The Nightingale Gallery

'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?'

'Yes,' Lady Isabella answered quickly, 'he was.'

'What kind of man?'

She made a grimace. 'Quiet, gentle, a loyal servant.' Her eyes softened. 'I saw him just after the quarrel with my husband. I have never seen Brampton in such a state, fretting and anxious, so angry he could hardly sit still.'

'Your husband, did he mention the quarrel?'

'He said he would investigate the matter later. He was surprised more than angry that Brampton could do such a thing. He said it was out of character.' She paused. 'At the banquet my husband broached a cask of his best Bordeaux. I sent up a cup as a peace offering to Brampton.'

'You are sure Sir Thomas thought highly of Brampton?'

'Oh, I am certain.' Lady Isabella shook her head and stared down at the table.

'Shall we move on to other matters? The banquet last night.'

Cranston farted gently. The sound, however, rang through the hall like a loud bell and Lady Isabella looked away in disgust. Sir Richard glared at the coroner whilst Athelstan blushed with embarrassment at the sniggering and laughter from Buckingham.

'Why was the banquet held last night?'

'The young king's coronation,' Sir Richard replied. 'Each guild must prepare its pageant. We were discussing the plans the Guild of Goldsmiths had for their spectacle.'

'So why was Chief Justice Fortescue present?'

'We do not know,' Allingham squeaked. 'Sir Thomas said that the Chief Justice would be coming. He often did business with him.' He smirked. 'Fortescue owed him money, like many judges and lords in the city.'

'Why all these questions?' Sir Richard asked softly. 'Surely the matter is clear. Even a child,' glancing contemptuously at Sir John, 'can see that! My brother was murdered, his assassin was Brampton. Why must we go over these matters, muddying waters, causing pain and grief? We are busy men, Brother Athelstan. Your friend may sleep but we have business to attend to. My brother's corpse lies cold upstairs. There is a funeral to arrange, matters to put straight, business colleagues to contact.'