‘I think you have all used poor Master Godfrey badly,’ she said, reluctant to abandon her championship of a man who at least pretended to fancy her from time to time.
‘He used his own wife more than badly,’ ventured John. ‘She has left him for good after the assault, according to Picot the wine merchant. I saw him give her a blow that would have felled an ox.’
Matilda clucked her tongue. ‘He had been provoked more than a little. That silly apothecary’s lad challenging him on his own doorstep – and the Ferrars son, grand though the family may be, had no right to attack him like that. Then he gets poisoned, no doubt by that idiot from Topsham – it’s just too much.’
John tried to placate her. ‘Well, perhaps if Christina says that he has no resemblance at all to her attacker, then he should be restored to favour.’
His wife seemed to approve this tactic. ‘Then bring her here to me. You cannot march the poor girl up to his front door yourself. Arrange a time with Master Godfrey, fetch the young woman here and I will support her when you confront the pair of them.’
On that co-operative note, John slumped deeper into his chair and, one hand fondling Brutus’s ears, dozed in front of the fire, ignoring the wind that rattled the shutters and blew cold about his feet.
Chapter Fifteen
In which Crowner John hears a confession
As the coroner expected, Godfrey Fitzosbern was inflamed beyond measure with the proposition that Christina be brought to confront him, but after some reasoned argument, his mood subsided to grudging acceptance.
John had left his own house after one of Mary’s substantial breakfasts and went next door. The silversmith was not in his shop, only the two workers, who looked furtive and subdued when they saw the law officer. The old man who had been looking after the house since Mabel had left with the maid took the coroner upstairs to Fitzosbern’s living quarters, where he found the guild-master still in his night-tunic, sitting slumped on the edge of his bed.
He looked pale and ill, a shadow of his usual self – no longer the bouncy, well-dressed man-about-town, who always had a smile and a smooth word for the ladies. John noticed that his hands had a marked tremor when he held them out.
He began by enquiring after his health since leaving St John’s, which set Godfrey into indignant ranting. ‘I’m sick, de Wolfe, damned sick! Poisoned by that bloody madman son of Joseph. When I’m recovered, I’m going to bring an appeal against him for attempted murder.’
‘But the apothecary said that there was no poison in that food and wine.’
‘Nonsense! Of course I was poisoned! Within minutes of taking them, my mouth began to burn, my throat was tight, my belly was in spasm and my heart was thumping like a lunatic drummer.’
John shrugged. ‘There was no sign of poison. Nicholas of Bristol showed me a rat and a cat that had been fed with them. They suffered no harm at all.’
Fitzosbern sat on his bed, his head in his hands. ‘Did he give them any of that herb powder? It was either that or the wine.’
‘Why not the food? That fowl may have been corrupt before it was cooked.’
‘It was never in the apothecary’s shop where that crazy boy could contaminate it.’
John pricked up his ears. ‘So are you saying that the wine came from there?’
‘Of course it did! Nicholas gave me the powder for my neck wound and said to wash each dose down with this special wine, which had a medicament in it to enhance the goodness of the herbs.’
John wondered why Nicholas had not mentioned the wine – though if it was innocent of any toxin, it did not matter.
Godfrey looked up at him. ‘Did you come here only to enquire after my health?’
When the coroner explained the proposal to bring Christina to confront him, the expected violent objections materialised. It took a long time for him to convince Fitzosbern that the only way to lift the cloud of suspicion was to show that the girl had no recollection of his being the assailant. If he was innocent, as he steadfastly maintained, then it could only be to his benefit.
Eventually, Godfrey reluctantly agreed, on condition that no one else from the Rifford family was present, and no one from the Topsham family either. They arranged for her to come at the twelfth hour and John left, casting a last suspicious look at Alfred and Garth as he went out through the hot and smoky workshop, where the smelting hearth was now in full spate.
His next call was at the Rifford house, where he explained the arrangements to Henry and Christina. old Aunt Bernice would take her to Matilda, and John and his wife would lead her next door. Edgar was at the house, and both he and Christina’s father were reluctant to be left out of the deputation to Martin’s Lane, but John insisted that Fitzosbern would not cooperate if they came.
The coroner went from there to his chamber in Rougemont Castle and listened to Gwyn and Thomas as they told him of a few new cases that needed his attention. The rest of the morning was spent in viewing the body of a boy who had fallen into a mill-race down near the river, and was recovered drowned on the downstream side of the woollen mill.
When John returned home, he was chagrined to find his brother-in-law there, with Matilda and Christina. The sheriff had somehow heard of the identity venture and had marched down to protest, still in his role of protector of the guild-master. ‘By what authority do you think you can do this?’ he demanded, standing in John’s hall with his smart green cloak draped over one shoulder, to show off his yellow surcoat.
‘Because I am enjoined to record the Pleas of the Crown, Richard, and rape is undoubtedly a crime serious enough to be brought before the King’s Justices, not the shire court. So I am perfectly entitled to pursue my investigations, to be enrolled for the royal judges, when they come.’
As this was the deal proposed by Hubert Walter only the day before, de Revelle could hardly prohibit it, but his face conveyed the bad grace with which he gave in to the coroner. ‘Let’s get on with the farce, then. Fitzosbern is threatening to appeal everyone who is against him, for assault, attempted murder and God knows what!’
Matilda and Christina sat near the fire, listening to this exchange with concern. ‘If this will cause Edgar and my father more trouble then perhaps I should not go through with it,’ said the girl tremulously.
John held up his hand. ‘It is part of my enquiry. No harm will come of it.’ He turned to the sheriff, partly with the intent of diverting his antagonism. ‘My officer discovered yesterday that Adele de Courcy had been recommended to the apothecary Nicholas as someone who might rid her of the child. He denies it, of course, but we found elm slips in his shop, which he claims were for another purpose.’
The sheriff’s eyes lit up, he was certainly diverted by the news. It gave him a possible route to get back in favour with the de Courcys, and especially the Ferrars clan, who were accusing him of being ineffectual in finding the truth about Adele’s death. ‘Was there any clue as to the identity of the father?’ he demanded.
‘No, not a word. And we have no proof that Nicholas was involved, only that the old hag the woman first consulted told her to try Nicholas as a last resort.’
The cathedral bell boomed out the noonday hour from across the Close and they moved out of the coroner’s house to visit the silversmith. Once again, the two craftsmen almost cowered behind their workbenches as the sheriff and coroner strode past them, half convinced that they had come to rearrest them. But the party walked on into the back room, still filled with heat and the acrid fumes from the furnace that glowed red on one side.