The Nightingale Gallery

About – oh, fourteen or fifteen months ago.'
    'And the shoemaker riddle?'
    Cranston noticed that Lady Isabella had become tense and anxious.
    'Shortly after Christmas? That's right. He first made the riddle up during one of our mummer's games at Twelfth Night.'
    Somehow Athelstan knew these riddles were important. The room had fallen deathly silent except for Cranston's abrupt questions, the equally abrupt answers and the snapping and crackling of the logs in the fire. What did this group fear? he wondered. What was the meaning of the riddles?
    'Tell me,' Athelstan spoke up, 'did anything happen in the household to account for these riddles? Anything in Sir Thomas's life? Sir Richard, Lady Isabella… you were the closest to Sir Thomas.'
    'I don't know,' Sir Richard muttered. 'My brother liked to speak in riddles, refer to shadowy things, lectures and parables. He was a man who loved secrecy for secrecy's sake and hugged such secrets to his chest like other men do gold, silver or precious stones. No, nothing special happened here.'
    'Are you sure?' Cranston turned and looked at him, resting his cup on one large, plump thigh. 'Are you sure, Sir Richard? My memory fails me about specific details but was there not a death here eight months ago?'
    Lady Isabella's face now paled and Sir Richard refused to look up.
    'No!'
    'Come, come, sir,' Cranston barked. 'There was something.'
    'Yes,' Lady Isabella said softly, 'Sir Richard's memory fails him.' She looked at Sir John more guardedly, as if realising the coroner was not the fool he liked to appear. 'There was Eudo's death.'
    'Ah, yes, Eudo,' Cranston repeated. 'Who was he?'
    Sir Richard looked up. 'A young page boy. He fell from a window and broke his neck, out there in the courtyard. No explanation for the fall was ever given, though Sir Thomas believed he may have been involved in some stupid jape. The boy was killed outright, head smashed in, neck broken.'
    Cranston drained his cup and beamed in self-congratulation, giving a sly grin at Athelstan, who glared back. He wished the coroner had told him about this!
    'Yes, Eudo's death. I was ill at the time with the ague but I remember the verdict being recorded. Poor boy!' Cranston murmured. 'This house has ill fortune.' He stood and took in his audience with one heavy-lidded stare. 'I urge you all to be most careful. There is a malignancy here, an evil curse. It may yet claim other lives! Lady Isabella, Sir Richard.' He bowed and stepped out of the chamber.
    Athelstan stopped at the door and looked back. The group sat quite still as if bound by some secret.
    'Sir Richard?' Athelstan asked.
    'Yes, Brother?'
    'May I have permission to visit the garret where Brampton died?'
    'Of course! But, as I have said, his corpse has been sheeted and removed to St Mary Le Bow.'
    Athelstan smiled. 'Yes. But there is something I must see.'
    He asked Cranston to wait for him outside and went upstairs. On the first landing he stopped and stole a glance down the Nightingale Gallery, so engrossed he jumped when Allingham suddenly touched him on the shoulder.
    'Brother Athelstan, can I help you?'
    The merchant's long face was even more mournful and the friar was sure the man had been crying.
    'No, no, Master Allingham, I thank you. You have heard of Vechey's death, no doubt?'
    The merchant nodded sorrowfully.
    'Poor man!' Athelstan muttered. 'You know of no reason why he should take his life?'
    'His was a troubled soul,' Allingham replied. 'A troubled soul, vexed and tormented by his own lusts and pleasures.' He paused. 'The only puzzling thing was that he kept muttering, "There were only thirty-one, there were only thirty-one". '
    'Do you know what he meant?'
    'No. When we went into Sir Thomas's chamber yesterday, I heard him mutter.' Allingham screwed up his eyes. 'Vechey said, "Only thirty-one, I am sure there were only thirty-one." I remember it,' he continued, 'because Vechey was puzzled, upset.'
    'Do you know to what he was referring?'
    Allingham pursed his lips.
    'No, I don't, Brother. But if I find out, I shall tell you. I bid you adieu.'
    He proceeded down the wooden stairs and Athelstan went along the gallery and up to the garret. He pushed the door open and wished he had asked for a candle. The chamber was dark and dank. Athelstan shivered. There was a sinister atmosphere, a feeling of oppressive malevolence. Were the church fathers right, he wondered, when they claimed that the soul of a suicide was bound eternally to the place