Chains of Folly (27 page)

“He was alone.”

“Yes.” Bell frowned. “So either he was given the poison before he came to the house and it only took him when he was here, or someone gave him something to take with him and he ate or drank it here.”

“Bellamy, you are a pain in the arse! Do you think I have nothing better to do than to search out every man who spoke to Gehard the day before yesterday?”

“Well, not every man—and woman too, of course. A woman could have poisoned him as easily as a man. No, there is no need to question very many. From what I have heard about Gehard and myself observed, his temper was not such as to provide him with many acquaintances. Beside that, the fact that he is here in these rooms implies to me that his death may be connected to that of the whore.”

“Just because he is here? In these rooms? Nelda died a week ago. Why could he not be here to rent these rooms?”

Bell shook his head. “Gehard lodges in the Tower. He was leader of one of the troops Mandeville left as guards. He knew Nelda well and told me when I first met him that Nelda was a thieving bitch and deserved what befell her.” He heaved an exasperated sigh. “Until I found him here, dead, I thought he was the one who had killed her. Now…I must begin all over again.”

For a long moment the sheriff stared at Bell, then shook his head. “Who cares who pushed the whore down the stair? Likely that was not deliberate murder but an accident.”

“Yes, but taking her body and setting it in the bishop’s bedchamber was
not
an accident. I had strong suspicion, but no proof, that Gehard hired men to attack Winchester on his way to meet with the archbishop at Lambeth on Saturday last. Thus it seemed to me that it was possible that he had moved Nelda’s body too.”

“Why then do you care who killed him? Dead, he is no danger to Winchester.”

“Because I cannot believe that Gehard would, all on his own, hire a troop to attack the bishop. I doubt he had sufficient coin. However, if he were bidden to do that and paid for it, might he not think that dropping Nelda’s corpse in Winchester’s house would be pleasing to the one who paid him to hire the troop? Might he not think he would be rewarded for that?”

“Hmmm. I suppose that is possible.”

“I said I had strong suspicion that Gehard had hired those men, but that was not from the men—”

“No,” the sheriff interrupted drily. “All of those are dead in unpleasant ways. I am surprised you could not extract more information from them. They were not the kind to hold out against torture for loyalty.”

Bell sighed. “I had killed the leader of the troop in the battle. He was the only one who knew who hired them.”

The sheriff burst out laughing. “That will teach you to be so efficient.”

Bell sighed again. “Well, I doubt it. In the heat of battle, one does not think too far in advance of the next blow. But the thing is that I came upon Gehard drunk and his tongue slipped. He said the men were instructed not to harm the bishop…which says to me that he gave, or knew who gave, that instruction. So,
why
is Gehard dead? Because the one who hired him to send that troop against the bishop heard of his drunken slip of the tongue and decided Gehard had become dangerous to him?”

“I see.” The sheriff was no longer laughing. “But Gehard was Mandeville’s man. Mandeville is with the king.”

Bell shrugged. “No way do I think I can bring this to roost on Mandeville…but I want to
know
so that the bishop will know.”

Now it was the sheriff who sighed. “I will go along with you so far as to send my men out to question the apothecaries in Southwark to discover if any sold…hmmm…do you know which poison it is?”

“No, but likely if you send the body to the hospital of St. Catherine, they will be able to make a guess at least.”

The sheriff nodded and stepped out onto the stair landing to instruct his men. Bell mentioned that there was a bed in the next chamber with a blanket that they could use to wrap the corpse. When they had carried the body away, the sheriff glanced around the room, said to Bell that the disorder all seemed likely to have been caused by Gehard’s death throes, and then took his leave.

Bell watched him go rather blankly and then, feeling quite sure he was forgetting something important, looked around also, jerking slightly as Magdalene seemed to appear from nowhere.

“Good God,” he said. “I had forgot that you came with me. Where have you been all this time?”

Magdalene laughed. “Mostly standing by the bedroom door where the stink was less and listening to you.” She sobered and frowned. “I don’t think there was time enough after you spoke to Gehard for Mandeville to have ordered his death.”

