The Nightingale Gallery

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