Lamentation (The Shardlake Series Book 6) (13 page)

I was involved in a matter potentially more deadly than anything in my prior experience. It reached right into the heart of the royal court, at a time when the manoeuvring of various factions had never been more vicious. Recalling that spectacle of the King in the courtyard, I realized now that everything which had happened since the beginning of the year was part of a struggle to decide who would control the realm when Henry died and his throne passed to a child. In whose hands would the King leave the realm? Norfolk? Edward Seymour? Paget? The Queen?

I had let myself in for long days of fear and anxiety, as a harbourer of dangerous secrets which I did not want to possess. But a wise man knows he is a fool, and I was aware, of course, of my true motives. It was because I had long cast a fantasy of love around the Queen. It was an ageing man’s hopeless foolishness, but that morning I realized how deeply I still felt.

And yet I knew I must see Queen Catherine clearly: her religious radicalism had led that most careful and diplomatic of women to risk all. She had called it her vanity but it was more like a loss of judgement. I wondered uneasily if she were verging towards fanaticism, like so many in these days. No, I thought, she had tried to draw back by submitting to the King and by asking for Cranmer’s approval of the
Lamentation
; and yet her refusal to dispose of the book had led to potentially disastrous consequences.

The thought came to me, why not let the factions fight it out to the death? Why was the radical side any better than the conservative? But then I thought, the Queen would harm no man willingly. Nor, I believed, would Cranmer. I wondered, though, about Lord Parr. He was old and looked ill; but I had seen his devotion to his niece and sensed a ruthlessness about him, too – I was useful to him, but probably dispensable as well.

Lord Parr had handed me the power of attorney from Greening’s parents. I would go to the streets around St Paul’s to talk to the constable, then to Greening’s neighbour Okedene, and finally the dead man’s apprentice, who had witnessed the earlier break-in. And I should try and find out who Greening’s friends were.

Lord Parr wanted me back at the palace by seven. I was likely to be heavily involved with this for many days. Fortunately it was out of law term and the courts were not in session. I would have to ask Barak to do some extra preparation work on cases I had in hand, and supervise Nicholas and Skelly. Uncomfortably I realized that I would have to lie to Barak and Nicholas; I could tell them I was involved in investigating the printer’s murder, but only on behalf of his family, and I must say nothing about the hunt for the Queen’s missing book. I hated the thought of lying to Barak especially, but there was no obvious alternative I could see.

On impulse, I turned north, heading for the street of little houses where Barak lived with his wife, Tamasin. He would be at work but she would likely be at home this time of day. Like Barak, Tamasin was an old friend; the three of us had been through much together, and I had an urge to talk with someone ordinary, commonsensical, with no taste for intrigue; and to see my little godson. I wanted a moment of normality, perhaps the last I would be allowed for some time.

I tied Genesis to the post outside their house and knocked on the door. It was answered by their servant, Goodwife Marris, a formidable widow of middle age. She curtsied. ‘Master Shardlake, we were not expecting you.’

‘I was nearby, I came on impulse. Is Mistress Barak in?’

‘Ay, and the master, too. He came home for lunch. I was about to clear the plates away.’ I realized I had had nothing to eat. Goodwife Marris showed me into the little parlour overlooking Tamasin’s small, immaculately kept garden. The shutters were open and the room was filled with the scent of summer flowers. Barak was sitting at the table with Tamasin, empty plates and mugs of beer before them. Jane began clearing the plates away. Tamasin looked well, her pretty face contented and happy. ‘This is a welcome surprise, sir,’ she said. ‘But you have missed lunch.’

‘I forgot about it.’

She clicked her tongue. ‘That is not good for you.’

Barak looked at me. ‘I came home to eat. I thought Skelly could keep an eye on young Nick for that long.’

‘That is all right.’ I smiled as a little figure in a white robe and a woollen cap tied in a bow came crawling out from under the table to see what was happening. He looked at me with Barak’s brown eyes, smiled and said, ‘Man!’

