The Medieval Murderers - The Deadliest Sin

‘There is myself, of course, the most senior servant and an assistant to the doctor in his professional duties, since I acquired some knowledge of the apothecary’s trade from him.’

William interrupted him with a question. ‘You have no medical training apart from that?’

Stogursey shook his head. ‘I have never been to any medical school nor have been apprenticed to a physician. All I know I picked up from working for Robert Giffard, God rest his soul.’

‘Who are the other servants?’ persisted the coroner’s officer.

Edward Stogursey held up his hand to count off the fingers. ‘There is Hamelin Beauford, the bottler, then John Black the cook, Edith the housekeeper, Betsy the skivvy, my lady’s handmaid, Evelyn – and of course, Henry, the messenger. Outside, we also have a groom, Hugh Furlang, and a stableboy.’

‘I will need to speak to them all in due course, but I first have to talk to your mistress.’

Edward Stogursey vanished and about five minutes later, returned to ask William Hangfield to accompany him to Eleanor Giffard’s parlour. This was an airy room on the first floor, overlooking the garden. She stood by the window to receive him, tall and elegant in a black gown. He knew her by sight from seeing her at various city functions as although Bristol had about fifteen thousand inhabitants, most officials were able to recognise the upper members of society.

‘I regret very much having to trouble you at this sad time, lady,’ said William after making a small bow. ‘But you will appreciate that this is a matter of urgency, if it is true that there are suspicions of foul play.’

Eleanor inclined her head to acknowledge his apology.

‘I understand that you are the servant of Ralph fitz Urse. I am slightly acquainted with him; I think he was a patient of my husband’s at one time.’

‘Probably for a drink problem,’ thought William, but held his tongue.

‘I am his officer, appointed to help him by the sheriff. It is my duty to collect facts and report them to him.’

Eleanor motioned him to sit on a stool, while she sank onto a padded chair at the side of the window. Edward Stogursey stood near the door, as if to act as a chaperon or a guard.

‘I was told that he had been unwell for some time.’ William began. ‘When did this begin?’

As he spoke, he assessed the lady’s manner, as he often did with people he was questioning. She was poised, elegant and showed no outward signs of grief in the form of reddened eyes from weeping. However, experience had taught him that this was no guide to a person’s true feelings. She sat impassively, her hands folded in her lap as she spoke.

‘Until recently, Robert has always been in good health. He loved hunting and riding and his appetite for his medical work was unlimited.’ She paused and looked over at Stogursey. ‘Edward, remind me when it was that your master first appeared to be ill?’

‘Late in January, or perhaps early February, my lady. One day I remarked to him that he looked slightly bilious, and during the following week this became obvious. His eyes became yellow and he had pains in his belly.’

‘But he recovered?’ asked Hangfield.

This time Eleanor Giffard provided the answer. ‘He had to go to London for some meeting of physicians at St Bartholomew’s Hospital. He was away for almost two weeks and when he returned, he was free from the disturbances of bile and felt quite well. But within two months, other signs began to appear and it was this that made him think he was being poisoned back here in Bristol.’

‘Why should anyone wish to poison a well-known doctor, who does nothing but good in the city?’ asked William, in genuine puzzlement.

Eleanor turned up her hands in bewilderment. ‘My husband claimed that other doctors in the the city were envious of his prime position as the most favoured physician, but I can hardly believe that.’

‘Did he have any evidence of that?’ asked the coroner’s officer.

She shook her head. ‘I doubt it, but he seemed wedded to the idea. It would be a most extreme means of disposing of a professional rival.’

William also thought it an outlandish theory, but he had to pursue all avenues, however bizarre.

‘When he fell ill, was he treated by one of these doctors?’

Edward Stogursey spoke up here: ‘My master said that he knew more medicine himself than the other three physicians combined and would not let them near him.’

This sounded more than a little arrogant to Hangfield, but again he kept his peace.

‘So what happened? Surely he must have made some effort to receive treatment.’

‘He prescribed what drugs and potions he felt useful,’ said the widow. ‘Then Edward here made them up and administered them.’

‘They were bland and empirical salves, the accepted treatment for trying to get rid of toxic substances,’ said the dispenser. ‘Charcoal to absorb noxious material and general supportive treatment. There is little else one can do, especially if the nature of the poison is unknown.’

‘Did your master suggest what the poison might be?’

Stogursey nodded. ‘We spoke at length about it, sir. But there are scores of plants and fungi in the countryside that can maim and kill. There is not enough difference between their effects to identify them.’

‘Though, at the first bout of illness in February, he did wonder if something like ragwort might the cause,’ cut in Eleanor Giffard. ‘That is well-known to cause disorders of the bile, especially in livestock.’

Edward looked dubious. ‘Though I defer to my master’s far greater knowledge, it seemed unlikely. Firstly, because ragwort, that yellow weed that abounds in the countryside, flourishes and flowers in high summer, so would not be available in February. Also, how could it be administered? For a horse or donkey to be poisoned by it, they have to eat considerable quantities.’

Eleanor was not going to let her husband’s opinion be dismissed so lightly, especially by a servant.

‘He said, when faced with these objections, that ragwort was even more poisonous when the plant is dried, making it dangerous for beasts to eat hay that contained the dead weed. So it could be collected in the summer and used in the winter.’

‘But if large quantities were needed, how could it be administered?’ asked William.

‘It could be markedly strengthened by extraction as a tincture,’ admitted Stogursey, somewhat grudgingly.

Eleanor became impatient. ‘But we waste time and breath, sir. The jaundice passed off and the symptoms of the latest illness was quite different.’

‘How so, madam?’ asked the officer.

‘My poor husband developed palpitations of the heart, sometimes so severe that he fainted. He also had tremors of the limbs and feelings of great coldness.’

‘Unfortunately, such symptoms are so common in a whole range of poisonings that they do not help much in identifying the cause,’ added Edward Stogursey.

William pondered the answers for a moment. ‘You say he refused to be seen by any of the other doctors in Bristol – but did he not seek an opinion from elsewhere? He must have known some eminent physicians who might be able to help.’

The elegant widow nodded at this. ‘I sent for one myself, only yesterday. We had good reports of the new infirmarian at Keynsham Abbey, a man well-qualified at one of the finest schools in Europe.’

‘And what was the result, madam?’

Eleanor shook her head sadly. ‘We had left it too late, I fear. He came and agreed that some form of poisoning was the most likely cause, but said that the effects had gone too far. He held out no hope for my husband’s survival – and tragically, his opinion was proved right within a day.’