AHMM, June 2005

by Dell Magazine Authors

  "What happened with this woman?” Brother Devyn asked.

  "Yesterday she had eaten her dinner with her husband in their own quarters. They have a cottage just without the gate. It was barely an hour later that she groped her way into his workshop behind, complaining of pain in her stomach. Already she could barely stand, and the pain soon grew to agony. He ran to call me, but there was naught to be done for her. Her breath came in quick little gasps, and she was red-hot fevered. She was cruelly thirsty, but nothing could quench her dryness. Wann carried her to the pallet in their house where she soon lost consciousness and died not long after. I can only think that she must have been somehow poisoned, for it all came too quickly to be an illness."

  They had reached the door to the shed. Brother Devyn struck a spark to light the lantern he carried, and Nicholaa led him into the small dark room. The sweetish fetid odor of death was less noticeable than she'd expected. Perhaps the gaps in the thin wattle walls combined with Lincolnshire's eternal east wind from the sea had served a good purpose here.

  Brother Devyn held the lantern high as she turned the shroud back from the dead woman's face. Dark curly hair tumbled forth. Peering closely at Nelda's face, he touched the large red blotches on her waxy skin. “Was she so marked before?"

  "No, the redness seemed to come with her quick fever."

  He bent closer and pulled the heavy cloth further down. “Tell me what else you remember."

  "She seemed angry, and perhaps it was distress over her pain, but her words were all confused. I asked her what had happened, but she made no sensible reply.” Nicholaa thought for a moment. “When I sponged her temples with a wet cloth to cool her I could feel her heart hammering fast. And after we got her to her bed, she began to twitch, arms and legs flailing. Soon after that she fell senseless, which by then was a blessing."

  Brother Devyn sighed. “I think we can step outside to better air now."

  "I will send a servant to sew up the shroud."

  * * * *

  Nicholaa and Devyn settled themselves in the two chairs at the head of the dining board. With only a small household present there was no need to remove it to clear the hall between meals.

  Eldreda approached them, walking softly, with the infant Richard asleep on her shoulder. Nicholaa looked up, deeply thankful for her son's satiated slumber.

  "Where shall I lay him, my lady?” Eldreda asked in a whisper. “Betimes he will want more, but for now he cannot hold another drop.” Their eyes met and the two shared a smile, even though Eldreda's was tremulous.

  "My chamber is there.” Nicholaa gestured toward a door at the end of the hall. “You will find a basket for him by my bed.” Though Nelda had had the feeding of him, Nicholaa preferred to keep her son close by her.

  "Thank you, my lady.” Eldreda turned to go.

  "Wait, Eldreda. Have you eaten?” Nicholaa noticed that the tray of bread and ale brought by a servant when Devyn and Eldreda had arrived still stood untouched at the end of the table. In the excitement of settling the babe to his overdue meal it had been forgotten. And she and Devyn, so intent upon the mystery of Nelda's death, had not thought of it again.

  "No, my lady."

  "Well, then, come and take what you want once my son and heir is in his bed."

  "Thank you, my lady.” Eldreda nodded a small bow, moving off.

  "You too, Brother Devyn. You are ever too thin,” Nicholaa added.

  "I need only a cup to sup,” he replied, reaching over to help himself to ale. “Now, as to your nursemaid's death—yes, I agree, she was poisoned. All the signs from your account and what I see on her body point to her having somehow eaten Devil's Cherry. It can act quite quickly."

  Nicholaa's heart clutched. She had suspected poison, but to hear her fears confirmed was chilling. Who had done this? “Thanks be to God that Nelda fed Richard just before her poisoning and not after."

  "Thanks be, indeed. Some poisons travel through milk. The question is how she got it.” He took a deep draft of his ale. “Was there anyone else affected?"

  "No,” Nicholaa replied, “which is puzzling."

  "That makes me think it was intended for her alone,” Devyn mused. “Is there ill feeling about her? What of this husband of hers?"

  "She was not a cheerful sort, sometimes sharp tongued, but mostly folk put up with her. She and Wann sometimes quarreled violently. He has a quick temper and she tried it sorely. But they always seemed to make up."

