10 - The Goldsmith's Daughter (28 page)

‘Glory be!’ exclaimed John Gentle, laughing. ‘Wonders will never cease! I’ve never known your memory to fail before, girl, in such matters.’

His wife joined in the laughter. ‘No, that’s true enough. There must have been something else occupying my mind at the time of his departure. Seven years ago, you said, Master Chapman, since he left here?’

I nodded. ‘The year of the battle at Tewkesbury and the subsequent death of King Henry.’

‘That would be it then. That was the summer that Amice fell sick of a fever and nearly died.’ She sighed. ‘I’m sorry, Master Chapman, but if you want more information, you’ll have to find someone else.’

‘Can you advise me as to who might know the whole story?’

It was the butcher who answered.

‘Apothecary Bridges’s dame is the person you need. She’s an even bigger gossip than my Alice, here.’ He squeezed his wife’s arm affectionately, robbing the words of any sting of criticism. ‘She’d certainly have known what was going on in the life of her husband’s assistant. I’m willing to bet my own on it.’

Once again, Mistress Gentle nodded. ‘And that’s no lie! You’d best go to see her now, lad. They’ll be shutting up shop soon. The evenings are drawing out a little, but not by much. By the way, where are you staying tonight? You’re welcome to sleep here, in Amice’s old bed, if you wish. We’ve only the one bedchamber, but neither John nor myself snores, so far as I know.’

I accepted her generous offer with the proviso that it was only for a single night. If I had to stay longer in the town, I would find myself accommodation elsewhere. But somehow, I did not think that much of a possibility: I felt I was already in possession of the facts and all that was needed now was confirmation of my suspicions. I would set out for Apothecary Bridges’s shop immediately.

I set off up High Street, past All Saints’ Church, towards the Bar Gate, and, following Alice Gentle’s carefully detailed instructions, found Apothecary Bridges’s shop without much difficulty. One mention of Mistress Gentle’s name and I was welcomed effusively by the good lady of the house, who was minding the counter while her husband, so she instantly informed me, was in the back room making a brew of wild basil and calamint for a customer with a bad chest infection – a certain Master Simmons of Blue Anchor Lane.

Such a willingness to impart information augured well. And, indeed, as soon as I made known to her the reason for my visit she was only too eager to reveal all she knew concerning Gideon Bonifant.

‘It’s a long time ago now, as you say, since Gideon was assistant to my dear husband, but I remember him very clearly – and that poor wife of his.’

‘What did she die of?’ I interrupted.

Mistress Bridges pursed her lips. ‘You may well ask. But you’ll be fortunate if you can find anyone to give you an answer. Marion Sybyle was a fine-looking girl when Gideon married her, and they were happily wed for five years or more, although they weren’t blessed with any children, more’s the pity.’

Here she was forced to break off in order to serve a customer, complaining of an upset stomach, with a packet of powdered limestone and chalk.

‘Mix it with a little goat’s milk, my dear,’ she instructed the woman, ‘and swallow it straight down. It’ll do the trick all right.’ She turned back to me. ‘Where was I?’

I jogged her memory, adding, ‘Why did you say “more’s the pity” when referring to Gideon Bonifant’s and his first wife’s lack of children?’

‘Because it might have prevented him having an eye for other women,’ was the censorious reply. ‘Oh, things were fine between them, as I said, for five years or so, before Marion began to get a bit scrawny and lose her looks. She’d been a very pretty young woman – she had three or four lads after her at one time, as I remember – but as she got older, her features started to coarsen. It might not have mattered so much if Geraldine Proudfoot hadn’t come on the scene.’

Another customer arrived for some feverfew tablets and to gossip about a neighbour, leaving me once again to contain my impatience as best I could. Eventually, however, she departed and I was able to resume my conversation with Mistress Bridges.

‘Who was Geraldine Proudfoot?’

‘She moved here with her parents from over Winchester way. Beautiful she was, too good for an apothecary’s assistant, even supposing Gideon had been free to marry her, and so I told him. “Her father’s a lawyer. She’s not for the likes of you,” I said. Of course he denied having any interest in her, but I knew better, and so did anyone else who had an eye in her head. And I understood Master Gideon well enough by that time to know that Geraldine’s superior status was more than half her attraction for him. That man always thought himself worthy of a better fate than the one that God had planned for him.’

