An Order for Death

miss her incisive wit and lively conversation of an evening.’

Eve smiled. ‘We would not, although her lack of intelligence does provide us with a certain degree of entertainment. But it is not her we will miss: it is the money the Bishop pays us to look after her. Despite what you may think, St Radegund’s is poor, and we need her fees.’

Bartholomew recalled that Dame Martyn’s predecessor had also been desperate for the money paid by boarders’ wealthy parents. His fiancee Philippa had been considered a source of valuable income for the convent, and the then Prioress had watched over her like a hawk. Because Philippa’s marriage would mean the end of the payments, the Prioress had gone to some lengths to keep her and Bartholomew apart.

‘The Bishop will remove Tysilia anyway, if he thinks you are entertaining scholars in an improper manner,’ warned Michael sternly.

Eve raised her eyebrows, and a smile of genuine amusement played about her lips. ‘I had credited you with more insight, Brother. The Bishop knows exactly to what depths we are sometimes forced to plummet to make ends meet, and believe me, Tysilia was no innocent when he brought her here. She was with child.’

‘Was?’ asked Bartholomew. ‘Then where is it?’

‘It was born before its time and died,’ replied Dame Martyn. ‘We sent her back to Ely after she had recovered, only to have her foisted on us a second time for the same reason within a few months. She had already forgotten what we had taught her about how to avoid becoming pregnant.’

‘We have tried all manner of diversions to distract her from men,’ continued Eve, sounding exasperated. ‘Only last week I took her with me to Bedford. I thought the journey might keep her out of mischief.’

‘And I assume, from the expression on your face, that it did not,’ said Michael.

Eve shook her head. ‘She was the model of virtue on the outward journey, but there was a young man in our party on the way home, and I was hard pressed to conceal her indiscretions from our travelling companions. I suppose she just likes the company of men.’

‘Have you considered giving her a task other than that of gatekeeper?’ asked Bartholomew curiously. ‘Only I would not be so sure that she will allow the right people inside.’

‘We are not too fussy about that,’ mumbled Dame Martyn, settling herself in a cushioned chair with her monstrous cup in one fat-fingered hand.

‘What other task did you have in mind?’ asked Eve of Bartholomew, giving her Prioress a sharp glance to warn her against making flippant remarks. ‘Work in the kitchen, where there are knives to injure herself on? In the gardens, where there are sharp tools? In the chapel, where sacred vessels need to be treated with respect and care?’

‘Surely she cannot be that bad,’ said Bartholomew.

‘She is something of a liability, actually,’ said Eve. ‘And not only is she difficult to control, but she is a thief.’

‘How do you know?’ asked Michael immediately. ‘Have items gone missing?’

Dame Martyn scowled at her Sacristan. ‘You should not have mentioned that, Eve. It is a convent matter and none of Brother Michael’s business.’

‘It may be my business if I learn that her stealing is related to the death of Walcote,’ warned Michael. ‘So I suggest you be sensible about this and answer my questions honestly. Now, how do you know Tysilia is a thief?’

‘The stealing has nothing to do with Walcote,’ snapped Dame Martyn, finally nettled out of her half-drunken insouciance. ‘She is a stupid girl who cannot resist anything that glitters. She seldom removes anything of worth.’

‘That is not true,’ contradicted Eve. ‘She has a penchant for gold, and sometimes she takes items that are extremely valuable and that we cannot afford to lose. But Dame Martyn is right about her stupidity: Tysilia has not yet learned that in order to be a successful thief, it is necessary to steal when there are no witnesses and that you should not hide the proceeds of your crime in your own bed-chest.’

‘Why not confront her about this?’ asked Bartholomew. ‘Tell her not to do it any more.’

‘We have tried,’ said Eve. ‘But she simply denies everything. When we point out that she was seen, or that the evidence of her guilt is concealed among her belongings, she merely claims we are mistaken.’