  "What was their place here in your household?"

  "He does odd bits of woodwork and metalwork for us here, turns his hand to all manner of repairs, and tends the kitchen garden. She helped cook in the kitchen."

  "So quite ordinary, unremarkable people, no obvious power for someone to be jealous of."

  "That's right. Though one can never tell what others will hold dark thoughts about.” Nicholaa sat a little straighter and spoke firmly. “No matter that her choleric humors made her nobody's favorite, I will not tolerate the murder of one of my people. There is a child made motherless. We must find who did this and hang them!"

  "Of course,” Devyn agreed. “And we should start by talking with Wann. I wonder if they did not make up one of their quarrels."

  "I will summon him at once.” Nichola signaled a servant to her.

  * * * *

  The lanky, bearded young man stood before his lady, shifting from one foot to the other and nervously turning his cap in his hands. He was all brown—hair, tunic, and sun-darkened skin. His eyes were red rimmed, as if he had been crying.

  "I am sorry for the loss of your wife, Wann,” Nicholaa began. “Where is your young son now?"

  "He's with my sister, my lady. She will see to him while I'm at work.” Wann spoke like one entranced, not fully present.

  "It is lucky he is provided for. But I have some questions for you. We must know all that Nelda did yesterday before her death. We know that she was poisoned, and we must find out who was responsible for that, no matter who it is.” Her voice was low and vibrant with anger.

  "Poisoned!” Wann looked stricken. “She was just sick. How would she have been poisoned, I mean, who would do such a thing...” His voice trailed off.

  "That is what we are here to find out,” Nicholaa glared, “and Brother Devyn here has great knowledge of herbs and plants, both those that heal and those that don't. The signs are clear to him that she somehow ate something that killed her. Now, what were her meals yesterday?"

  "I think she had a little bread and ale to break her fast. I was out early and didn't see, but that was all there was. Then she was here with you to nurse your babe—but you know that.” Wann gulped and stammered. “Then for our dinner she had cooked a pottage with some pease and roots from the garden and a small hare that I ... found.” He shuffled his feet and tried to find a place to put his eyes. He dropped his cap and bent quickly to retrieve it.

  "And where did you ... find ... this hare?” Nicholaa asked, her voice deceptively soft. Poaching was an eternal problem and could not be overlooked, despite the larger crime that had come to her household.

  "It was lying dead by the path near the ruin of an old cottar's hut, on the path that leads to the Stainfield Fen,” he stammered. “I was going there to gather reeds to fill in the wattle wall of the shed.” His face crumpled. “The very shed where my Nelda is now.” The red-rimmed eyes overflowed and he brushed at them with the back of his dirty hand.

  "The hare was already dead, you say?"

  "Oh yes, my lady. But not long dead, still limp, and quite all right to cook."

  His pained eyes looked very earnest. Maybe his story was even true. It would be as well to move past the matter of poaching for now. The man had just lost his wife, however stormy their union had been, and he had a motherless child to cope with. What she could not ignore was Nelda's murder, and Wann's quick temper. Had he wished to be rid of his nagging wife?

  "Just so. But we still know not how it was that Nelda alone died. You ate the same as she."


  Wann seemed to relax a little, relieved that the subject had turned from his found hare. Did the man not grasp that he might be in a peril far greater than that of being caught poaching? Perhaps not. Most of his wits seemed to reside in his agile hands.

  "Well, we ate almost the same, my lady,” he said. “All but the rabbit. She dished all of that for herself, and reminded me that she was making milk for two. That was fair. I had enough with the pease and vegetables."

  "She ate the whole rabbit?” Devyn asked, his thin red eyebrows arched high.

  "Oh, it was a very small one, sir, my lady.” He held his fingers little more than a handspan apart. His eyes darted back and forth, and he seemed confused to speak to two at once. “She spoke of how tender it was.” His voice broke.

