The Deadliest Sin (42 page)

He gave a perfunctory rap on the solar door and without waiting for a reply, pushed it open. William, peering past his master’s bulky body, saw Eleanor Giffard in the centre of the room,
again dressed in black, but this time in an even more elegant gown of silk, with a filmy black veil covering her hair. But what was more interesting was the back view of a tall man who had been
facing her in close proximity, but who had stepped back suddenly when the coroner intruded.

This man now swung round to demand to know who had disturbed them. As soon as he and the coroner saw each other, there was mutual recognition, if not pleasure.

‘Do you always blunder into a lady’s chamber without her permission, fitz Urse?’ he demanded.

A slim, athletic man of about thirty-five, Jordan fitz Hamon had the haughty air of a man whose family could have bought and sold most of the local nobility, if he chose. A long face with a
straight nose, which usually seemed to pointing above the heads of lesser mortals, he was dressed in the latest fashion. A scarlet cote-hardie came to his thighs, belted with an elaborate band of
embossed leather. His breeches were tight-fitting and ended in soft leather shoes with long toe-points. He wore no hat indoors, but William saw a green velvet creation with a vivid peacock feather,
lying on a chair.

The coroner, who knew both Jordan and his father by sight – and had little wish to deepen the acquaintance – ignored him and addressed the new widow.

‘I regret the necessity of troubling you on a day like this, mistress, but I have legal duties to perform.’

This was as near an apology as fitz Urse was ever likely to make.

‘Damned insensitive and unnecessary, if you ask me!’ snapped Jordan, but no one was asking him, as the coroner continued to speak to Eleanor. ‘A King’s coroner is obliged
to view the body and to hold an inquest, madam. I also need to have the corpse examined by a physician, in circumstances such as have been alleged here.’

Mistress Giffard frowned and looked to Jordan fitz Hamon for support. ‘But the best doctor in this part of England examined him only yesterday, coroner – Brother Xavier from Keynsham
Abbey. Is it necessary to further disturb my poor husband?’

‘Intolerable interference, fitz Urse!’ brayed Jordan. ‘I shall complain to the sheriff about this unwelcome intrusion into a lady’s grief.’

Ralph briefly acknowledged Jordan’s existence with a curt nod.

‘It was the sheriff who insisted that we leave no stone unturned to find the perpetrator who has deprived this good lady of her husband!’ he growled. Then he turned back to Eleanor.
‘I presume that Robert’s body is still in the house, madam?’

She nodded wordlessly, holding a scrap of lace kerchief to her eyes, though William could see no sign of tears. ‘Edward will show you, if it is really necessary.’

The coroner nodded and had one last remark. ‘I have ordered the other three physicians to contribute their knowledge to the solving of this heinous crime – they will be here directly
to assist me.’

Eleanor’s doubtful sorrow cleared up instantly. ‘What, those awful people from the town? They’ve already been pestering me today, trying to steal patients from us!’

William noted that she said ‘us’ rather than ‘me’, and wondered again what status Edward Stogursey had in this household.

‘Well, they’ll be here again shortly, though I’ll see that they do not bother you this time. But my officer here will be bothering all your servants to see what they
know.’

With a perfunctory bow, the boorish coroner took his leave and as William Hangfield followed him, he saw Edward make a covert sign to Evelyn to enter her mistress’s chamber, presumably as
a belated chaperone. The presence of Jordan fitz Hamon alone with her in the widow’s solar had not been lost on the coroner, for as they clumped along the upper corridor after Stogursey, he
muttered to William, ‘What’s that dandy doing in her boudoir, eh?’

His officer had no answer to that and, in a moment, the sullen servant showed them into a small room that appeared to be a spare bedchamber. On a mattress lying on a low plinth was a sheeted
body with two lit candles at the head end.

‘Did he die in here?’ demanded fitz Urse.

Stogursey shook his head. ‘He passed away in the main bedchamber, sir. But in this hot weather, we felt it better to remove him to this cooler room,’ he added meaningfully.

‘Let’s have a look at him, then,’ ordered the coroner.