“No, neither do I, but the idea induced the sheriff to be of some help. He, too, would want to know if Mandeville was involved. Do you by any chance have a guess as to what the poison might have been?”

Magdalene shuddered. “I know nothing about poisons—” she hesitated, thinking that she knew too much about knives, and then went on hastily “—except…”

“Except?” Bell’s brows went up.

“That man—oh, yes, Bore was his name—did you not tell me that when he was poisoned by lily of the valley he also voided and vomited?”

“Yes.” Bell frowned. “But no. I do not think it was lily of the valley this time. Gehard’s mouth was blistered, as if he had swallowed some corrosive. Nothing as strong, though, as lye. I hope the infirmarian at St. Catherine’s will know.”

“At least I know that it must be a quick acting poison.”

“I thought you said you knew nothing about poisons.”

“And so I do not, but I know how he took the poison.”

Bell looked at her blankly. “How? How do you know that?”

Magdalene pointed. “Because that flagon was not here on the day we came to gather up Nelda’s possessions.”

Bell followed the line of her finger and, sure enough, lying on its side against the partition that separated the bedroom from the main room was a hard leather flagon. He looked from the flagon to the overturned table and saw that it was likely enough that the flagon had been thrown to the floor when Gehard’s death convulsions knocked the table over.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

“Of course I am sure. Diot and I looked in every vessel that could hold anything. Women often keep unimportant trinkets or something they are willing to give away in a cup or a pitcher not often used. That flagon was not here. In fact, there was a pitcher—yes, there it is on the shelf—but there was no flagon of any kind.”

Bell was staring at the pitcher standing on the shelf. Then he looked back at the flagon. “Then whoever bought the flagon of wine—it is wine, is it not?”

He went over to it. The curve of the lip had kept it from emptying itself completely and he took it carefully and set it upright, bending his head a little to look inside.

“Be careful,” Magdalene cried. “Do not smell it. There are smells that can kill.”

Bell smiled, pleased by her fear for him. “I remember. But there is enough in here I think to make it worthwhile to bring this to St. Catherine’s infirmarian. Then we will be sure if it was what was in this flagon that killed Gehard. But if it was, whoever bought the wine and poison did not come from these rooms. He would have taken the pitcher.”

“Oh. Yes.” Now Magdalene frowned and pointed again. “Look, there is a cup also.” She went and picked it up. “It is empty but there had been wine in it.”

Bell came and took the cup from her. “There may not be enough remaining, but I will take it to the infirmarian too. It is possible it will tell him something.” He looked around. “Is there anything else we need to look at here?”

“Not in these rooms, but I must ask Tayte whether Gehard brought the flagon with him. I do not remember that she mentioned it, but she might not have thought that important.”

Bell shook his head. “If he did not bring it, how did it get here? You said the girl swore he came alone and that no one else came.”

“While she was watching,” Magdalene said slowly. Her mind chasing another thought, she added somewhat absently, “You remember after her man came, they were…busy.”

“I remember,” Bell snapped angrily. “But that was after she heard the noise in Nelda’s apartment.”

Magdalene looked up, startled by Bell’s tone. Then the word ‘busy’ connected in her mind with what Tatye was busy doing, and she barely suppressed a grin. Pretending she had not noticed his anger or understood it, she said, “Yes, of course, but there has been something tickling in my head and it just came clear. Whoever killed Gehard must be the one who knocked Nelda down the stair because only that person would have Nelda’s keys. Either he took the key from her body or, if she had not locked the apartment, found it inside.”

“Or Gehard himself killed her and took the key. But then, who brought the poisoned wine? Could it have been meant for Nelda by someone who did not know she was dead? Or meant for Linley, who owns the place?”

“No,” Magdalene said, “because after you took Linley’s key, we did lock the apartment when we left. No one who did not have the key could have got in without breaking the lock or the door.”

Bell nodded. “True, thank God and all his saints. I did not need to suspect the whole of London and Southwark. Well, I will take myself to St. Catherine’s and give the infirmarian this flagon and cup and then go on to the Tower to try to speak to Gehard’s men.”

Magdalene giggled. “I hope a new captain is on duty.”