‘’Tis his new word,’ Tamasin said proudly. ‘See, he begins to speak.’

‘He is well out of his swaddling clouts now,’ I said, admiring George’s progress as he crawled over to his father and then, furrowing his little brow with concentration, managed to stand for a moment before clutching at his father’s hose. Smiling at his achievement, he lifted a foot and kicked at his father’s ankle.

Barak lifted him up. ‘Do you kick, sirrah?’ he said with mock seriousness. ‘In the presence of your godfather, too? Shameless imp.’ George chuckled happily. I reached down and patted his head. A few curls, blond like Tamasin’s and fine as silk, escaped from under his cap.

‘He grows by the day,’ I said wonderingly. ‘Though I still cannot see whom he most resembles.’

‘Impossible to say with that fat chubby face,’ Barak said, tapping his son on his button nose.

‘I hear you are to be congratulated, Tamasin.’

She blushed. ‘Thank you, sir. Yes, George will have a little brother or sister next January, God willing. We both hope for a girl this time.’

‘You feel well?’

‘Apart from a little sickness in the mornings, yes. Now, let me fetch that bread and cheese. Jack, you have a pea in your beard. Please take it out. It looks disgusting.’ Barak pulled the pea from where it had lodged, squashed it between his fingers, and gave it to a delighted George. ‘I think I might grow one of those long forkbeards people have now. I could drop so much food in it I would have a nice snack always to hand.’

‘You’d have to find a new house to eat it in,’ Tamasin called from the kitchen.

I looked at Barak, sprawled comfortably in his chair, the little child playing at his feet. I was right to keep him out of this. ‘Jack,’ I said, ‘I have a new piece of business which is likely to keep me out of the office a good deal for the next few days at least. Could I ask you to take charge, to supervise Nicholas and Skelly – though I may use Nicholas a little. I will see the more important clients if I can.’

‘Like Mistress Slanning?’ I knew Barak could not abide her.

‘Yes, I will deal with her.’

He looked at me keenly. ‘What is the business?’

‘A printer murdered down by St Paul’s. It is a week now, and no sign of catching the culprit. The coroner’s office is lazy as usual. I have a power of attorney to investigate, from the printer’s parents. They live in the Chilterns.’

‘They gave you the case?’

I hesitated. ‘It came through a third party.’

‘You don’t do jobs like that any more. Could be dangerous.’

‘I felt a duty to take this on.’

‘You look worried,’ he said in his direct way.

‘Please, Jack,’ I answered, somewhat pettishly. ‘There are some aspects to this I must keep confidential.’

Barak frowned. I had never left him out of such a matter before. ‘Up to you,’ he said with a touch of grumpiness.

George, meanwhile, left his father and toddled a couple of steps over to me. I picked him up, only to realize as he laid pudgy hands on my shirt that he had smeared the squashed pea all over it. I set him down again.

‘That’s a mess,’ Barak said. ‘Sorry. But you have to be careful picking him up.’

Tamasin came back with a plate of bread and cheese and a couple of wrinkled apples. ‘Last year’s,’ she said, ‘but they’ve been well stored.’ She saw my shirt and took George. ‘You muttonhead, Jack,’ she scolded. ‘You didn’t give him that pea, did you? He could choke on it.’

‘He hasn’t eaten it, as you can see. Anyway, he tried to eat a slug from the garden last week, and it did the little squib no harm.’

‘Fie, give him here.’ Tamasin reached down and picked up her son, who gave her a puzzled look. ‘You encourage him to trouble.’

‘Sorry. Yes, it’s best to keep out of trouble.’ Barak looked at me meaningfully.

‘If you can,’ I answered. ‘If you can.’

