A Summer of Discontent

‘Blanche has long, sharp ears, like a horse,’ Tysilia went on. ‘She hears all sorts of things.’

‘A horse?’ asked Bartholomew, before he could stop himself. He needed to ask about William before Blanche reached them, not allow Tysilia to side-track him with what would doubtless prove to be some asinine observation.

‘Horses have long, sharp ears,’ said Tysilia authoritatively. ‘Although I suppose they are more pointed than sharp, really. In fact, I am not sure what is meant by a “sharp ear”. But whatever it is, Blanche has them. William told me so, and he is my brother, so he must be right.’

‘Why did he say that about Blanche? Has she overheard you and William talking?’

‘She may have done. He told me that Ely is a dangerous place at the moment, and he thought it would be more dangerous with her in it.’

‘Why did he think that?’

‘He did not tell me,’ Tysilia whispered, her voice confidential now that she knew she was speaking about William’s secret matter. ‘But he thinks there is a killer here, in the monastery! He said this killer will be watching me all the time, and that he has the power to look at my most secret thoughts.’ She glanced around her fearfully. ‘That means he is watching me now.’

‘William was trying to frighten you into keeping quiet about what you discussed together,’ said Bartholomew. ‘The killer is a vicious man who owns a knife, but he has no supernatural powers or ability to read minds.’

‘You do not know that for certain,’ she shot back.

‘Then tell me what William told you, and we may be able to expose this fiend and put an end to all the fear and suspicion,’ Bartholomew reasoned.

She smiled her vacant smile again, her dark eyes empty of intelligent thought. ‘He said the killer is in the monastery.’

‘What did he mean? That the culprit is a monk?’

‘I suppose so,’ said Tysilia uncertainly. ‘Monks do live in monasteries, after all. But then, so do other people. I have seen them myself — servants and tradesmen and visitors.’

Bartholomew stared at her. ‘Blanche is a visitor at the monastery. And there are all manner of lay-brothers working in the grounds and the kitchens.’

‘Oh, yes!’ agreed Tysilia happily. ‘I remember now. William did say that the killer could be just about anyone here. And he said that Glovere, Chaloner and Haywarde were not likeable men, and so someone relieved the world of them. That is why they died: because no one liked them.’

Bartholomew raised his eyebrows. ‘William believes that someone is killing people just because they are unpopular?’

‘Yes,’ said Tysilia. ‘And because William is unpopular, someone will want to kill him, too. Everyone who is nasty is at risk. That means that I am safe, of course.’

Blanche stormed up to Tysilia and Bartholomew and regarded them both with rank suspicion. ‘What have you been doing?’ she demanded. ‘I hope you have not been romping in the cemetery again, Tysilia. I have already caught you doing that once, and have explained that a graveyard is no place for that sort of thing.’

‘It was Julian’s idea,’ objected Tysilia indignantly. ‘He assured me that all the monks used the cemetery for their-’

‘Thank you, Tysilia,’ interrupted Blanche. ‘We do not need to know the details. Go and wait for me in the solar. And leave my tapestry alone, if you please. You will ruin it again if you take a needle to it.’

‘I can sew,’ said Tysilia proudly, giving Bartholomew a bright grin before skipping away in the direction of the Outer Hostry.

‘I cannot leave her for long,’ said Blanche, looking after her. ‘Wretched woman! She is a dreadful liability, and I never should have agreed to take her on. I was most shamefully tricked on that score — de Lisle again.’

‘I heard he gave her to you as a symbol of your last truce — by placing a member of his own household in your care, he is demonstrating trust.’

Blanche gave a bitter laugh. ‘And when she becomes pregnant again — which is only a matter of time, given her uncontrollable behaviour and undiscriminating tastes — de Lisle will claim that I have abused that trust. I should have known better than to accept such terms from him. He pretended to be reluctant to part with her, but I suspect he was only too glad to be rid of her.’

‘Probably.’ Bartholomew chewed his bottom lip, realising it was not wise to be agreeing with de Lisle’s enemies that he was a devious schemer who might well use Tysilia as a weapon to inflict on his opponents. ‘But the truce you had is surely broken, now that you have accused him of murder. Why does he not demand her back?’

Blanche gave a humourless smile. ‘Declining to accept his niece is his way of wreaking revenge upon my household. You may have noticed that she is not pleasant to have around. But what was she doing with you? Did you catch her lying in wait for that William again? I cannot imagine why she has taken a liking to him — he is old enough to be her father.’

‘Or her brother,’ said Bartholomew. ‘That is who she claims he is.’