The coroner, hunched over his table looking like a bad-tempered bear, scowled at him. ‘Are you sure they are not suffering from some delusion, some fantasy about a conspiracy, born of their bereavement?’
Hangfield shook his head. ‘It has been going on for some months – and this renowned infirmarian from Keynsham is said to have confirmed it only yesterday.’
Fitz Urse grunted, still doubtful about the story. ‘You’d better get up the river and see this monk. When I told the sheriff about this after you left, he was most agitated – Robert Giffard was so well known and well-regarded in the city that everyone who matters will be seeking an explanation.’
‘I expected that, sire, but we can only do what is possible in seeking into it,’ said William, slightly aggrieved that his efforts went unappreciated.
The coroner ignored his tone. ‘And what about this tale that the three physicians in the city may have wanted Giffard dead?’
His officer shrugged his broad shoulders. ‘Seems far-fetched to me! The widow said that it was her husband’s idea that his competitors were envious of his success and of his monopoly of rich patients.’
The coroner scratched the stubble on his jowls; he shaved only on Fridays and it was already Wednesday. ‘So these rich patrons will have to go elsewhere now. At least Giffard was right there.’
‘I’m not so sure about that,’ said William dubiously. ‘This Stogursey fellow has been acting as the physician’s righthand man for years. Perhaps he can keep the practice going until Mistress Giffard arranges for another doctor to take over, if that’s what she desires.’
‘She’s a fine-looking woman, from what I’ve seen of her at feasts in the Guildhall and elsewhere,’ muttered fitz Urse ruminatively. ‘Much younger than Giffard himself, though he was comely enough.’
William could not see where this line of thought was going, but in spite of the coroner’s appearance and uncouth manners, he was a wily fellow, with much experience of human nature gleaned from years as a soldier and even more as a coroner.
‘It occurs to me, William, that since the world began, wives have been getting rid of their husbands when they desire a different man. Who better has the opportunity to poison their spouse than a wife?’
His officer was reluctant to accept that this elegant woman could be a killer, but part of his mind recalled her dry eyes and her lack of obvious grieving, even though he had earlier told himself that such outward sins were not to be trusted.
‘But how would she gain anything by that?’ he said defensively. ‘Robert Giffard was a successful man, looked upon with favour by the aristocracy of this city – and he was undoubtedly rich. His grand house and many servants confirm that.’
Ralph fitz Urse’s reply was cut short as the door of his chamber was thrust open to bang against the wall and a corpulent figure strode in.
‘The news is all over the town!’ howled the new arrival. ‘What are you doing about it, fitz Urse?’
This was the Mayor of Bristol, Richard de Tilly, the leader of the civic and merchant community of the city, who vied with the sheriff for pride of place as the most important figure in the county. A fat, self-opinionated man with a face as fleshy as the coroner’s, but one that was more podgy and soft. Piggy eyes peered out suspiciously at the world, always looking for slights and offence. He was over-dressed in a red velvet cotta down to his knees, the flowing sleeves and green leggings too hot for the day’s weather. On his head was a green brocade creation, which flopped down into a wide curtain on one side, reaching his shoulder. He was always to be seen with his gold chain of office hanging around his neck, and William sometimes wondered if he wore it to bed.
The coroner, who despised the mayor for a self-seeking tyrant, glowered at him. There was little love lost between the King’s men and the civic authorities at the Guildhall.
‘What are you talking about? Has the river dried up?’ he snapped. This was a gibe at the city merchants, whose wealth depended almost totally on the free passage of trading ships down the Avon to the sea.
‘You know damned well what I mean!’ stormed de Tilly. ‘Our physician suddenly dies and you ask what’s wrong! How are we all to survive without his expert knowledge?’
‘There are three other doctors in the city – use them,’ grunted fitz Urse indifferently, seeking to annoy the other man.