‘So, with her stealing and her promiscuity, she is not an easy charge,’ said Bartholomew, beginning to feel sorry for the nuns.

‘She is not,’ agreed Eve fervently. ‘If I were a more cynical person, I would wonder whether the Bishop had given us his niece just so that he will have an excuse to suppress us at some point in the future.’

‘Are you suggesting that my Bishop would deliberately foist a wanton woman on you, so that he could then accuse you of unseemly behaviour?’ asked Michael, sounding shocked. Bartholomew thought that the wily Thomas de Lisle could well have formulated exactly such a plan, and imagined that Michael knew so, too.

‘We do not mind licentious behaviour as such,’ said Dame Martyn, treating Michael to a conspiratorial smile. ‘We just prefer it to be conducted with sensitivity and tact.’

Warning bells began to jangle in Bartholomew’s mind. Was Tysilia really just an empty-headed flirt, whom the Bishop had sent to destroy the reputation of a convent already in trouble over its secular activities? Or was she very intelligent, and merely pretending to be stupid for reasons of her own? Perhaps it was Tysilia with whom Walcote had had his secret business. Bartholomew wondered whether the Bishop might have charged her with some task, using a member of his family to act as his agent, much as he used Michael. He decided it was a distinct possibility, and determined to watch Tysilia very closely.

‘The Bishop is behind with his payments,’ said Eve to Michael. ‘He now owes us for three months and five days of Tysilia’s company. Would you mention it, if you happen to meet him?’

‘No,’ said Michael, wisely determined to stay well away from the dangerous business of informing a Bishop that he was in debt. ‘But I am not surprised. De Lisle is not a wealthy man.’

‘He is wealthy enough when it comes to his own comforts,’ remarked Eve, a little bitterly.

‘We should address the real purpose of my visit,’ said Michael, abruptly changing the subject from de Lisle’s dubious finances. ‘Time is passing, and I do not want Walcote’s killer to enjoy a moment more freedom than necessary.’

‘Why do you think we can tell you anything about Will Walcote’s murder?’ asked Dame Martyn, sounding a little startled. ‘We barely knew the man.’

‘He visited you here on a regular basis,’ stated Michael, although Nicholas had made no such claim. ‘I want to know why.’

‘You would ask me to reveal the personal secrets of a man who is now dead?’ asked Dame Martyn, her redrimmed eyes wide in feigned shock. ‘That would not be a kind thing to do.’

‘Do not lie to me,’ snapped Michael. ‘We both know perfectly well that he did not come here to avail himself of the services that your nuns like to offer. He was not that kind of man.’

‘No,’ said Eve, suddenly bitter. ‘None of them ever are. But that does not stop them from coming to us and taking advantage of our poverty to snatch what they want. And then they return to their wives and their children, and pretend that they are good and honourable – not “that kind of man”, as you put it.’

‘That is not what I meant at all,’ said Michael. ‘Walcote was engaged in a relationship with one of his brethren, and was not interested in women. I know he did not come to you with the intention of romping in your dormitories.’

Dame Martyn regarded him craftily. ‘Then I can tell you nothing more. I am under the sacred seal of confession.’

‘Do not be ridiculous!’ Michael exploded. ‘Are you claiming that you were Walcote’s confessor? I have never heard anything more outrageous in my life! Now, what was his business here, Dame Martyn? You will tell me, or I shall make a personal recommendation to the Bishop that he removes his niece from you with immediate effect.’

Dame Martyn hastened to make amends. She evidently knew Michael well enough to guess that he would do what he threatened. ‘Actually, we have no idea what Walcote did here. And that is the truth.’

‘I see,’ said Michael coldly. ‘Shall I station my beadles here, then, to question anyone who comes or leaves? That would certainly deter visitors. Your happily married men will not like revealing the nature of their business here to interested beadles.’

‘You are a hard man, Brother,’ said Eve, when Dame Martyn seemed at a loss for words. ‘But the reason we