The Merchant of Death

by Paul Doherty

  ‘You idiot!’ Blanche Smithler had now recovered her wits; hands gripping the edge of the table, she glared across at her husband. She pointed a finger at Kathryn but she never turned to glance at her. ‘You arrogant, stupid man!’ Blanche hissed. ‘I told you not to, but oh no, hasty as ever!’

  ‘And Erpingham?’ Lord Alan interrupted the taverner’s wife. ‘Mistress Swinbrooke, I accept what you say about Vavasour, but surely, the tax collector’s death remains a mystery?’

  Chapter 12

  ‘Let us return to the evening,’ Kathryn began, ‘Sir Reginald Erpingham suffered his nightmare. Sir Gervase, how did you find him?’

  ‘Nervous, agitated, his face flushed. I think he had been retching.’

  ‘Tell me,’ Kathryn asked. ‘Does anyone know what Erpingham drank or ate that night?’

  ‘Yes,’ Standon replied. ‘He ordered a cup of wine from the taproom and took it upstairs, as he did on the night before he died.’

  ‘That cup was poisoned,’ Kathryn explained. ‘A few grains of deadly nightshade. Not enough to kill him but enough to raise phantasms in his evil mind.’

  ‘You mean he was drugged?’ Lady Margaret asked. ‘So it had nothing to do with the skull or bones found beneath the floorboards?’

  ‘Oh no. Those are what they appear to be: a few tawdry remains, the playthings of some long-dead warlock. Now,’ Kathryn continued, ‘the morning after Sir Reginald’s nightmare, his body was purged of any evil humours and, by the afternoon, according to all the witnesses, he was his old, wicked self. He thoroughly enjoyed being surrounded by his victims. People like yourselves who had fallen into his clutches.’ Most of the guests looked away. ‘Anyway, on the night the tax collector died, a special meal was cooked. Sir Reginald ate heartily, then retired for the night. He took a cup of wine upstairs and went along to his chamber. Now, what he knew, but you didn’t, was that Blanche Smithler was waiting for him in his chamber.’ Kathryn paused and gazed at the landlord’s wife. Pale-faced but more composed, Blanche Smithler glared stony-eyed back.

  ‘Oh yes,’ Kathryn persisted. ‘Why did Sir Reginald come to this tavern? Why did he bring his victims here? Why not elsewhere?’ Kathryn coughed to clear her throat. ‘To be sure, the Wicker Man served good foods, fine ales, sweet wines, but so do many other taverns in this city. Sir Reginald came here for a purpose. A lecherous man by nature, he was hot-eyed for Mistress Smithler. He hoped to combine seduction with business as he continued his nefarious collection of the profits of his blackmail. Erpingham stalked in here with bags heavy with silver and his lusts blazing like a furnace. He would woo Mistress Blanche, flirt, trying to grasp her body. His appetite would be whetted. After all, he was Sir Reginald, who always got his way, and why should some landlord who benefited from his custom prove any obstacle? However, the Smithlers had plotted his death. Now, I suspect, Blanche teased Sir Reginald, looking for an opportunity. What better time than when the rest of the guests and her husband, supposedly innocent of any knowledge of this illicit affair, had feasted and were well in their cups? Blanche agreed to meet Erpingham shortly after the banquet meal, when she had finished cooking and supervising in the kitchen. Naturally, to protect her virtue, she did not want to be seen, so she asked Erpingham to hand over the key to his chamber.’

  ‘No, no!’ Standon objected. ‘Everyone was down here. Mistress Smithler was working in the kitchen!’

  ‘Oh, at first she was. She would have to be. But when I asked you to recall the events of that evening, I specifically asked who went upstairs after Erpingham. I did not ask who went up before, or who came down after he had left the taproom.’

  ‘But the taxes?’ Lord Alan asked. ‘Wouldn’t Erpingham be wary of someone stealing them?’

  ‘It’s best if you listen,’ Colum said. ‘I believe Mistress Swinbrooke’s account is true. Believe me, when she has finished, I intend to take this tavern apart, stick by stick and stone by stone until I find those taxes.’ The Irishman chewed his lip and stared at the Smithlers. ‘It stands to reason,’ Colum continued, ‘that the stolen taxes must be hidden here. I am sure mine host has some secret cupboard or hidden cabinet. Moreover, it would be so easy to get rid of the freshly minted silver from a tavern which buys supplies and provender, a landlord who travels around the shire purchasing this or that. Time would pass and, after a while, who could trace it back?’

