The Nightingale Gallery

Around the room were tables and chairs, some covered with quilted cushions, and on the walls shelves of jars which were neatly labelled. Athelstan studied the jars, dismissing them as nothing but mild cures for ague, aches and pains. They contained herbs such as hyssop, crushed sycamore leaves, moss – nothing that could not be bought at any apothecary's throughout the length and breadth of the city. At last Foreman came back, pulling up a chair beside them like some benevolent uncle ready to listen to a story or tell a merry tale.
    'Well, sirs, who are you?'
    'Sir John Cranston, coroner, and my clerk, Brother Athelstan.'
    The man smiled with his lips but his eyes became hard and watchful.
    'You wish to purchase something?'
    'Yes, red arsenic and belladonna. You do sell them?'
    The transformation in Foreman was marvellous to behold. The merry mask slipped, his eyes became more vigilant. He straightened in his chair, looking nervously over his shoulder. Athelstan sensed that, if he had known who they were before he answered the door, he would never have let them inside, or else would have taken measures to hide whatever he had in the house.
    'Well, sir?' Cranston asked. 'Do you have these poisons?'
    Foreman shook his head, his eyes never leaving the coroner's.
    'Sir, I am an apothecary. If you want a cure for the rheum in your knee, an ache in your head, or your stomach is churned up by bad humours, I can do it. But bella- d›nna and red arsenic are deadly poisons.' He let out a deep s.gh. 'Very few people sell them. They are costly and highly dangerous in the hands of those who might use them for the destruction of life.'
    Cranston smiled and leaned closer, his face a few inches from that of the apothecary.
    'Now, Master Foreman, I am going to begin again. You do sell red arsenic, nightshade, belladonna, and other deadly potions to those who are prepared to pay. Look,' he lied, 'I have in my wallet a warrant from the Chief Justice and I shall stay here whilst my clerk hurries back to the city and brings men from the under sheriff to search this house. If one grain of poison, red arsenic, white arsenic, the juice of the poppy or any other damnable philtre is here, then you will answer for it, not at the Guildhall but before King's Bench! Come, surely somewhere in this house there are records, memoranda of what you sell?'
    The apothecary's face paled and beads of sweat broke out on his brow.
    'There would be many,' the fellow whispered, "who would curse you, Cranston, for dragging me into court! I have powerful friends.' His eyes flickered towards Athelstan. 'Abbots, archdeacons, priests. Men only too willing to defend me and keep my secrets – and theirs – hidden from the light the law!'
    'Good!' Cranston answered. 'Now we understand each other, Master Foreman. I have no desire to stop your evil trade in whatever you sell, buy and plot, or to search out your secrets, though one day perhaps I will.' He stared up at the shelves above him. 'What I want now is to know who in the last month has been here to buy arsenic and belladonna? Surely you recognise this?' He took out the small stoppered jar of poison and Foreman's eyes rounded in surprise. 'This is yours, sir,' Cranston probed gently. 'Look, on your shelves, there are similar ones. Who in the last few weeks purchased this poison?'
    He held up the jar. Foreman sighed, rose, and wandered back into the chamber. Cranston took out his dagger and laid it on the floor beside him. A short while later the apothecary returned, looked at the dagger and smiled thinly.
    'There is no need for that, Sir John. I will give you the information. Anything to have you gone!'
    He sat down on the chair, a roll of parchment in his hands. He unrolled it slowly, muttering to himself.
    'One person,' he said, looking up, 'bought both poisons in that jar about a week ago, as well as a rare odourless potion which can stop the heart but not be traced.'
    'What did he look like?'
    The apothecary smiled.
    'Unlike any man! She was a lady, richly dressed. She wore a mask to conceal her face. You know the type ladies from the court wear when they go some place with a gallant who is usually not their husband? She came and paid me generously.'
    'What kind of woman was she?'
    'The woman kind,' the fellow replied sardonically, now realising he had very little information to give this snooping coroner.
    'Describe her!'
    Foreman rolled up the parchment and sat back in his chair.
    'She was tall. As I