‘Those incompetents? I wouldn’t take my dog near any of them. So what’s happened and what’s being done about it?’ he demanded. ‘It’s barely an hour since I heard of the death and already half a dozen of the most influential merchants have been invading the Guildhall, demanding to know what happened and asking who are they going to find to treat them and their families!’
As Richard de Tilly continued to berate the coroner, William Hangfield took the opportunity to sidle towards the open door and vanish into the passage outside. He knew from experience that the coroner and mayor would argue until they started to trade insults, fitz Urse pointing out that the administration of justice was the King’s business and de Tilly countering with blather about his responsibility to the citizens of Bristol. The sheriff would sometimes be drawn into the altercation, as a royal servant always taking the coroner’s side, the whole fracas usually ending in the mayor stalking away, muttering under his breath.
It was still only mid-morning and as Ralph fitz Urse had specifically instructed him to speak to the physician at Keynsham Priory, William decided to go there straight away and leave the Giffard house servants until later. Making his way to the castle stables, he had his horse saddled and thankfully crossed the bridge into the country beyond, to enjoy the green woods and pastures of the Avon valley.
At noon that day, Bristol’s three remaining physicians met again at the Anchor alehouse in Corn Street. Erasmus Crote, who had heard the news first from a patient who was one of the city watchmen, had sent a couple of urchins around to Humphrey de Cockville and William Blundus, calling an urgent meeting to discuss the passing of Robert Giffard. They sat in a corner this time, pots of ale before them, but no bread and cheese.
‘There are all sort of rumours going around already,’ announced Erasmus. ‘Whispers that he was poisoned!’
Blundus nodded his agreement. ‘I heard the same from a fellow in the street,’ he said anxiously. ‘No doubt the town crier will be yelling it abroad in the next couple of hours.’
Fat Humphrey de Cockville slurped his ale, wiped his thick lips and sneered at their concern.
‘What of it? It’s nothing to do with us, unless one of you two has been lacing his victuals with deadly nightshade!’
Blundus scowled at him. ‘Robert Giffard was a good, upright man – and a good physician. We are his only professional colleagues in the county, we cannot just ignore his passing.’
Humphrey leered at the others. ‘Then we will all attend his funeral and shed reptile’s tears – before rushing off and stealing his rich patients.’
‘That’s what concerns me,’ said Erasmus, in a voice loaded with worry. ‘Why should anyone murder a doctor, unless there was something to be gained? Suspicion must fall upon us, sooner or later.’
William Blundus, looking more stooped and emaciated than usual, grunted a disclaimer. ‘I know I’m innocent of anything, so what’s the problem? If one of you sent Giffard to his death, that’s your look-out, but I’m not feared of any probing by the law.’
‘Of course none of us did!’ snapped Humphrey, impatiently. ‘But are you so naïve as to think that the arrogant bastards that run this city care about justice? Giffard was so popular and useful to them and their families, that they need to find a scapegoat and to hell with any firm evidence!’
They pondered this, as they drank some of their ale, Humphrey motioning to the skivvy to bring another jug.
‘So what do we need to do?’ asked Blundus, looking to Erasmus Crote as the eldest of them and presumably the wisest.
‘What can we do, other than sit tight and play the innocents – which is what we
are?’ grunted Erasmus.
Humphrey had other ideas. ‘We need to go down to the Giffard house and pay our condolences to the widow – and discover what’s going to be done about his patients,’ he said decisively. ‘It’s an ill wind that blows no good – and I intend to pick up any good that’s going!’
The coroner’s officer covered the few miles to Keynsham in an hour and a half, having a good horse, a decent road and dry weather. The village was near a double bend in the River Avon and depended for its existence on the large abbey founded a hundred and fifty years earlier by the Earl of Gloucester at the request of his dying son. Hangfield knew this much about the place, but was not prepared for its large size and obvious wealth. A huge church was adjacent to cloisters, courtyards and many subsidiary buildings, one of which must be the infirmary.