A third customer, a man this time, bought some water parsnip seeds, but, thankfully, proved disinclined to talk and left the shop within a very few minutes.

‘Water parsnip seeds, taken in a little wine, are an excellent relief for hernia,’ Mistress Bridges whispered confidentially, leaning towards me across the counter. ‘If you happen to have one, let me recommend––’

‘No, I don’t,’ I assured her hurriedly. ‘Pray continue telling me about Master Bonifant.’

‘Well, I suppose there really isn’t much more to tell. I couldn’t honestly say – nor could any of my friends – that I ever saw Gideon and Geraldine Proudfoot together, except in the way of business. The elder Mistress Proudfoot was a sickly creature and Geraldine used to come into the shop to buy medicines for her mother. I don’t think she was aware of Gideon but as the person who most often served her, my husband, you understand, being kept busy in the back, making up the potions and pills. But she and Gideon did chat together, and I saw the way he eyed her up and down when he thought she wasn’t looking. As I told you just now, I did my best to warn him off, but he’d simply stare right through me as though I hadn’t spoken.’ Mistress Bridges chuckled. ‘Oh, he’d have liked to tell me to mind my own business, interfering old gossip that I am, but he didn’t dare for fear of losing his job.’

There was a further diversion while she sold a young girl a poultice of rue and borage for a swelling on the knee, but finally, having enquired after the health of every single member of the girl’s innumerable family, she was free to give me her attention once more.

‘Mistress Gentle told me that Gideon’s first wife just seemed to waste away,’ I said.

‘That’s true.’ Mistress Bridges nodded her head emphatically. ‘She was a fine, buxom wench when he married her, but as I remarked a while back, Marion did lose a bit of weight as she got older. Nothing in that: her mother was like a rasher of wind. But then it got worse – much, much worse. Before she died, Marion was a walking skeleton, and in constant pain. Of course, there was gossip. I told one or two of my greatest friends what I’d observed concerning Gideon and Geraldine Proudfoot, but naturally I swore them to secrecy. My husband had dared me to repeat my suspicions. And I have to admit that the way Gideon nursed his wife silenced a lot of the whispering.’

‘But you still suspect that he might have poisoned her?’

Yet again, Mistress Bridges nodded, but this time she glanced uneasily over her shoulder towards the room behind the shop, and put a finger to her lips.

‘Well, it wouldn’t surprise me to learn that he had,’ she answered, lowering her voice. ‘Most people thought him no more than a rather humourless and taciturn young man, but I knew him better than that. There was a ruthless streak in Gideon Bonifant. There was a stray dog that used to hang around the shop. I encouraged him, I have to confess, by putting out scraps. But then he started to make a nuisance of himself, coming into the shop and barking if he didn’t get his food on time, until, one day, in a fit of bad temper, my husband said he wished that someone would get rid of the animal. That dinnertime, Gideon offered to prepare the dog’s meal in order, he said, to save me the trouble. He’d never suggested doing so before, and I should have been suspicious, but I was very busy that morning. By mid-afternoon, the dog was dead, stretched out stiff and cold beside his half-empty plate. When I accused Gideon of deliberately poisoning the poor creature, he just laughed.’

‘What happened after the death of his wife?’ I asked. ‘I know he went to London, but I was told that it was because he was so grief-stricken, he was unable to remain in Southampton any longer.’

Mistress Bridges laughed shortly. ‘If he was grief-stricken, it was on account of Geraldine Proudfoot’s marriage to young Oliver Braine, a highly suitable young man of her parents’ choosing. Not that she was averse to their choice, and a very happy, blushing bride she made. It was after her wedding that Gideon announced he was off to London to try his fortune there.’ She eyed me shrewdly. ‘What’s this all about? Has he been accused of poisoning someone else?’

‘No-o,’ I answered slowly, and stood for a moment, lost in thought. Then I added, ‘Didn’t I say? It was Gideon himself who was poisoned.’

‘Gracious Mother of God!’ gasped Mistress Bridges. ‘There’s divine justice for you!’

I smiled. ‘You really are convinced that he murdered his first wife, aren’t you?’

‘I am.’

She would have said more, but the sudden appearance of her husband effectually put an end to our conversation. Apothecary Bridges peered at me short-sightedly over the top of his spectacles and asked if I were being attended to.

