Chains of Folly (30 page)

That was true enough, and below the moral objections he had been taught, Bell was aware of a warm pleasure in the exchange with Magdalene. Man of the house was the way she spoke to him; the man who had the right to be consulted in any decision made about the household and who was obligated to contribute to it. A stronger sense of pleasure, near delight, flowed over Bell. That was something William of Ypres would never have. Not, Bell thought, choking back a laugh, that it was anything Lord William would ever want.

He sighed and shrugged. “I suppose so. And a blind girl could not even hope to be taken as a servant. I will look and ask about. But this is not something we must urgently do tomorrow. More important now is that I know what poison was used to kill Gehard and what Gehard’s men—I do not think he had any friends—say about who had reason to kill him.” And Bell went on to tell her what he had learned.

“So Linley left a message for Gehard to meet him after Gehard was dead.” Magdalene picked up on that immediately.

“Which might mean he did not know. But Sir John knew Gehard also and Gehard would have wanted that letter for Waleran. Could he have told Nelda somehow?”

Magdalene shook her head. “How? It is a long way from the Tower over the bridge to Nelda’s rooms.”

“No, earlier. Gehard’s man said he was always after Sir John to tell him where he went and why. Sir John told Lord Hugh about the letter. Why not his own lord’s man?”

“And it is true that they both used Nelda.”

“The thought had crossed my mind. The man Gehard spoke to, the one he threatened and said he would get ‘it’ for Gehard…could that ‘it’ have been Gloucester’s letter?”

“Why should Sir John give Gehard Gloucester’s letter? No, that is too farfetched. How could Gehard even know about the letter?”

“Sir John must have gone to the Tower to give Mandeville the letter. He was telling everyone else about it. Perhaps he told the captain and Gehard heard.”

Magdalene stopped embroidering to shake her head and laugh. “You are really reaching for the moon. Besides, Sir John wasn’t in London to poison Gehard. He had ridden off to Oxford or Devizes to bring the letter to Mandeville.”

“Did he? That was what we decided between us, but what if he
did
look at the letter when he spoke of it to Lord Hugh? What if he realized it was gone? What if he
then
went back and tried to get it from Nelda and killed her and failed to find the letter by searching her rooms and obviously did not think of searching her body.”

“But why put her in the bishop’s chamber?”

“A sop to Mandeville? That is the best reason, but he could also have done it because Linley knew he used Nelda and that she stole and he did not want Linley to find her there dead in case someone had heard him announce himself to her—which your little mouse did hear. We had better try to find out who sold the poison tomorrow.”

“Yes, you said you knew what poison was used. What was it?” In her interest Magdalene anchored her needle into the cloth on which she was working.

“Wolfsbane, also called monkshood or mother of poisons.”

“Oh! I have heard of monkshood. I remember my mother showing us the plant and warning us that when not in flower it might be mistaken for wild white radish.” She frowned. “She told us that we must not ever touch it, that all parts were deadly poison and might even harm us through our skin.”

Bell looked down at his hands, which were lightly clasped between his knees. Magdalene had never previously mentioned any life before she was a whore in Oxford. He hardly knew whether to pretend he had not heard… No, she would know at once that he
had
heard and that he marked her words as important. Better to act as if they were commonplace.

“You were born in the country?”

Inside, Magdalene froze. God help her, she had all but told Bell from where she came. If he enquired around the St. Foi estate, he would discover far too much. Many years had passed, but she had no doubt that in that quiet place the disappearance of the abnormally beautiful wife of St. Foi after his murder was still remembered. Next she would confess to him what she had done. She took her needle from the cloth and peered at it as if to judge the length of thread.

“Yes,” she said as if it did not matter. “A small manor far west of Oxford—” The truth was that she came from the north, beyond Lincoln. “I would prefer if you did not try to discover more. There is really nothing much to learn. My life there was without interest…even to me.”

“As you like,” Bell said, “except—” he saw her stiffen and was pleased with the device he planned “—I would like to know whether you would still recognize the plant and whether it grows here in London.”