William pulled back the linen sheet to the corpse’s waist, revealing the pallid features of Robert Giffard. He was dressed in a thin night shift, with his hands crossed over his breast.
The face was peaceful and showed no signs of any obvious disease or injury.

‘Do you want to see the rest of him?’ asked William.

Fitz Urse shook his head. ‘May as well leave that for those medical fellows from town, so you can stay for that. All I needed to know was that he really was dead and to see the corpse, so
that I can hold my inquest tomorrow.’

He turned to Stogursey, who had been lurking behind them, disapproval written large on his face.

‘I will hold my enquiry at the second hour after noon tomorrow, in the Shire Hall at the castle. See to it that every member of this household, from your mistress to the boot-boy, is
present. I will send for the body around noon, as it must be before me during the proceedings.’

The servant-cum-physician looked shocked. ‘That is almost impossible, coroner! There are patients to see and a household to run, to say nothing of the strain upon my poor
mistress!’

Fitz Urse was unmoved; he had heard it all many times before. ‘You will do as I say or you will all be amerced with heavy fines.’ As if sweetening his threats, he added, ‘You
may make arrangements for the disposal of the body after the inquest.’

After the abrasive official had left, William got Edward to round up the servants one by one for him to interrogate them. He did this in the lean-to shelter used as the patients’
waiting-room. It was a quick and largely fruitless exercise, so he needed to take no formal statements, as no one knew anything of any value.

Edward had already explained what he knew of the illnesses of his master and neither the cook, housekeeper, lady’s maid, kitchen skivvy nor the outside servants had any knowledge that
could throw light on the death. Even little Henry, the boot-boy and general dogsbody, who seemed to pick up more gossip than any of the others, had nothing to offer him.

Just as he had finished with the servants, the three physicians arrived, looking anxious and guilty, half-afraid that they were to be accused of something by the officers of the law. William
knew them all by sight and had actually consulted Erasmus Crote some months earlier, when his small son had developed a skin rash, which had cleared up after applying some foul-smelling lotion
provided by Erasmus.

He quickly set their minds at ease by explaining that the coroner wanted a further medical opinion upon the cause of Robert Giffard’s death, even though Xavier, the eminent infirmarian
from Keynsham, had admitted being baffled by the death. Relieved, the three men immediately started arguing as to who should go first, but William firmly quashed this by telling them to examine the
body together – and that this was a duty demanded by the King’s coroner, so there would be no fee.

He marshalled them up to the room where the cadaver lay, with Stogursey hovering in the rear, wearing his usual disapproving scowl. This time, he removed the sheet completely to allow them to
view the whole body.

With much muttering and prodding, they examined the entire body surface, the intimate orifices and squinted into the mouth, ears and eyes, before allowing William to cover up the body once
more.

‘Can you tell us exactly what was the progress of this affliction?’ asked the pompous Humphrey de Cockville.

The coroner’s officer explained the sequence of events, the attack of biliousness of the skin and eyes some months earlier and how it had cleared up as soon as Giffard went to London, then
the recent attacks of malaise, tremors, palpitations and collapse, which ended in his death that very morning.

‘And it is said that there was no way in which poisoned food could have been taken in the recent past?’ asked de Cockville.

William shook his head. ‘Mistress Giffard and all the servants swear that recently, since he was taken ill again, every morsel and every glass has been checked. In the past few weeks, both
Edward Stogursey and indeed, the wife herself, have tasted every item of food given to the deceased.’

The only comment was from William Blundus. ‘That’s all very well, but what if one of those who was responsible for the cooking and tasting, was the murderer?’

‘Don’t be a fool, Blundus!’ snapped Humphrey. ‘The lady of the house, his own wife, was one who put herself at risk by sampling everything he ate. And is it likely that
she would kill her rich husband, the source of her comfortable life?’

‘Her father was far richer, remember,’ grumbled Blundus, but he was ignored. William was anxious to complete his tasks, then hurry back to the castle and eventually, to his home.
‘You three have now had an opportunity to examine him – and I’ve told you all we know about the circumstances. So have you any suggestions as to what the poison might be –
and how it was administered?’