Bell sighed. “I hope so too.”

“I’ll speak to Tayte and then go back to the Old Priory Guesthouse. If the infirmarian can tell what poison was used, come and tell me. I know the Guildmaster of the Apothecary Guild. He might be able to tell us who regularly sells poisons.”

Bell wondered, as he made his way to the riverside and found a boatman to take him downriver and across the Thames to St. Catherine’s Hospital, what tack he should take with the captain in the Tower. Perhaps he should try to find Gehard’s men off duty and question them without the captain’s order and permission? It was briefly a tempting notion, but second thoughts made it less appealing. Without an order, the men might not be willing to talk to him and finding them a few at a time in an ale house was too chancy. Besides, with any luck, there might be a new captain on duty.

That future problem was dismissed from his mind when he was directed to the hospital mortuary and found Gehard’s body already unclothed and under scrutiny. The infirmarian looked up at him and shook his head.

“Sir Bellamy. Again. And again with a problem.”

“Yes, brother. I need to know from what poison this man died. I have here a cup, but it is empty, and a flagon holding, I think, the remains of the wine he drank just before he died.”

The monk’s face sobered and he took the cup from Bell’s hand first. He smelled it, rubbed his finger over the stain of wine near the bottom, sniffed the finger and then touched his tongue to it. After a moment he shook his head.

“Perhaps there was not enough dried on the cup, but it seems to be only wine.” Putting the cup down on the table beside the corpse, he reached for the flagon. Very carefully he sniffed it, and quickly pulled his head away. He looked at the cup and shook his head. Then he tilted the flagon so that a single drop ran onto his middle finger. He then stared down at the finger, after a moment closed his eyes, and finally touched the liquid on his finger with the tip of his tongue.

Having placed the flagon carefully on the foot of the table that held Gehard’s corpse next to the cup, he came to the head of the table and examined the face. After a moment he touched the slightly blistered lips.

“Monkshood also called wolfsbane and in the classical texts mother of poisons. But it was not in the cup, only in the flagon.”

“Are you sure, brother?”

The monk shrugged. “I will ask our herbalist to look at the cup and what remains of the wine and let you know if my guess is wrong. Is he the kind of man who would not drink direct from the flagon?”

“No. If no cup were there he would have drunk from the flagon. But the cup
was
there.” Bell shook his head. “And you are sure of the kind of poison?”

“Yes. The tingling on my skin is typical and the blistering around the dead man’s mouth. Do you want to know how long the man has been dead?”

“We know that. There was someone in the next room who, we believe, heard him die. Tuesday afternoon that would have been.”

“Yes. That sounds right. But why did we only get the body today? Did the person not go and try to help?”

Bell smiled. “Poor little mouse that she is, she would have been too afraid. She thought he was breaking up the furniture because he was angry. She did not know he was dying. But even if she had known, she could not have helped because the door was locked. She lives in a different room.”

“She could not have helped anyway.” The infirmarian shook his head. “I only thought that if she had seen him dying and called a priest, he could have had the last rites to help his soul. From the way that drop felt on my hand, the potion was very strong. Wolfsbane kills too fast for any help but the viaticum.” Then the monk’s eyes widened. “Did I not hear you say that the door was locked?” He lifted his hand from the table where it had rested near the corpse and stepped back. “He is a self-slayer?”

“No, no,” Bell assured him, “This was murder, not self-slaughter. He was not the kind to die by his own hand, and he had enemies enough to help him along the way.”

“Then God have mercy on him,” the infirmarian sighed. “He died, as you said, by poison. There is some bruising, but I am reasonably sure that was from falling and striking some furniture in his death throes. There are no other wounds.”

“Thank you, brother,” Bell said. “If any man deserved dying, I think this man did. Yet to trick a man into taking poison is wrong.”

“It is, indeed. Who knows, had he lived long enough even this sinner might have repented and mended his ways and found salvation. To send a soul, no matter how evil, untimely to Hell is wrong.”

Bell thought briefly of the many souls he himself had sent untimely to Hell, but he only nodded and said, “If I can right that wrong, I will.”