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Authors: Susanna Gregory
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in?’
‘He had lots, but the closest was William Smegergill– a Court musician, like him. Do you know Smegergill? He has a ravaged complexion, because of a pox when he was a child.’
The description was not familiar, but Chaloner made a mental note to track Smegergill down. ‘Did you ever see Maylord with
a solicitor called Newburne?’
The verger was disdainful. ‘Of course not! Maylord had more taste than to associate with the likes of him. Why do you ask?’
‘Because they both died from eating cucumbers.’
‘Coincidence,’ replied the verger, so promptly that Chaloner knew it was an observation that had been made before. ‘I could
cite three other men who have been taken by cucumbers this year alone – namely Valentine Pettis the horse-trader, and a pair
of sedan-chairmen. If people
will
eat cucumbers, then they must bear the consequences.’
‘You think they are that dangerous?’ asked Leybourn.
The verger nodded fervently. ‘Oh, yes! They are green, see, and no good will come of feeding on greenery. Have you finished
here? Only I need to wash the nave floor. Mud gets tracked everywhere this weather, and this is the Parliament church, so
we like to keep it looking nice.’
Chaloner stared at Maylord, and was suddenly seized with the absolute conviction that cucumbers were innocent of causing his
death. Physicians, he knew, considered cucumber poison to be insidious – its vapours collected in the veins, and any ill effects
tended to occur gradually, not the moment the fruit was taken into the mouth.
Ergo
, either Maylord had suffered the kind of seizure that was relatively common in older people, or someone had done him harm.
Moreover, the musician’s recent agitation suggested something was sorely amiss, and it was odd that he shouldso suddenly die. Why anyone would want to hurt him was beyond Chaloner, and he made a silent oath to find out exactly what
had happened, and to ensure that whoever was responsible would pay.
He nudged Leybourn, and indicated the door with a nod of his head. He wanted to examine Maylord more closely, but he could
hardly do it with the verger watching. Ordinarily, he would have bribed the man to look the other way, but sixpence was unlikely
to be enough. It took a moment for Leybourn to understand what he wanted, and when he did, he slapped his hand across his
mouth.
‘I am going to be sick,’ he announced.
The verger gazed at him in horror. ‘Not down here!’
‘Escort me upstairs, then. My friend can finish paying his respects, and you can take me to fresh—’ But the verger did not
want a mess, and was already hauling Leybourn away.
Chaloner waited until he could no longer hear their voices, then inspected the musician’s hands, head and neck, looking for
signs that he had been brained, strangled or had fought an attacker. There was nothing. Then he leaned close to Maylord’s
mouth and sniffed, but it was an imprecise way to look for poison, and he was not surprised when it told him nothing. He stood
back, reluctant to move clothes in a hunt for wounds, because he suspected the verger would not be long and he did not want
to be caught doing something sinister. Then he saw an odd discoloration on the face: Maylord’s lips were bruised.
Gently, he opened the mouth. An incisor was broken, and when he touched it with his finger, the edge was sharp, suggesting
it had happened shortly before death.Further, teeth marks were etched into Maylord’s lower lip. Chaloner had seen such injuries before – when someone had taken
a cushion and pressed it hard against a victim’s face. It was an unpleasant way to kill, because it involved several minutes
of watching a man’s losing battle for life at extremely close range. The fact that the culprit had then planted evidence to
‘prove’ Maylord had died from eating cucumbers suggested a ruthlessness that made Chaloner even more firmly resolved to see
him on the
‘He had lots, but the closest was William Smegergill– a Court musician, like him. Do you know Smegergill? He has a ravaged complexion, because of a pox when he was a child.’
The description was not familiar, but Chaloner made a mental note to track Smegergill down. ‘Did you ever see Maylord with
a solicitor called Newburne?’
The verger was disdainful. ‘Of course not! Maylord had more taste than to associate with the likes of him. Why do you ask?’
‘Because they both died from eating cucumbers.’
‘Coincidence,’ replied the verger, so promptly that Chaloner knew it was an observation that had been made before. ‘I could
cite three other men who have been taken by cucumbers this year alone – namely Valentine Pettis the horse-trader, and a pair
of sedan-chairmen. If people
will
eat cucumbers, then they must bear the consequences.’
‘You think they are that dangerous?’ asked Leybourn.
The verger nodded fervently. ‘Oh, yes! They are green, see, and no good will come of feeding on greenery. Have you finished
here? Only I need to wash the nave floor. Mud gets tracked everywhere this weather, and this is the Parliament church, so
we like to keep it looking nice.’
Chaloner stared at Maylord, and was suddenly seized with the absolute conviction that cucumbers were innocent of causing his
death. Physicians, he knew, considered cucumber poison to be insidious – its vapours collected in the veins, and any ill effects
tended to occur gradually, not the moment the fruit was taken into the mouth.
Ergo
, either Maylord had suffered the kind of seizure that was relatively common in older people, or someone had done him harm.
Moreover, the musician’s recent agitation suggested something was sorely amiss, and it was odd that he shouldso suddenly die. Why anyone would want to hurt him was beyond Chaloner, and he made a silent oath to find out exactly what
had happened, and to ensure that whoever was responsible would pay.
He nudged Leybourn, and indicated the door with a nod of his head. He wanted to examine Maylord more closely, but he could
hardly do it with the verger watching. Ordinarily, he would have bribed the man to look the other way, but sixpence was unlikely
to be enough. It took a moment for Leybourn to understand what he wanted, and when he did, he slapped his hand across his
mouth.
‘I am going to be sick,’ he announced.
The verger gazed at him in horror. ‘Not down here!’
‘Escort me upstairs, then. My friend can finish paying his respects, and you can take me to fresh—’ But the verger did not
want a mess, and was already hauling Leybourn away.
Chaloner waited until he could no longer hear their voices, then inspected the musician’s hands, head and neck, looking for
signs that he had been brained, strangled or had fought an attacker. There was nothing. Then he leaned close to Maylord’s
mouth and sniffed, but it was an imprecise way to look for poison, and he was not surprised when it told him nothing. He stood
back, reluctant to move clothes in a hunt for wounds, because he suspected the verger would not be long and he did not want
to be caught doing something sinister. Then he saw an odd discoloration on the face: Maylord’s lips were bruised.
Gently, he opened the mouth. An incisor was broken, and when he touched it with his finger, the edge was sharp, suggesting
it had happened shortly before death.Further, teeth marks were etched into Maylord’s lower lip. Chaloner had seen such injuries before – when someone had taken
a cushion and pressed it hard against a victim’s face. It was an unpleasant way to kill, because it involved several minutes
of watching a man’s losing battle for life at extremely close range. The fact that the culprit had then planted evidence to
‘prove’ Maylord had died from eating cucumbers suggested a ruthlessness that made Chaloner even more firmly resolved to see
him on the
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