Free The Nightingale Gallery by Paul C. Doherty

sweaty face with the hem of his cloak.
    'Well, Monk!' he called out. 'What have we?'
    'Brampton,' Athelstan replied, 'bears all the marks of a hanged man, though some attempts have been made to redress the ill effects of such a death. The mouth is half open, the tongue swollen and bitten, the neck bears the sign of a noose. There is a bruise behind his left ear and Brampton apparently grasped the rope in his death agonies.' He turned to Buckingham. 'So Brampton came up here, intending to hang himself. There is rope kept here?'
    Buckingham pointed to the far corner.
    'A great deal,' he replied. 'We often use it to tie up bales.'
    'I see, I see. Brampton therefore takes this rope, climbs on the table, ties one length round the rafter beam, forms a noose and puts it round his neck, tying the knot securely behind his left ear. He steps quietly off the table and his life flickers out like a candle flame.'
    Buckingham narrowed his eyes and shivered.
    'Yes,' he muttered. 'It must have been like that.'
    'Now,' Athelstan continued conversationally, ignoring Cranston's glares, 'Vechey finds the corpse. He searches for a knife amongst the rubbish,' Athelstan tapped it with the toe of his sandal where it lay on the floor, 'cuts Brampton down, but finds he is dead.'
    'Yes,' Buckingham replied, 'something like that. Then he came down and notified us all.'
    Athelstan picked the dagger up from the floor. He had glimpsed it when he had first entered the room and could see why it had been discarded. The handle was chipped and broken, there were dents along one side, but the cutting edge was still very sharp. Athelstan climbed on to the stool, then on to the table. He looked at the hacked edge of the rope. Yes, he thought, Brampton had been tall enough to fix the rope round the beam, put the noose round his neck, and tie it securely with a knot before stepping off the table.
    'Master Buckingham,' Athelstan said, getting down, 'we have kept you long enough. I should be most grateful if you would present my compliments to Lady Isabella and Sir Richard and ask them'to meet me in the solar below. I would like the physician present. I believe he lives nearby? The servants, too, should be questioned.'
    Buckingham nodded, relieved that the close questioning of himself was over, and left Athelstan dragging a dozing Cranston to his feet. The coroner struggled and murmured. Athelstan put one of his arms around Sir John's shoulders and carefully escorted him downstairs. Thankfully, the gallery below was deserted. He rested the coroner against the wall, slapping him gently on the face.
    'Sir John! Sir John! Please wake up!'
    Cranston's eyes flew open. 'Do not worry, Brother,' he slurred, 'I won't embarrass you.' He stood and shook himself, trying to clear his eyes, jerking his head as if he could dislodge the fumes from his brain.
    'Come,' Athelstan said. 'The physician and servants still await us.'
    Athelstan was partially correct. The servants were waiting in the small, lime-washed buttery next to the flagstoned kitchen, but the physician had not yet arrived. Buckingham introduced them as Cranston went over to a large butt, ladling out cups of water which he noisily drank, splashing the rest over his rosy-red face. Athelstan patiently questioned the servants, preferring to deal with them as a group so he could watch their faces and detect any sign of connivance or conspiracy. He found it difficult enough with Buckingham lounging beside him as if to ensure nothing untoward was said, whilst Cranston swayed on his feet, burping and belching like a drunken trumpeter. Athelstan discovered nothing new. The banquet had been a convivial affair. Chief Justice Fortescue had left as the meal ended, whilst Sir Thomas had been in good spirits.
    'And Brampton?' Athelstan asked.
    'He sulked all day,' the young scullery maid squeaked, tightly clutching the arm of a burly groom. 'He kept to his chamber. He…' she stammered. 'I think he was in his cups.'
    'Did any of you