'Then what?'
'Next morning,' Father Crispin began, leaning forward, 'I went to wake…'
'No!' Lady Isabella interrupted. 'I sent my maid, Alicia. She tapped on my husband's door a few minutes after he had retired and asked if there was anything he wanted.' She smoothed the table in front of her with long, white elegant fingers. 'My husband called out that all was well.'
Athelstan looked sideways at Cranston. The coroner's heavy-lidded eyes were closing. Athelstan kicked him fiercely under the table.
'Ah, yes, of course.' Cranston pulled himself up, burping gently like a child. 'Father Crispin, you were saying?'
'At Prime – yes, about then – the bells of St Mary Le Bow were ringing. It was a fair morning, and Sir Thomas had asked to be roused early. I went up to his chamber and knocked. There was no reply. So I went for Sir Richard. He also tried to waken Sir Thomas.' The young priest's voice trailed off.
'Then what?*
'The door was forced,' Sir Richard replied. 'My brother was sprawled on the bed. We thought at first he had had some seizure and sent for the family physician, Peter de Troyes. He examined my brother and saw his mouth was stained, the lips black. So he sniffed the cup and pronounced it drugged, possibly with a mixture of belladonna and red arsenic. Enough to kill the entire household!'
'Who put the cup there?' Athelstan asked, nudging Cranston awake.
'My husband liked a goblet of the best Bordeaux in his chamber at night before retiring. Brampton always took it up to him.'
'Ah, yes, Brampton brought a cup of claret!' Cranston smacked his hps. 'He must have been a fine servant, a good fellow!'
'Sir John,' Lady Isabella shrieked in fury, 'he poisoned my husband!'
'What makes you say that?'
'He took the cup up.'
'How do you know?'
'He always did!'
'So why did Brampton hang himself?'
'Out of remorse, I suppose. God and his saints,' she cried, 'how do I know?'
'Sir John…' Father Crispin raised his hand in a placatory gesture at Sir Richard's intended outburst in her defence. The merchant looked choleric, so red-faced Athelstan thought he might have a seizure. 'Lady Isabella is distraught,' continued the priest. 'Brampton took the cup up, we are sure of that.'
'Was he present at the banquet last night?' Athelstan asked.
'No.' Sir Richard shook his head. 'He and my brother had a fierce quarrel earlier in the day.'
'About what?'
Sir Richard looked nervously down the table at Vechey and Allingham.
'Sir Thomas was furious: he accused Brampton of searching amongst his documents and memoranda. There are caskets in my brother's room. He found the lid of one forced and, beside it, a silver button from Brampton's jerkin. Brampton, of course, denied the charge and the quarrel continued most of the day.'
'So Brampton sulked in his room, did not attend the banquet and retired for the night – but not before he had taken a goblet of wine along to his master's chamber?'
'So it would seem.'
Cranston had now gently nodded off to sleep, his head tilting sideways, his soft snores indicative of a good day's drinking. Athelstan ignored the company's amused glances, pushed away the writing tray and tried to assert himself.
'I cannot understand this,' he said. 'Brampton argues with Sir Thomas, who has accused him of rifling amongst his private papers?'
'Yes,' Sir Richard nodded, watching him guardedly.
'Brampton storms out but later takes up a cup of wine. A kind gesture?'
'Not if it was poisoned!' Allingham squeaked. 'The cup was poisoned, laced with a deadly potion.'
Athelstan felt caught, trapped in a mire. The listeners around the table were gently mocking him, dismissing Cranston as a drunk and himself as an ignorant friar.
'Who was present,' he asked, 'when Sir Thomas's body was found?'
'I was,' Sir Richard replied. 'And course Father Crispin. Master Buckingham also came up.'
'As did I,' Allingham grated.
'Yes, that's correct,' Sir Richard added.
'So you sent for the physician?'
'Yes, as I have said.'
'And then what?'
'I dressed the body,' Father Crispin offered. 'I washed him, did what I could, and gave Sir Thomas the last rites, anointing his hands, face and feet. You may recall, Brother, there are some theologians, Dominicans,' the priest smiled thinly, 'who maintain the soul does not leave the body until hours after death. I prayed God would have mercy on Sir Thomas's soul.'
'Did Sir Thomas need mercy?'
'He was a good man,' Father Crispin replied sharply. 'He founded chantries, gave money to the poor, distributed food, looked after widows and orphans.'
'I am sure the good Lord will have mercy on him,' Athelstan murmured. 'Now for Brampton. You made a search for him?'
'Yes,' Sir Richard replied briskly. 'We suspected he was involved so we searched his chamber. We found a small stoppered phial in a chest beneath some robes. A servant took it round to Peter de Troyes, who pronounced it held the same mixture found in my brother's wine cup. We then searched for Brampton.'
'I found the corpse,' Vechey interrupted. 'I noticed that the door leading to the garret was half open, so I went up.' He swallowed. 'Brampton was hanging there.' The fellow shivered. 'It was dreadful. The garret was empty and cold. There was a horrible smell. Brampton's body was hanging there like a broken doll, a child's toy, his neck askew, his face blackened, tongue lolling out!'
He gulped at his wine.
'I cut him down and loosened the rope but he was dead, the corpse clammy and cold.' He looked pleadingly at Sir Richard. 'The body's still there. It must be removed!'
'Tell me,' Athelstan said, 'do you all live here?'
'Yes,' Sir Richard replied. 'Master Allingham is a bachelor. Master Vechey is a widower,' he smiled, 'though still with an eye for the ladies. This mansion is great, four storeys high, built in a square round a courtyard. Sir Thomas saw no reason why his business partners should not share the same house. Tenements, property, their value has increased, and with royal taxes…' His voice trailed off.
Athelstan nodded understandingly, trying to mask his frustration. There was nothing here. Nothing at all. A merchant had been killed, his assassin had hung himself. At the same time Athelstan detected something. These people were pompous, arrogant, sure of themselves. They walked the streets like cocks, confident of their wealth, their power, their friends at court or in the Exchequer.
'Sir Thomas treated Brampton well?' Athelstan asked. 'Was he a good lord?'
'A more courteous gentleman you could not hope to meet,' Allingham answered. 'Sir Thomas gave generously in alms to the poor of the parish of St Bartholomew's, to the Guild, and,' he ended contemptuously, 'to friars like you!'
'So why should he quarrel so violently with Brampton? Had he done it before?'
Allingham stopped, wrong-footed.
'No,' he murmured. 'No, he had not. There were just disagreements.'
'Lady Isabella,' Athelstan asked, 'your husband – was he anxious or concerned about anything?'
Sir Richard patted Lady Isabella's wrist as a sign that he would answer for her.
'He was worried about the war, and the increase of piracy in the Narrow Seas. He lost two ships recently to Hanse pirates. He resented the old king's growing demands for loans.'
'And Brampton, was he a good steward?'