  "But how could she have gotten a dose of Devil's Cherry with a meal of rabbit?” Nicholaa wondered. The puzzle was baffling, frustrating, and she must solve it. She felt that they were nearing an answer, but she could not see it. “Brother Devyn, have you any thought about this?"

  The monk shook his head slowly. “All the signs of Nelda's death point to Devil's Cherry poisoning, but the source of that is a plant, not a rabbit."

  "What of this, Wann? Did she nag you once too often? Did you put a poison in her cup to stop her sharp tongue?” Nicholaa glared and leaned forward into her accusation. In truth, she thought it more likely that if Nelda had driven him to remove her, it would have been a beating in a fit of rage, not a calculated poisoning, but she had to ask and see his response.

  "Oh, never, my lady!” He fell to his knees. “I loved her! She was sometimes hard on me, but she loved me too. I know she did!"

  "But she is dead.” Nicholaa declared. “Someone must hang for it!"

  * * * *

  Eldreda sat quietly at the far corner of the table, only half listening to the drama playing at the other end of the room. She had pulled off a small piece of bread and nibbled at it, along with a few crumbs of the pungent yellow cheese. Food did not appeal to her, but the habit of eating to make good milk was strong in her. She sipped a little ale.

  Making milk. She didn't know how to feel about young Richard at her breast. If she closed her eyes she could almost imagine that it was her Rosamund there, but when she looked down and saw a downy dark head instead of a red-gold one, tears rose again in her throat. She was glad the Lady Nicholaa was not there to see when she had almost thrust the boy away. But then he opened his dark eyes and they locked on hers as his tiny mouth sucked and pulled, and she melted, drifting into a place of no pain, no feeling. Brother Devyn must be right. This was what she was to be doing for now. She must provide life for this child, as she could no longer for her own.

  The words of Wann's interrogation pierced through the haze she had wrapped closely around herself. Something about his wife being poisoned by eating a rabbit? Memories stirred in her mind, her mother speaking of going to attend a family of chandlers near St. Botolph, all sickened. Yes, it had been about rabbits. She listened more attentively for a moment.

  Lady Nicholaa and Brother Devyn both seemed baffled by Wann's story. Should she say something? Lady Nicholaa sounded fierce in her accusations of the man. Perhaps she would not welcome an intrusion. But her eyes had seemed kind when they'd first met, and Eldreda had read her for a fair woman. She rose and took a few steps toward the others.

  * * * *

  "By your leave, my lady, I may have an idea,” came Eldreda's soft voice. So intent were they on their deliberations that Nicholaa had not noticed her sitting in the corner at the far end of the table.

  "You have an idea?” Nicholaa asked, surprised. “What do you know of this matter?"

  "Eldreda has a fair store of herb lore too, Lady Nicholaa,” Devyn interjected. “She learned much from her mother, a wise woman who lived near St. Botolph. We have long traded seeds and cuttings from her mother's garden."

  "Just so. It seems you have gifts beyond your milk.” Nicholaa peered at the young woman again. “What say you of this rabbit?"

  "I am minded of something that happened when I was a girl in my mother's house, before my marriage. There was a whole family sickened, and they too had eaten a rabbit stew. My mother said that a rabbit can eat of a certain poisonous plant and be not harmed, but that the poison is carried forward in its flesh. None of those folk died, though they were very sick, but perhaps with so many at table none had very much of the rabbit."

  "And what is this plant?” Nicholaa asked. Such a strange thing! But perhaps it was the answer. She could not fathom that Wann could have known of this and devised such a complicated plan.

  "There we called it Dwayberry,” Eldreda replied, “and Brother Devyn has spoken of Devil's Cherry. But I know that plants have different names in different places. I know what it looks like. If I could see the place where Wann found the rabbit, perhaps I can tell if there is any growing nearby."

  "We will go there at once.” Nicholaa rose. “Wann, lead us to the spot."

  * * * *

  An early autumn breeze stirred the leaves of the great oak tree arching above them. The little party of four stood in its dappled shade by the fallen ruins of a mossy old hut, left long ago by some forgotten cottar. The path to Stainfield Fen ran through low undergrowth a few yards away.

