Crowner Royal (Crowner John Mysteries) (28 page)

Reluctantly, Lucy sidled into the room and stood before John, her eyes downcast. He thought she was too fresh and attractive to be used by any man who had four pence, though he also knew that many girls eventually found a husband amongst their clients.

‘Tell me exactly what happened, Lucy,’ asked de Wolfe in a more kindly tone. ‘If you have done nothing wrong, you have nothing to fear.’

‘He was a nice, kind man,’ she said with a sniff. ‘I’m sorry he’s dead – but I know nothing about it. I tried to help him when he was so sick.’

‘He was well enough when he arrived,’ mumbled Margery, but Lucy shook her head. ‘He was not his normal self even then. I noticed his brow was sweating, but thought he was excited at what was to come. Then we went up to one of the rooms upstairs and as he began taking off his clothing, he started to groan and clutch his stomach.’

‘Did he say anything about where he had been?’ asked de Wolfe, but Lucy wanted to tell her story at her own pace.

‘He slumped down on the pallet and pulled off his hose, then apologised for not feeling well. He said it must have been something he had eaten, though he had dined with a friend at a good inn so it was surprising that there should be anything amiss with the food.’

The coroner seized upon this. ‘Did he say who the friend was? Or which inn they had visited?’

To his chagrin, the girl shook her head. ‘It was at that very moment that he started to vomit. From then on, his speech made no sense, he was too occupied in throwing up and groaning. I tried to comfort him and clean him up as best I could, but soon had to call the mistress, as he became so distressed.’

In spite of more questioning of Lucy, her mistress and the other whores, de Wolfe failed to extract any other useful information. It seemed clear that following a good meal at a decent hostelry in the company of a friend, Simon Basset had arrived at his favourite brothel for his regular fornication. He was unwell on arrival and rapidly deteriorated, showing all the symptoms of foxglove poisoning, according to Brother Philip. Death had occurred without him becoming rational enough to explain what had happened and once again the coroner was stuck with a mystery.

They left for the ride back to Westminster with an extra horse led on a head-rope behind Gwyn’s mare, for the canon’s mount had still been tethered in the yard behind the whorehouse. The crafty Margery had failed to mention it, no doubt hoping to sell the beast, until Gwyn had queried how Basset had arrived in Stinking Lane. Reluctantly, she admitted that the horse was still there and John hurried to examine it in case the saddlebag contained some further clue – for a moment he even wondered if some of the lost treasure might be there. In the event, there was nothing, but they decided to return the valuable nag to the house in King Street, when John called to give them the sad news.

During the ride back, Thomas asked what he should do about recording the investigation on his rolls and whether there was to be an inquest.

‘This is a case well out of the ordinary,’ mused John. ‘I’ll do nothing until I confer with Hubert Walter. With someone who was both a canon and a senior Treasury official, found poisoned in a brothel, I have to tread carefully, especially as he may well be involved in the theft of the king’s treasure from the Tower.’

The more he thought about it, the more delicate the situation appeared. Though he himself was presently in good grace with the Justiciar and even the king, neither were men to be trifled with or offended – and there were many other powerful men, especially on the Curia, who would be happy to use de Wolfe as a scapegoat if some great scandal erupted.

Apart from that, John had no appetite for exposing the sexual inclinations of a pleasant priest through a public inquest. Though he was a stickler for applying the king’s will, there were issues such as the relative immunity of those in holy orders from the secular law, which gave them ‘benefit of clergy’. Especially since old King Henry’s conscience-stricken surrender to Canterbury over this issue, following the murder of Thomas Becket, one had to tread softly where priests were concerned and John was not going to put his head in a noose by doing the wrong thing.

His silent cogitations lasted for most of the journey and both Thomas and Gwyn had learned not to disturb their master when he was in this contemplative mood. At the house in King Street, one of the grooms saw them coming and recognised the canon’s horse being led home riderless and drew the correct conclusions. He rushed into the house and by the time de Wolfe dismounted, Martin the steward and Chaplain Gilbert had come out to meet him, their faces full of anguished foreboding.

