A Summer of Discontent

‘Fetch your doll,’ snapped Blanche, taking hold of the trout and ripping it apart as if dead fish were not the only things she would like to dismember. Bartholomew thought de Lisle had been wise to remove the aggravating Tysilia from the King’s kinswoman. Although Blanche doubtless knew perfectly well that Tysilia was her daughter, he imagined it would be extremely difficult to develop maternal feelings for her.

Tysilia skipped across to a shelf near the window, and began to toss things this way and that as she searched. Meanwhile, Ralph looked around him with interest, as though hoping to learn something he could use against Blanche for the benefit of his Bishop. Bartholomew saw his gaze linger on a pile of documents that lay on a table, but since the steward could not read, staring did him no good.

Michael edged as far as he could from the window where Tysilia was creating havoc among skeins of silk, packets of needles and sundry other objects, and spoke to Blanche’s assembled household.

‘Do any of you recognise these items?’ he asked. He raised the cup so that everyone would be able to see it, and then produced the book of hours. ‘Or this book?’

‘That cup is mine!’ exclaimed Blanche, standing up to snatch it back. ‘I always insist that my own vessels are used for masses celebrated in my presence. I missed this two days ago — on Wednesday — and I wondered what had happened to it. I thought it had been stolen.’

She fixed Tysilia with a hard stare, and crammed a large piece of fish into her mouth. Tysilia beamed back at her, and hugged the doll she had finally retrieved. Blanche was right: it was a sorry thing with a painted head that had been chewed and a grubby gown that needed washing.

Bartholomew recalled that Tysilia had been known to steal the property of others in the past, although she had not been very good at hiding what she had taken and was invariably caught before she could profit from her crimes. It was entirely possible that she had taken the cup. But then how had it come to be in the granary with William’s coins and the mysterious book of hours? Had she given it to William, perhaps in return for a promise that he would take her with him when he fled? Tysilia had not been happy with Blanche, and might well have been seduced by a silver tongue that promised freedom in return for treasure. William had a reputation for plots and intrigues, and was perhaps the kind of man to promise something he had no intention of delivering.

‘The chalice was hidden in a sack in the barn,’ explained Michael. ‘Do you have any idea as to how it might have arrived there?’ He addressed his question to Blanche, although it was Tysilia at whom he looked.

‘No,’ said Blanche. ‘But my chalice was stolen. It is valuable, so I suppose some thief took a fancy to it. It was a foolish thing to take, because it is not easy to sell church vessels for gold.’

This, too, was directed towards Tysilia, who seemed oblivious to their pointed comments. She stood clutching the doll to her chest, swinging this way and that as she whispered to it. Her eyes, however, were fixed on Michael, and were dark and unreadable.

‘I imagine not,’ said Bartholomew, declining to ask how Blanche would know that selling stolen church silver was difficult. ‘But you noticed it gone on Wednesday, you say? That was when William disappeared.’

‘I dislike all the yelling and shrieking as the monks compete with the parish priest in the cathedral, and I decided to hear mass from my own chaplain that evening. When he went to fetch the chalice, he found it gone. He assures me it was there at dawn that day.’

‘So, it was stolen between Wednesday morning and dusk,’ surmised Michael thoughtfully. ‘Has anyone been lurking around here who looks suspicious?’

‘Only de Lisle,’ said Blanche, unwilling to allow an opportunity to pass without attacking her enemy. ‘But I doubt he would muddy his hands by stealing my silver. He prefers to use them for murder these days, and theft is a paltry crime compared to that.’

‘My Bishop has killed no one, and he is not a thief,’ declared Ralph hotly, taking a menacing step towards her. Immediately, there was the sound of daggers being whipped from sheaths and several of Blanche’s retainers rose quickly to their feet. Ralph surveyed them and decided on a course of prudence, moving back towards the door. His face remained angry, though, and if looks could kill, then Blanche and her entire household would have been buried that day.

‘The Lamb is a pleasant place for an ale,’ announced Tysilia in the silence that followed, clutching the doll as she made her way towards Michael. She took hold of his arm. ‘We shall go there first, then to somewhere more relaxing.’

‘We shall not,’ said Michael firmly, disentangling himself. ‘I have not eaten yet, and I have no energy to romp with you.’