‘Not that you look to be ailing from anything much,’ he added drily. ‘I’ve rarely seen a healthier specimen of young manhood.’

‘I – I’ve got what I came for, thank you,’ I answered hastily, opening my cloak and patting the pouch at my waist as though there were something in it. ‘Goodbye, then, Mistress, and my gratitude for all your help.’

I quit the shop swiftly and in a very cowardly fashion, leaving Mistress Bridges to think up the answer to her husband’s inevitable question of what was wrong with me. But I was indeed genuinely grateful to her. As I walked back to John Gentle’s butcher’s shop, pushing my way through crowds making last-minute purchases, or heading for an evening’s convivial drinking in the local taverns, I reflected that I could start for London first thing the following morning. I had learned more about Gideon Bonifant than I had dared to hope for when I had set out from the capital the preceding Friday.

I was sure now that I had the answer to who had murdered him. I might never be able to prove it to the total satisfaction of a lawyer or a Sheriff’s officer, but my reasoning must surely be sufficient to raise doubts as to Isolda Bonifant’s guilt in the most prejudiced of legal minds. And as soon as I had imparted my knowledge first to the Babcarys and secondly to the Duke, I should be free to set out for Bristol. I would be home by the middle of February.

I began to whistle tunelessly to myself.

It was again late afternoon when, on Thursday, I crossed London Bridge and made my way once more to Bucklersbury, to beg a room from Reynold Makepeace.

Having heard my request, he took a deep considering breath. ‘We’re very full, Roger, and I’ve had to let the chamber you shared with Mistress Chapman to someone else. Will it be for long?’

‘Two nights only. Tomorrow should see my business in London completed. I’ll be on the road at daybreak on Saturday.’

‘In that case, you can share my bedchamber for two nights, if you’ve no objections to sleeping in the same bed as me.’

I assured him that I hadn’t. ‘And I’ve another favour to ask you,’ I added. ‘Can you spare one of your pot-boys to take a message to Master Babcary in West Cheap? I’m too tired, or I’d go myself.’

Reynold, somewhat reluctantly, agreed and, when the lad at last appeared, he also muttered under his breath about the inconvenience of being dragged from his work. But when he understood that my request entailed a journey for which I was prepared to recompense him, he cheered up considerably.

‘Tell Master Babcary,’ I said, ‘that I shall be with him first thing tomorrow morning, and ask him to ensure that he and all his household are present. Tell him that I believe I have the answer. He’ll understand.’

The boy sped away, reporting back to me an hour or so later with Miles Babcary’s reply.

‘He says he’ll do as you ask, Master, and he’ll keep the shop closed until after your visit. But he hopes as how it’ll be worth it, because he doesn’t like losing money.’

I spent a restless night, trying not to disturb my host too much with my tossing and turning. Fortunately, Reynold was so tired from his day’s exertions that he slept like a child, barely moving on his side of the goosefeather mattress. Was I correct in the assumptions I was making? Much would depend on the testimony of Toby Maybury. If he confirmed my suspicions, all would be well. And on this thought I finally fell into an uneasy doze.

I rose with Reynold at the crack of dawn and breakfasted on dried herrings and oatmeal, standing up at one of the tables in the Voyager’s kitchen, too anxious even to sit down, as the harassed kitchen maids begged me to do, forced as they were to work around me. But eventually, I was off, making my way through the already crowded streets to West Cheap.

I need not have worried that I might be too early. Master Babcary and every member of his household were awaiting my arrival. They all laid claim to a disturbed night on account of my message, and Isolda, especially, looked pale and strained.

‘Come up to the parlour,’ Miles said without preamble, seizing me by the arm the moment I entered the shop and forcing me towards the stairs.

He had no time for the niceties of formal greetings, and the others closed in at my back to make sure that I did as I was told. In the parlour, a fire was already burning on the hearth, for it was a cold morning and there was a touch of frost in the air. I was very glad to stoop and warm my hands.

‘Now then, Chapman,’ Master Babcary said, closing the door behind him and coming forward, ‘no beating about the bush, if you please. Tell us straight out which one of us you suspect of murdering my son-in-law.’

A definite atmosphere of menace pervaded the room, and I wondered fleetingly what might have been my fate had my answer been any other than it was. But I had no need to worry. I straightened my back and turned to face them all.