The Nightingale Gallery

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.'
    'Strange!' Cranston stirred and opened his eyes. 'I find it very strange!'
    Athelstan looked down the table and grinned to himself. One of the things he could never understand but most enjoyed about Cranston was