  Blanche Smithler abruptly pushed her chair back. Colum snapped his fingers at Standon.

  ‘Guard her!’ he ordered and, as the serjeant rose to obey, Colum nodded at Kathryn.

  ‘On the night Erpingham died,’ Kathryn said, ‘you were all in the taproom eating and drinking. You had no cause to watch, or be suspicious about who went upstairs and that made it easy. Blanche Smithler would go in and out of the kitchen but, at a prearranged time, she would take up a water bucket, one of those standing in the gallery which had been refilled after Erpingham’s room had been cleaned earlier in the day. Remember, the tax collector had been ill, his chamber and night jar would have to be washed and the bucket refilled.’

  ‘That’s right,’ Raston interrupted. ‘Earlier in the same day, one of the slatterns bitterly complained about the mess.’

  ‘Mistress Smithler took it upstairs,’ Kathryn explained. ‘She went along the gallery with Erpingham’s key in her hand and opened the door.’

  ‘Wouldn’t it creak?’ Father Ealdred asked.

  ‘No,’ Kathryn replied. ‘Provided you don’t push them wide open, none of the doors on that gallery make a sound. Mistress Smithler is now in the chamber, but the bucket she carried is empty, at least of water; all it contains are a few rocks. She quickly empties the tax collector’s saddlebag of the monies and places the rocks in. The money is put in the bucket, which, remember, is capped, probably lined with a cloth so the coins wouldn’t chink. She then either leaves that bucket just within the door or outside in the gallery; after all, no one is going to come along there except Erpingham. Mistress Smithler, however, also carries a goblet of wine from the new cask her husband had broached. This goblet, however, contained a deadly potion, nightshade.’ Kathryn held up her hand as a sign to Sir Gervase to remain quiet.

  ‘Now Erpingham leaves the table. He is full of good food and strong wine, and is looking forward to a tumble with the landlord’s pretty wife. Upstairs he goes and taps on the door. Mistress Smithler opens it and in he goes. They would embrace. Erpingham would become excited, then Blanche would make some excuse. Some duty called, or her husband wanted her here or there, but she would return. In the excitement Erpingham had put the cup down on the table and, besotted with lust, doesn’t realise that Mistress Smithler has changed hers for his. She pretends to be equally desirous and swears she will return. She tells him to be ready. She picks up the untainted wine goblet and her bucket and slips out of the room. She goes along the gallery to her own chamber, around the corner. She hides the bucket there, picks up an identical one, puts it on the gallery and then returns downstairs.’

  ‘The rest of you,’ Colum added, ‘were still finishing your wine. Master Smithler would have kept you busy until his wife’s return.’

  ‘A very short time,’ Kathryn observed. ‘I calculate no more than ten minutes from the time Sir Reginald left the table.’

  ‘But, Mistress,’ Sir Gervase said. ‘I accept what you say. But wouldn’t Erpingham check his taxes?’

  ‘Oh, it was a gamble,’ Kathryn replied. ‘But even if he had, how could he blame Mistress Smithler? No, we must see matters through the dead man’s eyes. He is there in his chamber, flushed with drink and full of lust. He cannot wait for Mistress Smithler’s return. He undresses, throwing his clothes on the floor and dons his nightshirt. Perhaps he did look at the saddlebags, but they were heavy and bulky, properly strapped down. He barely gives them a second thought, the only thing on his mind being Mistress Smithler.’ Kathryn paused and sipped from her wine cup. She smiled at Lord Alan. ‘Tell me, sir, if you were in a similar situation, and I only say if,
and you have a goblet of wine, what would you do?’

  The nobleman grinned. ‘I’d gulp it fast.’

  ‘Aye,’ Kathryn said. ‘And Erpingham did the same, not knowing he was drinking his own death. If he felt strange, he’d have put it down to the meal, the wine, the heavy excitement. Standon came along the gallery but Erpingham dismissed him.’ Kathryn smoothed the tabletop with her fingers. ‘Only then does he feel ill. He lies down on the bed.’ She shrugged. ‘The deadly nightshade has its effect.’ She sighed. ‘The rest you know. The next morning Standon goes upstairs. Erpingham, of course, cannot be roused, so the door is forced.’

  ‘But the wine cup!’ Father Ealdred exclaimed. ‘The wine in the cup in Erpingham’s chamber was not tainted!’

