Susanna GREGORY - A Poisonous Plot

‘Are you sure it is a good idea to employ her?’ asked Bartholomew. ‘She does not seem to be your sort of … person.’

‘No,’ sighed Edith. ‘But so many folk want to close the dyeworks down that it is a relief to find someone who not only understands what I am trying to do, but who wants to be part of it. And do not say that you do, because you cannot see past the fact that we sometimes create a few smelly by-products.’

‘It worries me – I do not want you blamed if people become ill. And you have always been a considerate neighbour, so this sudden callous indifference to their health is a mystery to me.’

‘I am not indifferent to it – I just know that my dyeworks will not harm them. Ours is a good scheme, Matt. It has given desperate women a new chance in life.’

‘I know that, but–’

‘My ladies now have a regular and assured income that allows them to feed their children,’ Edith continued passionately. ‘They are at home at night, where they belong, instead of risking life and limb on the streets. No one would question the venture if it were being run by nuns – or by scholars for that matter – but because Frail Sisters are involved, it is deemed dirty and toxic.’

‘Can you be sure it is not?’ asked Bartholomew pointedly.

‘Yes,’ replied Edith firmly. ‘But I cannot debate it with you now. I need to go and make sure that all is safely locked up for the night. Good night, Matt. If you visit me tomorrow, I will mend that tear in your tabard.’

Bartholomew fingered the rip, sure it had not been there that morning. As Edith hurried away, his mind turned to the curious case of Rumburgh’s gums, a complaint that he had never seen before, and that might even prove to be-

‘–Matt’s verdict,’ Michael was telling the Zachary men, and mention of his name drew the physician from his medical reverie. ‘He should know: he has inspected hundreds of them.’

‘Hundreds of what?’ asked Bartholomew, hoping Michael had not claimed anything too outrageous on his behalf.

‘Corpses,’ replied Michael. ‘I was just telling these gentlemen that we will catch whoever poisoned Frenge, no matter who the culprit transpires to be.’

‘And I was telling him that he will not,’ countered Morys. ‘Because God killed Frenge for daring to invade King’s Hall.’

‘That sort of remark is why the town does not like us,’ snapped Michael. ‘It is inflammatory and certain to cause offence.’

‘Good,’ said Segeforde spiritedly. ‘Then let them challenge us over it. It is high time we taught them a lesson.’

It was now completely dark, but Bartholomew and Michael had not taken many more steps towards home before they met Nigellus, hurrying after his Zachary colleagues.

‘Do not think of fining me for breaking the curfew,’ he said archly. ‘I have been on an errand of mercy to Letia Shirwynk, who was dying. Her husband refused to buy her a horoscope until it was too late to make a difference, so he should not be surprised that she is gone.’

‘What was the cause of death?’ asked Bartholomew with the polite interest of a fellow professional. He suspected that Shirwynk would not mourn the hapless Letia long – the brewer had not seemed particularly distressed when he had mentioned her predicament earlier.

‘Dizziness,’ replied Nigellus. ‘A very nasty way to go.’

‘Dizziness?’ echoed Bartholomew. ‘How can she have died of that?’

‘Easily,’ said Nigellus coolly. ‘As she would confirm, were she in a position to satisfy your ghoulish curiosity. She reeled and fainted, and it was a blessed relief when she breathed her last.’

‘What were her other symptoms?’ pressed Bartholomew, sure Nigellus’s diagnosis was in error. ‘And how long did she have them?’

‘At least a month – she was suffering long before her husband finally overcame his miserliness and agreed to pay for her stars to be read. And her other symptoms are irrelevant, because it was the dizziness that killed her.’

‘Perhaps Matt can inspect her before she is buried,’ said Michael, as unhappy with Nigellus’s claims as Bartholomew. ‘I was just telling your colleagues that he is very good at determining accurate causes of death.’

Nigellus smiled tightly. ‘Which is why he holds the sinister title of Corpse Examiner, I imagine. However, I would rather he kept away from Letia. I do not want people thinking that he questions my proficiency, which is how it will appear.’

‘Was Frenge your patient?’ asked Bartholomew, feeling it should be questioned.

Nigellus regarded him coldly. ‘Yes, but it has been more than a week since I saw him. I read his stars and recommended that he spent more time asleep in bed and less drinking in taverns. He would doubtless be alive today if he had heeded my advice. And now you must excuse me. I am not in the mood for idle chatter.’

He stalked away. Bartholomew glanced at Michael, and without a word they began to walk back to the brewery, both suspicious that the belligerent Shirwynk should lose his friend and wife on the same day.

‘Of course, it is odd that Nigellus was medicus to both as well,’ said Michael. ‘Not to mention his order for you to stay away from Letia’s corpse. He would not be the first physician to dispatch his patients, either by design or incompetence.’

‘But both were wealthy,’ Bartholomew pointed out. ‘Nigellus would not deprive himself of a useful source of income on purpose. And as to his competence, I have not seen him at work often enough to judge. However, his diagnoses are a little unusual …’

‘More than a little,’ murmured Michael.

Once they were off the High Street, the town was quieter, as most folk had gone to watch the procession. Yet neither scholar felt any safer, knowing that while law-abiding citizens might be enjoying the spectacle, there were plenty of others who prowled the darkness in search of mischief.

‘I hope you realise that I do not have the authority to look at Letia,’ said Bartholomew. ‘The brewery is not University property and she was not a scholar. Shirwynk has already asked us to stay away, and if he refuses to change his mind, there is nothing you can do to make him.’

‘We shall see.’ Michael had considerable faith in his powers of persuasion. ‘But speaking of authority, I am inclined to bring mine to bear on Zachary. I have never met so many unpleasant individuals under one roof: Nigellus, Segeforde, Morys, Yerland … There is a feisty Franciscan named Kellawe, too – the fellow with the big jaw.’

‘Yes, I have met him. He preached a sermon saying there is a sulcus in the heart that houses the soul. I told him that no anatomist had ever found such a feature, and he called me a heretic.’

‘You took a risk, admitting to knowledge of the evil art of dissection.’

‘I would not have spoken if the other half of his sermon had not been a diatribe against Edith for helping the Frail Sisters. He objects to them touting for business on the streets, but when someone provides them with an alternative way to earn a living, he complains about that, too.’

‘I am glad I poached Wauter,’ declared Michael. ‘He is too decent to live in Zachary.’

‘So is Principal Irby. He is on the consilium , and is a perfectly reasonable man. I am surprised he puts up with such colleagues.’

‘I would like to close the place down,’ said Michael. ‘Unfortunately, Morys was telling the truth when he claimed to have Tynkell in his sway – he does. Thank God Tynkell will retire at the end of next term. He used to be an ideal Chancellor, but he has shown a distressing independence of late, and I cannot work with someone who has ideas of his own.’