A Poisonous Plot

Bartholomew experienced a sharp stab of loss. ‘Frail Sisters’ had been Matilde’s term for the town’s prostitutes, and she had championed their cause, organising them into an unofficial guild whereby they united to create better and safer working conditions. Now Edith was a widow, there was no one to tell her that they were unsuitable company for a respectable lady, and she had elected to take up where Matilde had left off. Bartholomew glanced at Anne, wondering whether she was one of them.

‘No,’ said Edith, reading his thoughts. ‘She is the wife of William de Rumburgh the goldsmith. You know him — he is one of your few wealthy patients.’

‘The one with the inflamed gums,’ supplied Anne, seeing Bartholomew rack his brains.

‘Oh, yes.’ The physician was often better at recalling ailments than the people who displayed them. ‘He has trouble eating.’

‘That is the least of his problems,’ said Anne with a grimace. ‘More annoying is that his condition adversely affects his performance in the marriage bed. You suggested ways in which we might remedy the matter, but none have worked. I am now a lonely and desperate woman, especially in the evenings when he is out at the guildhall.’

Another sultry smile came Bartholomew’s way.

‘Are you going to watch the procession, Matt?’ asked Edith, deftly changing the subject, clearly fearing he might be tempted by Anne’s none-too-subtle invitation.

‘No scholars can go,’ he replied. ‘The University has imposed a curfew.’

‘Ignore it,’ suggested Anne with yet another smouldering look. ‘And come to my house instead — to keep me company until my husband returns. He will be very late and-’

‘You heard him — he is obliged to stay in tonight,’ interrupted Edith sharply. ‘And you had better go home to change, Anne, or you will be late.’

Anne fluttered her eyelashes and sashayed away, hips swaying provocatively.

‘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.’