  Kathryn was about to reply when there was a furious knocking on the door.

  ‘Everyone stay!’ Colum ordered.

  He went down the passageway, past the kitchen where the servants clustered fearfully together. Colum realised they must have overheard what was going on. He unlocked the door of the tavern and blinked at the strong light from the lanterns Luberon and the city bailiff were carrying. Colum smiled and beckoned them in.

  ‘Master Luberon, just in time.’

  Luberon pulled back the cowl of his hood and grasped Colum by the arm. ‘Mistress Swinbrooke has trapped him?’

  Colum drew his head back in mock surprise. ‘What do you mean, Simon?’

  ‘She has!’ Luberon smacked his gloved hands together. ‘I knew it, as soon as I received her message.’ He pushed Colum along the corridor. ‘Who is it? Who is it?’

  ‘Shush!’ Colum held a hand up and handed the keys to the bailiff. ‘Lock and guard the door!’ he ordered. ‘The rest of you stay at the entrance to the taproom.’ He beckoned Luberon forward. ‘The Smithlers,’ Colum whispered.

  Luberon stopped. ‘It can’t be!’ he exclaimed. ‘It can’t be!’

  ‘Why not?’

  Luberon blew his cheeks out as he unclasped his cloak.

  ‘This time,’ he smiled apologetically, ‘I thought I would do some searching of my own. The city is silent so I sent a number of pursuivants round the city apothecaries. You know, those who sell the occasional noxious potion or sleeping draught. One of our guests here bought some, only a few grains.’

  ‘Who?’ Colum asked.

  Luberon slipped him a piece of parchment. ‘You’d best give that to Mistress Kathryn.’

  Colum and Luberon returned to the taproom. Luberon pulled up a chair to sit at the other side of Kathryn. Colum whispered in Kathryn’s ear and handed her the piece of parchment the clerk had given to her. Kathryn stared down at the name and blinked in astonishment.

  ‘What about the wine?’ Father Ealdred asked, ignoring Luberon’s entrance. ‘The wine in the cup taken from the chamber the morning Erpingham was found dead. It was untainted.’

  ‘Yes, yes, it was,’ Kathryn replied absent-mindedly. ‘But that was quite simple. Master Luberon, your arrival is fortuitous. I believe you were called to the Wicker Man the morning Erpingham was found dead?’

  ‘Oh yes, yes, I was!’

  ‘And Standon, you were on guard?’

  The serjeant nodded.

  ‘And the landlord entered the dead man’s chamber?’

  ‘Yes, I told you that: he came in to view the corpse like the rest. Ah!’ the soldier sneered. ‘I follow your thread, Mistress.’

  ‘Smithler carried a goblet under his cloak or in his pouch,’ Kathryn explained. ‘An identical goblet with some wine dregs in it. The cups were quietly changed and the mystery was posed.’

  ‘But why kill Vavasour?’ Luberon asked.

  ‘Well,’ Kathryn said and grinned, ‘like many other clerks I know, Vavasour had a nose for mischief and an enquiring mind. Now, on my first visit here, when I came down to question all the guests, I brought the wine cup left in Erpingham’s chamber. Vavasour was sharp-eyed. He’d been sitting next to his master that night. Perhaps he noticed the difference, a crack, a mark in the cup or stem. So, he began to piece the puzzle together. Remember, Vavasour also knew his master’s weakness: Erpingham loved seductions. Vavasour reached the same conclusion I did, hence his oft-quoted quip, “There’s many a slip ’twixt cup and lip.” Vavasour was enigmatically referring to the fact that he had discovered his master’s cup had been changed. The only persons who could have done this were the Smithlers.’ Kathryn pointed down at Blanche. ‘Despite your cold-blooded ruthlessness, Mistress, you have a pretty face. Vavasour should have recalled another proverb: ‘Don’t judge a book by its cover”, but he did, and made a terrible mistake. If Mistress Smithler had been prepared to sleep with his master, only she was involved.’

  Kathryn played with her wine cup. She glanced sharply at the person named in Luberon’s scrap of parchment and realised she had made one error. She only hoped she had not made others.