He reined in at the main gate and enquired of the porter about seeking Brother Xaxier, the name given to him by Edward Stogursey. His horse was taken to the stables for watering and feeding, whilst the porter called a young novitiate to guide Hangfield to the infirmary. The outer courtyard was thronged with local people, lay brothers and a few Augustinian canons regular in their white habits, but further inside the warren of buildings and cloisters only a few monks were to be seen.
The infirmary was a large building at the back of the complex, and here some villagers and travellers were sitting on benches outside waiting for their ailments to be dealt with.
The young postulant took William to a doorway and into a passage, where an alcove on one side appeared to be a treatment room, as a lay brother with a linen apron over his cassock was vigorously applying some salve to the legs of an old man lying on a table. Watching the process was a tall man of middle age with a solemn hollow-cheeked face. He wore the same vestments as the other Augustinian monks, but also had a white apron to both denote his status and protect his clothing. The novitiate bobbed his knee to the infirmarian and told him of the visitor from Bristol. With few last words of instruction to his assistant, Xavier came out of the alcove and greeted William, giving him the customary blessing.
The coroner’s officer, who was religious from habit rather than conviction, bent his knee briefly, then explained the reason for his visit.
‘The poor man died, then, as I expected, God rest his soul,’ responded Xavier. He crossed himself, then led William to an adjacent room, little more than cubicle, which from the scrolls, books and pieces of medical equipment on a table, was the infirmarian’s office. Seating himself behind his table, he motioned the officer to a stool.
‘How can I help you and your coroner?’ he asked. ‘I saw the deceased only once and that very briefly. By then, he was unable to speak, so I could not discover anything about his symptoms, other than from the household.’
‘I realise that, Father, but the widow seems convinced that he has been poisoned and I understand that you did not disagree.’
Xavier nodded. ‘I am sure of it, my son. It did not show any of the signs of a disease – and the fact that there was a previous episode that abated as soon as he went away from home is good confirmation.’
‘But Mistress Giffard said that you could not tell what noxious substance was involved – nor how it was given to the victim?’
The Augustinian nodded. ‘That is true. The symptoms were common to many poisons. The obvious route of administering them is through the mouth, in food or drink, but the lady was adamant that for weeks past, all food had been tasted, much of it by herself.’
William Hangfield could see that he was not going to learn much that he didn’t already know. He tried to extract a little more to make his journey from Bristol worthwhile.
‘If this does prove to be a deliberate poisoning, we will have to try to find any residue of the evil substance, which may lead us to the person who used it. So can you suggest what we may have to seek?’
The canon considered that for a moment. ‘As I have said, a number of poisons can cause the symptoms that the poor man suffered. But we can also eliminate others that would have led to signs he did not have, such as wolfsbane, hemlock, belladonna or foxglove, though there are many others.’
‘What about any other means of the poison being given to the victim, Father?’ asked William, as he prepared to leave. ‘Could there be any way other than by swallowing it?’
The canon pursed his lips in doubt. ‘It is hard to think of any that could be practically carried out. Noxious gases, such as from a volcano in Italy or even a lime kiln, could not apply here. I suppose that a pessary or enema could carry a poison into the bowels, but again that is out of the question here.’
Having drawn a blank on this line of questioning, the coroner’s officer thanked the learned monk and took his leave, gratefully accepting the suggestion that he called at the abbey guest-house for some food and drink before riding back to Bristol.
He doubted whether he would have the chance to go to his home until later than evening, given the fuss the city leaders were making over the loss of their favourite doctor. However, his wife and son were used to him being away at all hours – or sometimes even days, if a case arose elsewhere in Somerset. Sighing, he clambered on to his horse and set off for Bristol.
That afternoon, the three physicians, having seen the dismal collection of patients at each of their doctor’s shops in the middle of the city, met at Blundus’s premises, ready to set off together to visit the Giffard household. Humphrey wanted each to go separately, but the others, suspicious of any purloining of patients being made by another, insisted on a communal approach.
‘I wonder if Mistress Giffard will even see us?’ asked Blundus.