The coroner solemnly confirmed their fears, and taking the chaplain aside explained the circumstances of the canon’s death. ‘It is up to you how much you tell the rest of the household, but I would advise you holding back some of the details, at least until I have discussed it with the archbishop.’

Gilbert was a sensible man and through his grief – for it seemed that Simon had been a popular and caring master – he promised to be discreet about revealing the whole truth. He also promised to set in motion the process of retrieving the corpse from St Bartholomew’s and arranging a funeral, dependent on the coroner’s decision about an inquest. He would also send a messenger to Lichfield to inform the cathedral and any surviving family of the death.

Promising to keep him informed, de Wolfe left the house to the stunned residents, who were no doubt wondering when they would be thrown out into the street following the collapse of their comfortable little world.

In the late afternoon, de Wolfe made enquiries at the Justiciar’s chambers and was told that Hubert Walter was expected back that evening and would be available for audience next morning.

John had to make do with informing the most senior official he could find in the Exchequer building and he also told the Keeper of the Palace that Simon Basset was dead. He trimmed the truth by saying that the canon had been taken ill in the city and had died at St Bartholomew’s Hospital, where the body was still lying.

Though the Keeper did not seem particularly interested, being swamped with work in anticipation of Queen Eleanor’s visit, the news caused some consternation in the Exchequer. Apart from personal sadness at his death, Simon Basset was an important functionary and his loss appeared to cause problems in their administrative routines. John also had the impression that Simon’s connection with the lost treasure made some of the other officials uneasy.

That evening, de Wolfe decided not to go to the Lesser Hall for supper, as he knew he would be besieged by questions about the death of Simon Basset. The Westminster grapevine would have easily picked up the news from the Exchequer and he knew that Bernard de Montfort and the Lord of Blois and his wife would pester him for details. He would have liked to talk over the matter with Ranulf and William Aubrey, but that could wait until the morning – meanwhile, he would settle for Gwyn’s company and some of Osanna’s cooking in Long Ditch Lane.

The fat Saxon did them well in providing a meal at short notice, for after a mutton broth she produced a pair of grilled trout each, stuffed with almonds. With young carrots and early peas, it was a good meal and the mazer of fresh barley and wheat bread with a new cheese that followed was washed down with ale by the contented coroner and his officer.

They discussed the events of the day until it was apparent that they could not squeeze another ounce of significance from them. Eventually, after another full quart of ale, Gwyn fell asleep at the table and to avoid his gargantuan snores John climbed up to the room above and threw himself down on his mattress to think about Hilda.

Later, as the red evening sun declined to the western horizon, Gwyn woke and called up the steps from below.

‘I’m off to a game of dice in the palace barracks!’ he announced. ‘I’ll be late home, no doubt. In fact, I may not be back at all!’

After he had left, John wondered whether he had found a woman somewhere, though he knew that some of these gambling sessions went on until the early hours of the morning. Games of chance held no attraction for de Wolfe, but it takes all sorts, he thought philosophically. After all, Ranulf and William Aubrey were very keen on gaming and Gwyn had told him that the younger knights and esquires in the palace guard played for large stakes in their quarters.

John dozed on fitfully for a while, his mind slipping in and out of slumber, wrestling with the problems of three unsolved deaths which seemed to have no obvious connection. He suddenly became aware of voices below and heard Osanna speaking to someone in the main room. Then her voice called up through the stair opening.

‘Sir John, there is someone to see you!’ Even at that distance, he could sense the disapproval in his landlady’s voice. Reluctantly, he hauled himself up from the pallet, thrust his feet into his soft house shoes and went to the ladder, raking his dishevelled hair back with his fingers. As he descended, expecting to see some messenger from the palace, he was astonished to find Hawise d’Ayncourt standing in the centre of the room, her silent maid lurking near the door. Osanna had planted herself near the bottom of the steps, in an almost protective stance, looking dubiously at the elegant woman who had invaded her house.

