse is unwilling to help a grieving widow? Such as that they have already removed these items for themselves?’
‘Matt will retrieve them for you,’ said Michael stiffly. Bartholomew started to object, but the monk overrode him. ‘I will not have it said that our College steals from the dead – or from the living, for that matter. And while he is busy, you can tell me about any spats or disagreements your husband might have had.’
Celia watched Bartholomew lift the lid and begin unravelling the chain from Drax’s neck. ‘Well, Principal Kendale objected to the fact that John was going to raise the rent on Chestre Hostel – John hated Kendale, and hoped the increase would encourage him to leave. Then several of our customers argued with him, because he refused to give them credit for ale.’
Bartholomew dropped the salvaged necklace into Celia’s eager hand. She wiped it on her sleeve then slipped it around her neck. He regarded her in astonishment. She scowled at him, and indicated that he should stop staring, and retrieve the badge.
‘Why did he refuse?’ asked Michael, struggling to conceal his revulsion. ‘If they were regulars?’
‘Because it might be weeks before the weather breaks, and they earn enough to pay us back. Or they might die of starvation in the interim. We are a business, not a charity.’
‘Your husband made donations to Michaelhouse,’ Bartholomew pointed out. ‘That is charity.’
‘Yes, but he got prayers in return. It was a commercial arrangement, although I shall not be buying anything from you. I do not deal with warlocks and fat monks who ask impudent questions.’
‘I am not fat,’ objected Michael. ‘I have big bones. And I am not impudent, either. I am merely trying to ascertain why your husband died. But tell me about your life together. Was it happy?’
‘Do not answer,’ advised Odelina sharply. ‘He is trying to trap you, because he thinks you might have murdered John and toted his corpse to Michaelhouse.’
‘Do you?’ asked Celia, treating the monk to a forthright stare. ‘Why? John was not the most scintillating of men, but we liked each other well enough. Now, give me the badge, Doctor.’
‘Here is the hat,’ said Bartholomew. ‘But I cannot see a pilgrim token.’
‘It is pinned on the inside,’ explained Celia. ‘Because he wanted to keep it safe. It is from Walsingham, you see – the shrine where the Virgin appears from time to time.’
‘Had he been on a pilgrimage, then?’ asked Bartholomew, surprised. Drax had not seemed like the kind of man to absent himself from his taverns in order to undertake arduous journeys.
‘No,’ replied Celia. ‘He bought it from a pardoner, who told him that owning it was the next best thing to going on one of these expeditions himself. It will earn him less time in Purgatory.’
‘If you believe that, then why do you want to take it from him?’ asked Bartholomew. Talking to Celia reminded him why he had not minded when she had informed him that she was transferring her allegiance to another physician. He had always found it difficult to like her.
‘Because I want to spend less time in Purgatory, too,’ replied Celia shortly. ‘So look inside the coffin, if you please. It must have fallen off.’
‘Not necessarily,’ said Bartholomew, examining the hat. ‘There is a hole here, where something has been ripped away.’
‘What are you saying?’ asked Celia warily. ‘That John was murdered for his pilgrim badge?’
‘Was it valuable?’ asked Bartholomew, not bothering to reply. She knew as well as he did that the poor were struggling to feed their families that winter. ‘Made of precious metal or jewels?’
‘Naturally,’ replied Celia. ‘We neither of us are interested in pewter. And I want it back, so when you find his killer, be sure to prise it from his murderous grasp.’
She turned and flounced away, leaving Odelina to scurry after her. Michael watched with his eyebrows raised so high that they disappeared under his thin brown fringe.
‘Well!’ he drawled. ‘So much for the grieving widow!’
The following day was dry, but bitterly cold, and Bartholomew shivered as he trudged from patient to patient. Few had fires in their homes, and he was not surprised they were succumbing to chills and fevers. His last visit was to a cottage near the Mill Pond, where a young fisherman was suffering from a badly sprained ankle. Bartholomew bound it up with a poultice of pine resin and wax, and advised him not to stand on it for a few days.