The Deadliest Sin (41 page)

‘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 benefit 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.

‘That is considerate of you, sirs. My husband was taken from me by foul intent, but the coroner and sheriff will doubtless find the murderer and he will pay the ultimate
penalty.’

Humphrey shouldered his way back into the conversation. ‘We came not only to offer you sympathy, mistress – but to see how we can best assist you in the continuation of your
husband’s medical services to the citizens – if indeed, you desire to continue it.’

William Blundus, afraid of being left out of any negotiations, stepped in hastily. ‘We are ready to accept any of Robert’s patients who are in need of attention – it can be
harmful and indeed dangerous for there to be an interruption in treatment.’ He saw the lady exchange a look with the Stogursey before she replied.

‘That will be no problem, thank you. Tomorrow, I am sending a messenger by the fastest route to the prior of the hospital of St Bartholomew in London. My husband, who trained and worked
there for some years, was well known to him and he will undoubtedly find a worthy physician who can take over this practice.’

‘But that might take many weeks, madam!’ protested Humphrey, aghast at the proposition. ‘What is to happen to your patients in the meantime?’

‘Edward here knows all of them and is well acquainted with their diagnosis and treatment, as he worked alongside my husband every day. Until permanent arrangements are made, he can tide us
over the problem.’

Erasmus made an attempt at protesting: ‘But with respect, Mistress Giffard, this man is totally unqualified. He has never attended a medical school nor walked any wards – nor even
mastered the art of an apothecary. It is unseemly for such a person to masquerade as a physician, especially to such eminent people who are some of your late husband’s patients.’

Edward Stogursey glowered at this naked insult, but Eleanor was dismissive of Erasmus Crote’s objections.

‘Perhaps he has no formal credentials, but our patients know him and trust him as a faithful assistant to my husband. It is up to them whether they cleave to his ministrations in this
urgent situation. I suspect most will, but if not, they are free to seek the aid of common apothecaries in the city or transfer their trust to one of you gentlemen.’

She sat down again and, pulling a kerchief from her sleeve, buried her face in it. Her tire-woman, Evelyn, at once moved to her side and put an arm around her shoulders.

‘The lady is overwrought, sirs!’ she protested, throwing an urgent glance at Edward, who immediately stepped forward.

‘I think you should leave now,’ he said harshly. ‘My mistress is no state for further conversation.’

He made it an order, not a request and, opening the chamber door, stood by it until they filed out. Hamelin, the bottler, received them outside with a sour face and escorted them down the stairs
and out of the front door, which closed firmly behind them.

In the street, Humphrey, unaccustomed to such slights, turned furiously to his companions. ‘Getting rid of us was arranged beforehand! That woman is as hard as iron. She put on that
weeping fit just to get rid of us.’

They began slouching their way back towards the High Cross, dispirited and annoyed at their lack of success.

‘She did say that their patients were free to choose someone else to treat them,’ offered William Blundus, to salvage something for their pride.

‘Ha! Did you notice that she put apothecaries before us in that choice?’ he snarled. ‘That was a calculated insult!’

Erasmus raised a placatory hand. ‘We’ve done all we can . . . now we can only hope that common sense will prevail amongst at least some of their customers. When they find that they
have a charlatan as their only recourse when they’re ill, maybe they’ll see that a proper doctor is preferable.’

Though the three discomforted physicians assumed that they would never be allowed to darken the door of the Giffard house again, circumstances dictated otherwise. As soon as William Hangfield
had returned from Keynsham, he went straight to the coroner and reported the meagre information that he had gained from Brother Xavier.

‘Doesn’t take us much further,’ grunted Ralph fitz Urse grudgingly. ‘I’ve had the sheriff and that fat bastard of a mayor on my back while you were away. They want
this matter settled as quickly as possible, for it seems that some of the high and mighty of the city have taken the loss of their favourite doctor very badly.’

‘Why should that be?’ asked his officer. ‘After all, he was only a physician.’

Fitz Urse shook his grizzled head. ‘You did realise that his wife, the fair Eleanor, was a daughter of Maurice, Lord of Berkeley Castle? It seems he’s been stirring it up since he
heard that his son-in-law has been murdered.’

Hangfield knew only too well how the ruling classes still held sway over the public servants when anything went wrong. The kicking began at the top and ended with the lowest men, of which he was
one.