  ‘Vavasour approached Mistress Smithler,’ Kathryn continued. ‘She, of course, acted all frightened. She explained she could not meet him in the tavern and so that fateful meeting on the mere was arranged. Vavasour would not realise he had been trapped. The night he left the tavern, he probably checked who was still there and found Tobias Smithler busy in the taproom so, being Erpingham’s clerk, eager for profits and confident that Blanche would pose no serious problem, he went out to meet her. Vavasour was expecting a quick profit, half, perhaps even more, of the stolen taxes. After all, Erpingham was dead and Vavasour recognised his days of thievery were over forever. In the end, the Smithlers also killed him and, in a moment of panic, rolled those coins beneath the door so as to incriminate Vavasour even further.’

  ‘What Vavasour didn’t know,’ Colum intervened, ‘is that, perhaps half an hour earlier, Tobias Smithler had taken the lantern down to the mere and set his trap.’

  ‘The same time,’ Raston bitterly observed, ‘they knew that I, the only person who’d be out on such a night, was busy elsewhere.’

  ‘In his greedy desire for a quick profit,’ Kathryn declared, ‘Vavasour would go anywhere for such a fortune and, not being a local man, forgot about the mere, as he did about the thaw.’

  ‘You sharp-eyed bitch!’ Blanche Smithler hissed. ‘And, before you ask’ – she sneered contemptuously at her husband who now sat dejectedly – ‘the idea was mine. Erpingham came here to paw me. He once tried to drag me into the stables to ruffle my petticoats. I couldn’t stand his stink, yet every time he became more importunate. He was a wicked, evil man. He deserved his death.’ She started to rise but Standon forced her back in the chair.

  ‘So sharp,’ she taunted Kathryn. ‘One day, Mistress, you’ll cut yourself. But you got two things wrong. First, I never poisoned Erpingham’s goblet the night that evil bastard suffered his nightmare. Like you, my good physician, I know poisons. If I had meant to kill Erpingham, I would have done.’

  ‘And the second matter?’ Colum asked.

  Blanche Smithler pointed to her husband. ‘He thinks we are finished, but I know different. Who cares whether an evil tax collector has received his just deserts? Or that little demon Vavasour? Who will weep for them? The King’s Exchequer in London?’

  ‘The taxes?’ Colum asked softly.

  ‘Oh yes.’ She sneered. ‘The King’s precious taxes, worth much more than you think, Irishman. Those coins are freshly minted; on the bullion market they’ll fetch a high price. Now . . .’ She leaned her arms on the table.

  Colum held his hand up for silence.

  ‘The rest of you can leave,’ he ordered. ‘Wait in your chambers until this matter is finished. You, too, Master Standon. Luberon’s bailiffs will keep us secure.’

  The guests were only too eager to scrape back their chairs and flee the taproom.

  ‘What is going to happen, Irishman?’ Kathryn whispered.

  ‘She is going to bargain for her life and I think we’ll have to accept it.’

  Once the room was cleared Colum gestured at the Smithlers.

  ‘Well, the taxes?’
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  ‘You can tear this tavern apart,’ Blanche declared. “Stick by stick, stone by stone” was the phrase you used. Well, do so. I promise you, Irishman, I may well hang on the city scaffold and my corpse and that of my husband be gibbeted at some lonely crossroads but the King’s taxes will never be found. And what will you do then, Irishman? What will you, or your snivelling clerk, write to the golden-haired Edward?’

  Tobias Smithler also raised his head and grinned weakly at his wife, who sat rigid as a piece of steel, red spots of anger high in her pale, pretty face.

  ‘You know what I want, Irishman. Our lives: the King’s taxes in return for our life and liberty.’ She gestured round the tavern. ‘Oh, I know we are felons. All our goods are escheated to the King. So, how will the Crown suffer? The death of a corrupt tax collector, the murder of a miserable clerk? But, if the King gets his monies and the profits of this tavern, who loses then, eh?’

  Kathryn shivered at Blanche’s cold, calculating offer.

  ‘You killed two human beings,’ Kathryn replied. ‘You took away their lives. Erpingham may have been evil, and Vavasour corrupt, but their lives were a matter between them and God, not just the playthings of your greed.’

  ‘Oh, shut up!’ Blanche snapped. ‘You hoity-toity physician with your sense of righteousness!’

  ‘I am neither,’ Kathryn retorted. ‘As I am no assassin.’

  Blanche spread her hands. ‘Then let the King’s Justice have his way. Irishman, load me with chains, send us down to Newgate in London to stand trial before the King’s Bench. Two more deaths will occur but where are the King’s taxes, eh?’