‘And if she does, what are we going to ask her?’ added Erasmus.
Humphrey de Cockville, who always tried to assume the leadership of any group, was scathing of their doubts. ‘We express our sincere sympathy, ask if there anything we can do to help her and then raise the matter of who is going to look after the sick and injured of this city!’
Still muttering doubts, the other two let Humphrey lead the way to High Street. He looked like a fat cockerel, with a red-feathered velvet hat and a bright blue surcoat over his black tunic. His companions were much more soberly dressed in greys and browns – and Erasmus Crote looked definitely shabby. When they reached the house, the front door was answered by the bottler, Hamelin Beauford, who seemed to double as a general factotum in the household, as well as looking after the supply of ale and wine. He was a big man, but was pasty-faced and looked unhealthy to the trio of physicians who now confronted him.
‘You will know that we are your late master’s medical colleagues in the city,’ Humphrey began imperiously. ‘We have come to express our condolences to your mistress and to offer any assistance we can.’
Hamelin looked distinctly unimpressed and made no attempt to invite them across the threshold. ‘I will fetch Edward Stogursey to see what he has to say about that,’ he grunted. He vanished into the house, leaving them on the doorstep, with the door almost closed upon them.
‘Insolent fellow, he needs a clip around the ear!’ snarled Humphrey. ‘We are professional men, not some poxy apothecary,’
‘This Stogursey is not even that; he is a servant with ideas above his station,’ agreed Erasmus. However, short of barging into the house uninvited, they had little choice but to wait, and in a few moments Edward appeared, the bottler standing behind him as if to repel any invasion.
‘We have come to offer our felicitations to Mistress Giffard at this sad time, my man,’ said Humphrey in his grand manner. ‘Please conduct us to her.’
Stogursey made no reply at first. He stared at the three men, then his eyes returned to Erasmus Crote.
‘You were here yesterday,’ he stated flatly. ‘I conveyed your good wishes to my mistress then.’
This exhausted Humphrey’s limited patience.
‘Listen, fellow! We are the only other physicians in this city and it is a matter of civic importance that the citizens can all have the benef
it of our skills. We need to speak with Mistress Giffard.’
Edward Stogursey regarded them for a long moment, until it was almost insolent. Then he shrugged and raised his hands. ‘She is in no mood to receive visitors, but I will enquire.’
He grudgingly allowed them into the hallway and told them to wait, though there were no chairs or benches in evidence.
‘That insolent bastard treats us like servants,’ growled Blundus. ‘It’s a wonder he didn’t make us go around to the tradesmen’s gate at the back!’
They fretted for another ten minutes before Edward returned and grudgingly told them that Mistress Giffard had agreed to see them, but that they must not detain her for longer than a few minutes, as she was sorely distressed over the loss of her husband.
With Hamelin Beauford still lurking behind them, Edward led them to a staircase and then to a solar at the back of the house, which looked over the garden. Eleanor Giffard sat on a chair near the glazed window, gazing through it at the bench upon which Robert had rested during his illness. In a long black gown with widely flared sleeves, she possessed an elegance that the perceptive Erasmus thought was the reason why so many young widows were soon remarried. Seated on a stool in a corner was Evelyn, a stout middle-aged woman who was her personal maid and now apparently acted as her chaperone.
Eleanor stared coldly at the three men, who now stood awkwardly in the centre of the room. She recalled what her husband had said about them, their poor showing as physicians and their envy at his monopoly of the medical trade in Bristol.
‘You wished to see me?’ she asked stonily.
This time, Erasmus Crote hastened to reply before Humphrey.
‘As you probably know, madam, we are the other three physicians in this city – now, alas, the only three since the tragic loss of your husband. We wished, as his colleagues, to offer our most sincere condolences at this unhappy time and to offer you any professional assistance that you might require.’
Mistress Giffard unbent a little and gave a slight nod in acknowledgement.
The Deadliest Sin Page 31
