John shrugged. ‘She was stiff and cold this morning. Some time during the night or last evening, I suspect. Could be longer, but the body wasn’t there last night when the priest’s servant tipped rubbish on the spot and saw nothing.’
The sheriffs eyes widened in horror. ‘Rubbish? What rubbish?’
Patiently John explained the whole story as far as he knew it.
Richard sat down again with a thud and held his head in his hands. ‘Mother of Christ, what’s happening in this town? Hubert Walter is almost upon us, we have a portreeve’s daughter ravished and a lady of high birth dead in a dung-heap!’
John sat on the stool that the clerk had vacated when he hurried away with his parchments. ‘Did you not arrest those smiths this morning, as you threatened?’
Richard raised his head and looked rather sheepish. ‘No, I changed my mind. At least, I was going to throw them into the gaol here but Godfrey Fitzosbern came with them to plead for their liberty.’
‘I wouldn’t have thought that he had much interest in the welfare of his servants.’
‘He hasn’t – but he said his business would be ruined if I locked up his two best craftsmen before he could find replacements.’
Not for the first time, John realised that the burgesses and merchants of the town had a great deal of power, especially where making or losing money was concerned. Even a sheriff thought twice before antagonising the master of one of the major guilds.
‘So what’s to be done about this dead lady?’ demanded Richard.
‘I have sent again for that nun from St Katherine’s Priory in Polsloe. She is skilled in examining live women, so I suppose she can apply the same art to a dead one. We must know how she died.’
‘Can we be absolutely sure that this is Adele de Courcy? Who identified the body?’
John prevaricated a little as he wanted to avoid any jibes from his brother-in-law, especially if Richard relayed Nesta’s involvement back to Matilda. ‘Several of the bystanders knew her,’ he lied. Then, with a little inspiration gained from a remark by his wife, added, ‘It seems that she sometimes worshipped at St Olave’s nearby.’
‘But she was found at St Bartholomew’s in Bretayne, you say. What the devil was a lady doing alone in that cesspit of a place?’
‘I suspect the body was dumped there for concealment so it could have been brought from almost anywhere in the city, given a horse, a handcart or even a barrow.’
De Revelle jumped up and yelled at the man-at-arms on his door to send for his horse. ‘I must go at once to Reginald de Courcy, whether he be in Currestreet or at his manor. And word will have to be sent to the Ferrars. Hugh, the son, has a lodging in Goldsmith Street, though I know he spends much time in Tiverton or at one of the other many honours his father holds.’ As he grabbed a cloak from a curtained recess in the wall, the sheriff groaned in frustration. ‘Of all the times for these crimes to happen! The Justiciar is coming – and now my attention is mortgaged by these affairs.’ Muttering under his breath, he hurried out, forgetting for once to argue with John about who had primacy of jurisdiction.
The coroner was content to leave de Revelle to tour the families – a task the sheriff welcomed, in spite of his protestations, as it raised his profile among influential people in the county. Richard was tarred with the same brush as his sister when it came to currying favour with rich Normans, especially as he needed to restore his credibility after being associated with Prince John’s abortive rebellion.
After Richard had gone John left the keep and went up to his cramped chamber above the gate-house, where Thomas de Peyne was penning some duplicate copies of inquest records.
He rose from his stool deferentially and jerkily crossed himself. ‘I wondered where you might have been Crowner – and that hairy ape who makes my life a misery.’
‘Sit down again, clerk, and take a fresh roll from your bag. We have a new case to inscribe.’ He dictated a short account of the finding of Adele’s body, but omitted Nesta’s identification – he could insert some other name as official deposer later when many others had confirmed that it was Adele. ‘Now come back with me to St Nicholas’s. You may have some more scribing to do, if Dame Madge comes up to our expectations.’
When they reached the priory, the snow had increased and a thin powdering of white lay on the roofs and walls. A dappled pony was tied up outside the gate, with a side-saddle girthed to it.
‘That was quick, the holy sister must be here already,’ said John, marching into the small courtyard and pushing open the store room door.
In the dim light, he saw a woman from a nearby house, who had insisted on chaperoning the female corpse, hovering at the head of the bier. The coroner’s officer was deep in conversation with the formidable nun from Polsloe. Both looked up as they entered. At the sight of the still corpse and the tall Benedictine, Thomas’s hand automatically strayed to his forehead, shoulders and breast.
After greeting Dame Madge courteously and thanking her for coming again to their aid, John asked her, ‘Have you had any chance to examine the lady?’
The long, almost masculine face regarded him steadily. ‘I arrived not five minutes ago, Sir John, but already I suspect I know what has happened.’ She turned to Gwyn, who again held out his hand to display the two slimy cylinders in his palm. ‘Your man found these in her issue of blood. They are pieces of the inner bark of a certain elm tree. When dried, they become shrunken and hard, but swell up greatly when wetted.’
John looked at her without understanding. What did a lecture on the properties of wood have to do with a suspicious death?
‘They are used for procuring a miscarriage, crowner. A length or two of dried elm bark is pushed into the neck of the womb. When moistened by the humours of the body, it swells greatly and forces open the entrance, often leading to dropping of the child.’
John digested this novel piece of information. ‘And this is what has happened here?’
A faint smile crossed the gaunt face. ‘I am not a soothsayer. I have not yet had time to look. But I see no way in which elm slips would be found in a pool of blood under a dead woman unless that was the most likely explanation.’
Gwyn, deferential to this nun in spite of his usual antipathy to anything religious, asked a very pertinent question. ‘You said these things were inserted into the womb. Must that mean by someone else other than the woman?’
Dame Madge considered this for a moment. ‘It would be just possible, especially if the woman had some knowledge of midwifery, for her to do it herself – but it would be very unlikely to succeed.’
The coroner took up the questioning. ‘Given that the body has been hidden and obviously transported here from somewhere else, we must accept that another person is involved. But why should she die?’
‘The flux of blood strongly suggests she bled to death. Though elm slips are moderately safe, I have seen deaths from purulent suppuration of the womb, some days or even weeks after the attempt at miscarriage. But bleeding suggests that the insertion was badly performed and that the hard wood has perforated some internal part. I shall try to discover if this has happened here.’
Gradually John began to assemble in his mind the importance of these facts. It meant that Adele de Courcy, promised to be Devonshire’s Bride of the Year, had been already pregnant. Was it by Hugh Ferrars – or, worse, by someone else? ‘Will you be able to tell how far gone in pregnancy she was?’ he asked the nun.
‘Possibly. This method of procuring a miscarriage is unreliable, like all attempts at abortion. But to have any chance of success, it is useless to try before about the fourth month. Later it has more chance of bringing about the desired result, but also more chance of fatal complications.’