  Eldreda pointed to several clumps of dull dark green leaves growing among the tumbled stones. Some were almost waist high. Clusters of shiny black berries hung from the stems. “There it is,” she said. “Deadly to anyone who eats of it. My mother said that any part of the plant is poisonous. Stay away from it."

  "She is right,” confirmed Brother Devyn. “I recognize it, though I know it as Devil's Cherry. I have heard that it can be used in tiny quantities for some fevers, but I would fear to do so because it is so potent. I never knew that its poison could be passed through an animal's flesh, but Eldreda's mother was known for miles around to be very wise in the ways of plants."

  "I think the mystery may be solved,” Nicholaa nodded. “Show me exactly where you found the rabbit, Wann."

  "Just there near the edge of the path, almost where you are standing.” Wann pointed, his eyes about to spill over again. “But does this mean that I killed her? I brought the rabbit to her!” His voice rose to a wail.

  Nicholaa cocked her head and eyed him. He had in a way been responsible for his wife's death, and in some manor courts he would be summarily hung, even for what was an ignorant mistake. She marveled that he would point out his own culpability. Clearly, he could not think beyond his own pain.

  What was she to do with him? There was no sense in orphaning his child. And besides, he was quite useful around the manor. It would be hard to replace him.

  "You did not kill her, Wann,” she told him, turning to leave. “The hand of God is sometimes mysterious."

  Under her foot she felt the wire noose of a poacher's snare. She paused for only the space of half a breath. He was suffering quite enough, she thought. With her toe she quietly pushed the noose farther back into the underbrush and moved on. The poisoner had already been hung.

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  Copyright © 2005 by Joyce Gibb.

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  The Blackmailers by Harvey O'Higgins

  A Mystery Classic

  * * * *

  The want ad—after the manner of want ads—had read simply: “Boy over 14, intelligent, trustworthy, for confidential office work, references. Address B-67 Evening Express."

  Several scores of boys, who were neither very intelligent nor peculiarly trustworthy, exposed their disqualifications—after the manner of boys—in the written applications that they made. Of these scores, a dozen boys received typewritten requests to call next morning at room 1056, in the Cranmer Building, on Broadway, for a personal interview with “H. M. Archibald.” But of the dozen, only one knew what sort of confidential office work might be waiting for him in room 1056.

  He was little Barney Cook. And he kept his information to him
self.

  The directory, on the wall of the building's entrance, did not assign 1056 to any of the names on its list. The elevator boys did not know who occupied 1056. The door of 1056 had nothing on its glass panel but the painted number; and the neighboring doors were equally discreet. The “Babbing Bureau” was the nearest name in the corridor, but its doors were marked “Private. Entrance at 1070."

  Nor was there anything in the interior aspect of 1056 to enlighten any of Barney Cook's competitors when they came there to be interviewed. It was an ordinary outer office of the golden-oak variety, with a railing of spindles separating a telephone switchboard and two typewriter desks from two public settles and a brass cuspidor. There were girls at the desks and the switchboard. The boys were on the settles or at the railing. The girls were busy, indifferent, chatty (among themselves) and very much at home. The boys, of course, were quite otherwise. They might have been suspected of having assumed a common expression of inert and anxious stupidity in order that each might conceal from all the others the required intelligence with which he hoped to win the “job."

  Barney Cook alone betrayed the workings of a mind. He sat erect—stretching his neck—at the end of a settle nearest the gate of the railing, watching the door of an inner room and scrutinizing every one who came out of it. He paid no heed to the girls; he knew that they were merely clerks. But when he saw a rough-looking man appear, with a red handkerchief around his neck, he stared excitedly. Surely the bandanna was a disguise! Perhaps the black mustache was false!

  Forty-eight hours earlier, in the uniform of a telegraph boy, Barney had been in the public office of the Babbing Detective Bureau; and he had been asked to deliver an envelope to the advertising department of the Evening Express as he went back. The envelope was not sealed. It did stick slightly in places—but it was not sealed. And it contained the want ad. “Confidential office work"! For the famous Walter Babbing!