A Summer of Discontent

‘Interesting knife,’ said Bartholomew in an undertone to Michael. Since he had identified the killer’s unique way of dispatching his victims, he had taken to inspecting people’s weapons, to see whether any matched the length and width necessary to commit the crime. Blanche’s fitted nicely.

‘You think that could be the murder weapon?’ asked Michael in surprise. ‘And she is using it to eat her dinner?’

‘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.’