‘Lady d’Ayncourt, this is a surprise!’ growled de Wolfe, emphasising her title to reassure Osanna that this was no local strumpet, though this should have been obvious from her bearing and rich clothing. Hawise had ventured out in the warm evening in a long gown of pale-green silk, tied with a gold cord twisted several times around her waist, the tasselled ends hanging to her knees. Over this she wore a dark-green velvet surcoat with trailing cuffs that reached almost to the ground. A necklace of pearls encircled her slim neck and a snowy linen cover-chief was held in place by a gold band around her forehead.

‘My maid and I were taking a walk on this fine evening,’ she explained in her husky voice. ‘We found ourselves in this neighbourhood and I thought I would call to satisfy my curiosity as to where you lived.’

This was a transparently false excuse, as no one in their right mind would want to come up the dismal deadend that was Long Ditch Lane. Surely the woman had not sought him out just to quiz him about the death of the Treasury canon? The alternative explanation was much more dangerous, though potentially exciting and titillating. Whatever the reason, he had common courtesies to perform.

‘Please be seated, lady. You must take a cup of wine after your long walk,’ he said, unwittingly sarcastic. Motioning to Osanna to put a stool in the doorway for the maid, he pulled forward the one good chair and Hawise lowered herself gracefully upon it.

‘Osanna, can you find some pastries in your cook-shed?’ he asked, but Hawise waved the offer away.

‘Thank you, but I have not long supped in the Lesser Hall. In fact, it was because you were absent that I sought you out.’

John busied himself at the side table with cups and a skin of red wine, thankful that he and Gwyn had not drunk it all with their meal, though they usually quenched most of their thirst with ale or cider. He was not sure whether the new protocol of courtly behaviour which was now all the rage, after being encouraged by Queen Eleanor, extended to offering wine to the maid. As he handed a pewter cup to her mistress, he raised his bushy eyebrows in her direction. Hawise d’Ayncourt shook her head firmly.

‘I have just realised that the evening is cooling quickly,’ she said. ‘I need my red brocade cape from my chamber.’ Turning her head, she gave rapid instructions to her maid to return to the palace and fetch it back to Long Ditch. Silently and rather sullenly, the girl rose and vanished without a word, closing the door behind her to leave Osanna scowling at what was an obvious ploy to get rid of the chaperone.

John was also of the same opinion, but he was not going to let his landlady stand there while he talked to a guest, however uninvited she may be. He dismissed her as gently as he could and the Saxon wife shuffled out with an ill grace.

‘John, don’t stand hovering there like a bottler,’ commanded Hawise. ‘Come and sit near me.’ She patted a bench that stood alongside her chair. As he lowered himself not too reluctantly, he caught the scent of her flowery perfume and came close to her full lips and glowing eyes, framed by exquisitely long lashes. He rocked back out of temptation’s way, sudden images of the Lord of Blois and of Hilda of Dawlish flashing through his mind.

‘Would your husband not accompany you on your walk?’ he rumbled. ‘The streets are not always safe places for ladies on their own.’

She laughed, a low throaty sound with seductive undertones.

‘Westminster is more secure than most towns!’ she countered, conveniently ignoring the fact that there had been several murders recently. ‘And in the daylight, the risk is surely small.’

‘But your husband?’ he persisted.

‘Oh, he is away, visiting some friend’s estate in Surrey,’ Hawise said dismissively. ‘He will be away all night.’

She managed to imbue these last words with heavy invitation.

John felt the hair on his neck prickle with excitement and he raised his wine cup to cover the flushing that spread across his face. He was no stranger to seduction and over several decades had had more women than there were weeks in a year. Yet none, not even the fair Hilda, were as exotic as this raven-haired beauty – and certainly none had exuded such blatant sexuality and availability as Hawise d’Ayncourt.