She breathed out—too lightly to be called a sigh, but Bell knew it was a sound of relief and was satisfied. He had no desire to expose whatever shame she was hiding, except to show her he did not blame her for it. Had her parents sold her into prostitution?

“Not in my garden,” Magdalene said. “But I cannot say I have ever looked for it elsewhere. I do not gather herbs, I buy them.”

Magdalene was furious with herself. The comfort and ease she felt in Bell’s company, the sense that he would gladly share her problems, was dangerous. She should do something that would drive him away. As the thought came, a gray pall seemed to dim the bright design she was stitching into the cloth on the embroidery frame. She wished she had never met him! Before they came together she had been content with her life. But now it was too late. She must either live in dull safety with an aching hollow inside her or accept the danger Bell brought with the pleasure.

Bell laughed. “I do not suspect you of murder.”

Magdalene had a flashing image of St. Foi bleeding his life out on the floor at her feet.

“What I am asking,” Bell continued without pause, “is whether you are willing to so far compromise one of your clients as to ask him whether he knows who sells wolfsbane?” He grimaced. “I do not want to ask these questions on the bishop’s authority. Perhaps I am overcautious, but Gehard did die in the chamber of the whore who was found in Winchester’s bedchamber.”

“I cannot see how the bishop can be blamed for that, but it so happens that like everyone else I purchase herbs and simples. I have even bartered my embroidery for drugs, so that I am known in the apothecary’s shop I frequent as an embroiderer. Also the apothecary desires some information from me. I asked him about use of the poppy and he questioned me straitly as to how I knew about the cakes made from poppy juice. He wishes to buy those cakes and, as I told you, Umar will sell to anyone with the coin to buy. If the apothecary answers our questions about the monkshood, will you guide him to The Saracen’s Head?”

Bell frowned. “I am not sure I think it so good a thing to spread the use of that drug.”

“Oh, no, this is an apothecary. I doubt he will sell it for common use. He spoke to me about using it for otherwise ungovernable pain.”

“Good enough. We can go tomorrow morning, after I have made sure that my men have their duty set and that the bishop has not changed his mind about working at home. Likely I will be back before you are finished breaking your fast. Let us hope that the apothecary you use can tell us what we want to know.” Bell grimaced again. “If not, I will need to go to Master Octadenarius, and request that he send out his men to ask about monkshood in every apothecary shop.” Bell sighed. “He will not be pleased.”

Bell was not forced to face the disfavor of Master Octadenarius. When he and Magdalene arrived at a large and obviously prosperous shop, Magdalene was greeted with a smile by the apprentice at the outside stall. Her request to speak to the apothecary brought an accepting nod without any sidelong glances and she was directed inside the shop. Nor did the apprentice make any objection to Bell following her.

Master Pasche, tall and thin with scanty dark hair and mud-colored eyes, was behind the counter inside. He bowed slightly in recognition. “Mistress Magdalene.” He glanced uneasily up at Bell and changed his mind about what he intended to say. “How may I serve you?” he said at last.

“By telling me what you know about monkshood.”

Master Pasche stiffened and sort of leaned back away from her a trifle, looking very alarmed. “What
I
know about monkshood?” he repeated, sounding horrified. “What would
you
want with monkshood, mistress?”

Magdalene realized at once that she had stepped on a sore toe, smiled gently, and shook her head. “I do not want anything to do with it. But Sir Bellamy here needs to know who sells it.”

Pasche looked at Bell. “It is a very dangerous substance, very dangerous. You should not keep it in your house. It might cause harm by accident.” His eyes glistened momentarily with tears. “There was a tragic case not long ago of a child who drank some of his mother’s liniment—and died of it. No. I do not even sell the liniments or salves made with monkshood to ease joint pain. There are other things.”

“But there
are
medications that use monkshood?” Magdalene asked. “And apothecaries do sell it?”

The apothecary was frowning now, lips thinned, clearly alarmed. “Some do. It is very effective in soothing bruises and for pain in the joints, but as I said I have much safer salves that work almost as well. In your business—” the muscles in his jaw bunched “—such a liniment should
never
be used near—”

“Oh, no. Master Pasche,” Magdalene interrupted. She laughed and said, “Thank goodness none of my women is afflicted with joint ail.” And then more seriously, “As I said, I do not want monkshood myself, but Sir Bellamy needs to know who sells it. Sir Bellamy collects my rent. He was telling me of a case being investigated by the sheriff of Southwark of a man poisoned with monkshood.”