Again they went into a huddle, muttering amongst themselves, and eventually Humphrey de Cockville appointed himself spokesman, not that he had much to offer.

‘There are so many poisons to be extracted from the plants and herbs of the countryside that it’s impossible to be sure what it might be. It was certainly not deadly nightshade or
any of the potent mushrooms. It could have been wolfsbane or foxglove, or perhaps extract of yew wood, which would fit with the symptoms, but there’s no way of knowing.

‘Possibly a good apothecary might make a better guess,’ suggested Blundus. ‘After all, we are physicians, dedicated to curing people, not killing them. Apothecaries spent more
time collecting and extracting plants than us, so you could ask one of the better ones in the city.’

Humphrey, determined to keep the lead in any dialogue, nodded at this. ‘A reasonable idea, but surely it matters little what it was that killed Giffard – what you need to know is how
it was given to him, for that should lead you to his killer. I see no other means other than through his mouth, so maybe those who claim that all his food was tasted are lying?’

‘Could it have been in an enema or an ointment?’ suggested William Blundus, in a glum voice that indicated he had little hope of this being true.

‘How could an ointment kill him?’ said the coroner’s officer, rather scathingly.

Blundus shrugged. ‘Just a suggestion. Many drugs are absorbed through the skin – otherwise it would be pointless in us prescribing salves, lotions and ointments.’

‘Well, I’ll enquire,’ replied Hangfield, in a tone that indicated he would be wasting his time. ‘But maybe the coroner will take up your idea that an apothecary might be
able to help us.’

Within the hour, William was back in the castle, where he routed out their old clerk, Samuel, to dictate a brief résumé of what he had learned, which was almost
nothing.

‘The coroner has gone somewhere, he’ll not be back here until the morning,’ announced Samuel in his quavering voice. ‘He said that he was having a meeting with the
sheriff and the mayor before chapel to discuss the physician’s death.’ The old man snorted in disgust. ‘Just because the fitz Hamons and other wealthy merchants are upset over
losing their doctor, we all have to run round in circles to appease them.’

William sighed, as it meant getting up early in the morning. He lived in a little house at the north side of the city and as it was obligatory for all the castle’s officers to attend early
Mass in the chapel at the seventh hour in the summer, he would have to leave home before he was properly awake.

He trudged back to his house in the early evening, enjoyed a good meal of pork and beans that his wife prepared for him and told her of the day’s events. His six-year-old son, Nicholas,
listened open-mouthed at the tale and, though he did not understand much of what his father was saying, he knew the dread implications of the word ‘murder’, which usually ended with a
public ceremony at the gallows just outside the city wall.

It was an ill-tempered group that met in the sheriff’s chamber early next morning. Nicholas Cheney and Richard de Tilly had both been at a feast in the Guildhall the
previous evening, and the notorious lavishness of the Guild of Vintners, especially when they were celebrating the inauguration of a new Master, had left them with aching heads from the abundance
of wine provided. The coroner had been at a different, more private celebration after attending a cock-fight and was also feeling as if the drummer of a war galley was performing inside his
skull.

They listened in silence as William Hangfield read out his report of his activities the previous day and elaborated on a few of the points, to make it sound as if there was slightly more
substance than it actually possessed. When he had finished, the silence continued for a moment, until it was broken by a rustling sound as the overdressed mayor fished around in his belt-pouch and
pulled out a crumpled piece of parchment.

‘Before we start discussing this shocking affair once again, what do you make of this?’

He slapped the parchment on to the sheriff’s table and smoothed it out with a podgy hand.

‘Some urchin slipped it into my under-clerk’s hand as he arrived at my chamber this morning. The boy ran off as if the Devil was chasing him, but even if we had caught him, he would
only have said that some stranger gave him a penny to deliver it.’

The coroner, who had flashing zigzag lights in his eyes as a harbinger of a migraine, did not attempt to read it. ‘What does it say?’ was his only question.

Sheriff Cheyney picked it up, being proud of his literacy in a society where that was mostly confined to clerics and merchants. In fact, the mayor could not read or write and the contents of the
note had been read to him by his under-clerk.