‘There’s an even further complication,’ muttered the coroner, morosely. ‘Ranulf fitz Hamon, who as you well know is the commercial king of Bristol, owning almost half the
ships that trade out of here, was a close friend of the Giffards. Not only did Giffard look after the health of all his ship-masters, but gossip has it that Ranulf wanted his son Jordan to marry
Eleanor, the daughter of an earl, but Robert Giffard got in there first.’

William could hardly see the relevance of this in a murder investigation.

‘You’re not suggesting that could be a motive for getting rid of Giffard – to make his widow eligible for Jordan, are you?’

The burly coroner shrugged. ‘I’ve learned in this job that nothing’s impossible, though I admit it’s a bit far-fetched.’

He suddenly stood up and slammed his big fist down on the table, making his ale-cup and inkpot rattle.

‘Anyway, these people are nagging at the sheriff and he’s nagging at me, so now I’m nagging you to get something done! First of all, as coroner, I’m obliged to view the
body – for God’s sake, we only have hearsay that Giffard is even dead!’

‘I don’t think there’s much doubt about that, sir,’ said William, trying to avoid one of fitz Urse’s rages.

‘Well, we’ll go and make sure! I have to hold an inquest and so far there’s damn little evidence to present.’

Hangfield was looking forward to going home to see his wife and son and have a meal and some rest, but it looked increasingly unlikely that this would be for some time. The coroner was already
reaching for his surcoat and flat hat.

‘We need a doctor to see if there are any signs of any violence on his body – and to suggest what sort of poison was used,’ he rasped. ‘Who can we call upon?’

‘There are three others in the city, sir. Which one would you prefer?’

‘I don’t give a damn!’ snarled fitz Urse. ‘Call them all. Three minds may be better than one, especially if they are idiots or charlatans, like most
physicians.’

On the way out, William called urgently for one of the castle messengers and gave orders that he find the three doctors and order them, on pain of dire penalties from the sheriff, to come to the
Giffard house without delay.

The coroner and his officer stalked across the castle bailey and into the city, fitz Urse shouldering aside any luckless pedestrian who got in his way in the narrow streets. Though most trading
had ceased, as it was now early evening, there were still plenty of people about, many going in and out of alehouses and eating shops. They marched down High Street in the direction of
Bristol’s only bridge across the Avon, until William indicated the large house that was the Giffards’.

‘Must be plenty of money in doctoring, by the look of it,’ growled the coroner. ‘Though if the woman is from the Berkeley dynasty, maybe they bought it for her.’

William banged the front door once again.

‘They’re not a very welcoming lot in here,’ he warned fitz Urse. ‘Even the bloody servants think they are royalty.’

The coroner soon saw that for himself, but he was the wrong man to try to obstruct. Hamelin the bottler opened the door and was about to make some obstructive remark when fitz Urse pushed past
him and demanded to be taken to Mistress Giffard. Hamelin’s attempted protests were met with an offer to take him to the castle dungeons if he didn’t comply instantly with the order of
a King’s officer. Brushing him aside, they went upstairs to the door of Eleanor’s solar, but here they met another obstacle, which was harder for the coroner to overcome.

Sitting on a stool outside was Evelyn, the mistress’s hand-maiden, though it was many years since the elderly woman had been a maiden. She rose as the two large men clumped up the stairs
and along the passage, followed by an outraged Hamelin.

‘You can’t go in!’ cried Evelyn in a wavering voice. ‘The mistress has a visitor.’

‘I tried to tell you, sir,’ cried the bottler. ‘But you wouldn’t listen.’

‘This is King’s business!’ snapped the coroner. ‘I’m the only visitor that matters at the moment.’

‘Who is it?’ asked William Hangfield in a more moderate tone. ‘We need to speak with your mistress urgently.’

Another voice came from their rear, that of Edward Stogursey who had followed them up the stairs.

‘It is Jordan fitz Hamon, come to convey the condolences of himself and his father, Sir Ranulf!’ he said in acidulous tone. ‘And the Earl of Berkeley is expected at any time,
to comfort his daughter in her hour of bereavement.’

This was name-dropping on a massive scale, designed to dissuade fitz Urse from intruding on their private affairs, but it had no effect on the pugnacious coroner.