“That is correct,” Bell said. “I want to know who sold it and to whom.”

“It is not the fault of the apothecary if someone misuses his drugs,” Master Pasche said defensively.

“No, of course not,” Bell assured him. “No blame will be affixed to the apothecary, but if he could remember to whom he sold enough monkshood to poison a man—a very big, strong man—that would be of considerable help to the sheriff, who might be grateful to you and to Mistress Magdalene.”

“Hmmm.” The apothecary now looked more thoughtful than worried. “There are only ten apothecaries in the East Chepe and two others, like me, do not stock or sell remedies that depend on monkshood. So, seven…”

He gave them the names and the locations of the shops but warned them that there were other apothecaries who did business outside of the market itself. And then there were the apothecaries who had shops in the West Chepe. He knew some of them, but not all. The Guildmaster might well have a list of all those who belonged to the guild. Bell sighed.

“Thank you, Master Pasche,” Bell said, sighing again. “The sheriff of Southwark is questioning the apothecaries on the south of the river. If the killer did not buy from one of them or one of the masters in the East Chepe, I will go to Master Octadenarius, the justiciar, and he will send his men all through London.”

Magdalene also thanked Master Pasche and then smiled happily at him. “Oh, I almost forgot. I have some good news for you. The seller of the poppy cakes is one Umar who can be reached at The Saracen’s Head in Southwark. He will sell to you if you have the price.”

“And the price?”

“I have no idea,” Magdalene said. “I am not in any way involved in this. You must make your own bargain with Umar.”

“But where is The Saracen’s Head? Southwark is not as large as London, but one obscure ale-house…”

“I know where it is, Master Pasche,” Bell said. “I collect rent there too. Since you have been so cooperative, I will gladly take you.”

They made a time to meet the following afternoon. Bell only saying that he would send a message if he could not come to the shop at the arranged time. Then he and Magdalene set out for the apothecary shops. At the first two, they were offered salves but assured that no one other than regular customers for the salve had purchased any. In one shop no purchase had been made for a fortnight; in the other the apothecary named a woman called Old Mother Heulen and said she could barely totter to the market and home and he had been selling the salve to her for many years. Neither Bell nor Magdalene could think of a way to get enough of the salve into wine to cause a swift death, and they did not bother to discover where Old Mother Heulen lived.

The third shop had liniment as well as salve made with monkshood. Bell asked whether the liniment was dangerous, admitting he had been warned about it by Master Pasche. This apothecary agreed that the liniment if drunk could kill but said that after Pasche’s client’s child had died, he had added a substance so foul-tasting to his product that it would be spat out as soon as it touched the lips.

Then he frowned. “What is this interest in monkshood all of a sudden?”

“Then someone other than Sir Bellamy and myself has been asking for monkshood?” Magdalene asked.

The apothecary did not answer at once, and Bell said, “Monkshood was used to kill a man in Southwark. The sheriff of Southwark is questioning the apothecaries there, and I was sent here to discover if I could who bought the stuff.”

“No!” the apothecary exclaimed.

Bell held up a hand. “No blame to you if you sold it. People who buy liniment are not usually planning murder.”

Revelation spread across the apothecary’s face. “So that is why the man did not buy my liniment! Thank God! When I tried to make the sale, I explained to him how my liniment was safe because of the terrible taste. I thought he muttered it would not do, and he shook his head and left. He was the only one. I have not sold monkshood salve for some time.”

“What did he look like?” Bell asked eagerly.

The apothecary frowned in thought but then shook his head regretfully. “He wore a sword and was well dressed, but nothing to note in special and…and the face was just a face. It made no impression on me. I am very sorry.”

Magdalene smiled at him. “We are sorry too,” she said, “but you have at least assured us that our effort is not all in vain. Now at least we know that this man intended to buy the monkshood, not simply go out into the country and gather some growing wild.”