‘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.
He gave a perfunctory rap on the solar door and without waiting for a reply, pushed it open. William, peering past his master’s bulky body, saw Eleanor Giffard in the centre of the room, again dressed in black, but this time in an even more elegant gown of silk, with a filmy black veil covering her hair. But what was more interesting was the back view of a tall man who had been facing her in close proximity, but who had stepped back suddenly when the coroner intruded.
This man now swung round to demand to know who had disturbed them. As soon as he and the coroner saw each other, there was mutual recognition, if not pleasure.
‘Do you always blunder into a lady’s chamber without her permission, fitz Urse?’ he demanded.
A slim, athletic man of about thirty-five, Jordan fitz Hamon had the haughty air of a man whose family could have bought and sold most of the local nobility, if he chose. A long face with a straight nose, which usually seemed to pointing above the heads of lesser mortals, he was dressed in the latest fashion. A scarlet cote-hardie came to his thighs, belted with an elaborate band of embossed leather. His breeches were tight-fitting and ended in soft leather shoes with long toe-points. He wore no hat indoors, but William saw a green velvet creation with a vivid peacock feather, lying on a chair.
The coroner, who knew both Jordan and his father by sight – and had little wish to deepen the acquaintance – ignored him and addressed the new widow.
‘I regret the necessity of troubling you on a day like this, mistress, but I have legal duties to perform.’
This was as near an apology as fitz Urse was ever likely to make.
‘Damned insensitive and unnecessary, if you ask me!’ snapped Jordan, but no one was asking him, as the coroner continued to speak to Eleanor. ‘A King’s coroner is obliged to view the body and to hold an inquest, madam. I also need to have the corpse examined by a physician, in circumstances such as have been alleged here.’
Mistress Giffard frowned and looked to Jordan fitz Hamon for support. ‘But the best doctor in this part of England examined him only yesterday, coroner – Brother Xavier from Keynsham Abbey. Is it necessary to further disturb my poor husband?’
‘Intolerable interference, fitz Urse!’ brayed Jordan. ‘I shall complain to the sheriff about this unwelcome intrusion into a lady’s grief.’
Ralph briefly acknowledged Jordan’s existence with a curt nod.
‘It was the sheriff who insisted that we leave no stone unturned to find the perpetrator who has deprived this good lady of her husband!’ he growled. Then he turned back to Eleanor. ‘I presume that Robert’s body is still in the house, madam?’
She nodded wordlessly, holding a scrap of lace kerchief to her eyes, though William could see no sign of tears. ‘Edward will show you, if it is really necessary.’
The coroner nodded and had one last remark. ‘I have ordered the other three physicians to contribute their knowledge to the solving of this heinous crime – they will be here directly to assist me.’
Eleanor’s doubtful sorrow cleared up instantly. ‘What, those awful people from the town? They’ve already been pestering me today, trying to steal patients from us!’
William noted that she said ‘us’ rather than ‘me’, and wondered again what status Edward Stogursey had in this household.
‘Well, they’ll be here again shortly, though I’ll see that they do not bother you this time. But my officer here will be bothering all your servants to see what they know.’
With a perfunctory bow, the boorish coroner took his leave and as William Hangfield followed him, he saw Edward make a covert sign to Evelyn to enter her mistress’s chamber, presumably as a belated chaperone. The presence of Jordan fitz Hamon alone with her in the widow’s solar had not been lost on the coroner, for as they clumped along the upper corridor after Stogursey, he muttered to William, ‘What’s that dandy doing in her boudoir, eh?’
His officer had no answer to that and, in a moment, the sullen servant showed them into a small room that appeared to be a spare bedchamber. On a mattress lying on a low plinth was a sheeted body with two lit candles at the head end.
‘Did he die in here?’ demanded fitz Urse.
Stogursey shook his head. ‘He passed away in the main bedchamber, sir. But in this hot weather, we felt it better to remove him to this cooler room,’ he added meaningfully.
‘Let’s have a look at him, then,’ ordered the coroner.
William pulled back the linen sheet to the corpse’s waist, revealing the pallid features of Robert Giffard. He was dressed in a thin night shift, with his hands crossed over his breast. The face was peaceful and showed no signs of any obvious disease or injury.
‘Do you want to see the rest of him?’ asked William.
Fitz Urse shook his head. ‘May as well leave that for those medical fellows from town, so you can stay for that. All I needed to know was that he really was dead and to see the corpse, so that I can hold my inquest tomorrow.’
He turned to Stogursey, who had been lurking behind them, disapproval written large on his face.
‘I will hold my enquiry at the second hour after noon tomorrow, in the Shire Hall at the castle. See to it that every member of this household, from your mistress to the boot-boy, is present. I will send for the body around noon, as it must be before me during the proceedings.’
The servant-cum-physician looked shocked. ‘That is almost impossible, coroner! There are patients to see and a household to run, to say nothing of the strain upon my poor mistress!’
Fitz Urse was unmoved; he had heard it all many times before. ‘You will do as I say or you will all be amerced with heavy fines.’ As if sweetening his threats, he added, ‘You may make arrangements for the disposal of the body after the inquest.’
After the abrasive official had left, William got Edward to round up the servants one by one for him to interrogate them. He did this in the lean-to shelter used as the patients’ waiting-room. It was a quick and largely fruitless exercise, so he needed to take no formal statements, as no one knew anything of any value.
Edward had already explained what he knew of the illnesses of his master and neither the cook, housekeeper, lady’s maid, kitchen skivvy nor the outside servants had any knowledge that could throw light on the death. Even little Henry, the boot-boy and general dogsbody, who seemed to pick up more gossip than any of the others, had nothing to offer him.
Just as he had finished with the servants, the three physicians
arrived, looking anxious and guilty, half-afraid that they were to be accused of something by the officers of the law. William knew them all by sight and had actually consulted Erasmus Crote some months earlier, when his small son had developed a skin rash, which had cleared up after applying some foul-smelling lotion provided by Erasmus.
He quickly set their minds at ease by explaining that the coroner wanted a further medical opinion upon the cause of Robert Giffard’s death, even though Xavier, the eminent infirmarian from Keynsham, had admitted being baffled by the death. Relieved, the three men immediately started arguing as to who should go first, but William firmly quashed this by telling them to examine the body together – and that this was a duty demanded by the King’s coroner, so there would be no fee.
He marshalled them up to the room where the cadaver lay, with Stogursey hovering in the rear, wearing his usual disapproving scowl. This time, he removed the sheet completely to allow them to view the whole body.
With much muttering and prodding, they examined the entire body surface, the intimate orifices and squinted into the mouth, ears and eyes, before allowing William to cover up the body once more.
‘Can you tell us exactly what was the progress of this affliction?’ asked the pompous Humphrey de Cockville.
The coroner’s officer explained the sequence of events, the attack of biliousness of the skin and eyes some months earlier and how it had cleared up as soon as Giffard went to London, then the recent attacks of malaise, tremors, palpitations and collapse, which ended in his death that very morning.
‘And it is said that there was no way in which poisoned food could have been taken in the recent past?’ asked de Cockville.
William shook his head. ‘Mistress Giffard and all the servants swear that recently, since he was taken ill again, every morsel and every glass has been checked. In the past few weeks, both Edward Stogursey and indeed, the wife herself, have tasted every item of food given to the deceased.’
The only comment was from William Blundus. ‘That’s all very well, but what if one of those who was responsible for the cooking and tasting, was the murderer?’
The Deadliest Sin Page 32