I
RODE HOME TO CHANGE
my shirt before going down the street to Lincoln’s Inn. I went into the kitchen. Josephine was standing there wearing a dress I had not seen before; of good wool, violet-coloured with a long white collar. Agnes knelt beside her, working at the skirt with pins. Agnes stood hurriedly and both women curtsied as I came in.

‘What do you think of Josephine’s new dress, sir?’ Agnes asked. ‘She got it for her walking out tomorrow. I helped choose it.’

Josephine, as ever, blushed. The dress became her. I could not, though, but reflect how the dye looked pale, washed-out, in comparison with the extraordinary bright colours that I had seen everywhere at Whitehall. But such clothes were all most people could afford.

‘You look fine, Josephine,’ I said. ‘Master Brown cannot fail to be impressed.’

‘Thank you, sir. Look, I have new shoes as well.’ She lifted the dress a little to reveal square white shoes of good leather.

‘A picture,’ I said, smiling.

‘And the dress is finest Kendal wool,’ Agnes said. ‘It will last you many a summer.’

‘Where will you go walking?’ I asked.

‘Lincoln’s Inn Fields. I hope it will be another fine afternoon.’

‘The skies are clear. But now, I must hurry. Agnes, I need a new shirt.’ I opened my robe to reveal a green smudge. ‘My godson,’ I said ruefully.

‘What a mess! I will call Martin.’

‘I can fetch one from the press,’ I said, but Agnes had already called her husband’s name. He appeared from the dining room, clad in an apron. He must have been cleaning the silver for his clothes smelled of vinegar.

‘Could you get a new shirt for Master Shardlake, please, Martin?’ As always when she spoke to her husband, Agnes’s tone was deferential. ‘His little godson has spoiled the one he has.’ She smiled, but Martin only nodded. He seldom laughed or smiled; he seemed one of those men born without a sense of humour.

I went up to my room, and a couple of minutes later Martin appeared with my new shirt. He laid it on the bed and stood waiting. ‘Thank you, Martin,’ I said, ‘but I can put on a shirt myself. I will leave the stained one on the bed.’ Always he wanted to do everything. He looked a little put out, but bowed and left the room.

I changed the shirt and left my bedroom. At the foot of the stairs, I saw Josephine carrying a jug of hot water, held out carefully in front of her so as not to touch her new dress. She took it through the open door of the parlour to where Martin was still cleaning the silver.

‘Put it on the table,’ he said. ‘On the cloth there.’

‘Yes, Master Brocket.’ She turned away, and I saw her give Martin’s back a look of dislike, mingled with contempt, similar to the one she had given him yesterday. It puzzled me. Surely Martin’s cold manner alone was not sufficient to evoke a look like that from someone as good-natured as Josephine.

I
LEFT
G
ENESIS AT HOME
and walked the short distance to Lincoln’s Inn. Barak had not yet returned, but both Skelly and Nicholas were occupied at their desks. Skelly stood up and brought me a note, eyes shining with curiosity behind his wooden spectacles. ‘This was just delivered for you, sir, by the woman who attends Master Bealknap.’

I took the note and broke the seal. Inside was another note, painfully scrawled
.
‘
I am told I must soon prepare to meet my maker. Could you, as a kindness, visit me after church tomorrow? Stephen Bealknap.
’

I sighed. I had forgotten all about him. But I could not ignore this. I scribbled a reply, saying I would be with him after church, and asked Skelly to run across with it. When he had gone I turned to Nicholas. He was dressed soberly today, in a short black robe, in accordance with the regulations. He handed me a sheaf of papers. ‘My summary of the main points in that conveyance case, sir.’

I glanced through them quickly. The notes were scrawled, but seemed thought through and logically set out. Perhaps the boy was settling down after all. I looked up at him – he was six feet tall, I had no choice but to look up. His green eyes were clear and direct. ‘I have a new case,’ I said. ‘It is a confidential matter, requiring discretion, and unfortunately for the next few days at least I will be much out of chambers and you will need to put in more hours. Are you willing to do that?’