The Hand of Justice

Matilde was pleased to see Bartholomew, while Yolande immediately removed herself to the pantry at the back, where delicious smells indicated there was a meat stew simmering. She took one baby with her, and called to another to follow, but Bartholomew and Matilde were still accompanied by at least three children he could see, and a peculiar sensation at the back of his head made him suspect there were more hiding on the stairs. Within moments, they heard the sound of water splashing, and Matilde raised her eyes heavenward.

‘Yolande has cleaned my pans at least three times today. If she continues to scrub them so often, she will scour through their bases.’

‘Would you like to go for a walk?’ asked Bartholomew, unnerved by so many silent watchers.

‘It is raining,’ said Matilde with a laugh. ‘But do not mind the children. They are always good when you are here. In fact, I am thinking of asking you to move in, too, because they are never so demure the rest of the time.’ She ruffled the hair of the one who sat at her feet.

‘We should introduce them to Dickon Tulyet,’ said Bartholomew. ‘He could learn from them how to behave when there are guests in the house.’

‘Dickon is a reformed character,’ said Matilde. ‘He has met his match.’

‘Did the Devil pay him a visit, then?’

‘In a manner of speaking. Julianna Mortimer invited him to play with her daughter — the child that came from her marriage to Master Langelee — and Dickon has not misbehaved since. If he screams now, his mother only needs mention a visit to Julianna and he becomes as quiet as a lamb. I would not accept her as a patient, if I were you, Matthew. Leave her for Rougham.’ Her expression was angry, and Bartholomew supposed she had heard the accusations Rougham had made about Warde. He did not want to discuss it, so said the first thing that came into his head.

‘Michael appointed me as his Corpse Examiner last week,’ he said, before realising that such a topic was hardly suitable for the ears of small children.

‘I heard,’ said Matilde. ‘It is no more than you deserve, although I imagine you dislike being at his beck and call in an official capacity.’

‘I need the money it pays. Most of my wealthy patients have gone to Rougham or Paxtone, and I cannot buy the medicines I need for the others without their fees.’

‘You are a good man, Matthew,’ said Matilde. ‘I heard you gave your last penny to make a potion for Una, and you have not charged Isnard for your services. I would help you, but …’ Her eyes strayed significantly to the child who had made itself comfortable on her feet. She changed the subject. ‘I hear you earned another fourpence last night.’

‘Warde from Valence Marie,’ said Bartholomew. ‘He died of coughing.’

‘Is that natural?’ asked Matilde. ‘I have never heard of such a thing.’

‘It is not impossible,’ said Bartholomew. ‘But I did not examine him properly when he was alive, so it is difficult to say what happened.’

‘Rougham did not examine him properly, either,’ said Matilde with distaste. ‘He calculated a horoscope, but he did not put an ear to Warde’s chest and listen to the sounds within, as you do.’

‘How do you know?’ asked Bartholomew curiously. ‘Surely you were not present when Warde summoned Rougham for a consultation?’

‘Neither was Rougham,’ said Matilde. ‘The whole thing was conducted through a messenger — young Alfred, here.’ She nodded to a black-haired boy of nine years or so, who was sitting near the hearth, listening to the conversation with his chin resting on his cupped hands. ‘Tell him, Alfred.’

‘The scholars at Valence Marie often use me if they want messages delivered,’ said Alfred proudly. ‘They say I am honest and reliable. Master Warde paid me a penny for taking spoken missives to Doctor Rougham and carrying others back. I remember everything they said.’

‘You do?’ asked Bartholomew uncomfortably. He felt he was prying into Rougham’s business, and had no wish to hear what had transpired between him and his patient, but Alfred was flattered to be asked for information and was already speaking.

‘First, Rougham asked Warde whether he had pains in the chest. Warde replied there were none. Then Rougham asked whether coughing brought juices, and Warde replied that his flame was dry.’

‘Phlegm,’ corrected Bartholomew absently.

‘Next, Rougham asked if Warde had a bleeding of the throat, and Warde said no. I was running between Valence Marie and Gonville for most of the afternoon.’

‘He was exhausted when he came home,’ confirmed Matilde. ‘So, you see, Rougham no more examined Warde than you did. Perhaps you can counter his accusations against you by saying he was negligent, and that he should have taken the time to visit Warde.’

‘But Warde’s cough was not serious. I do not think Rougham did anything terribly wrong.’

‘Would you question a patient about his symptoms by using a child to relay messages?’

‘No, but-’

‘Would you visit that person, or ask him to call on you?’

‘Yes, and-’