Lamentation (The Shardlake Series Book 6) (22 page)

I
STAYED IN
the prayer closet, with the candles and incense. Half an hour passed, the light outside beginning to fade, before the door opened again and Lord Parr entered. He was frowning. ‘I am told the Lady Mary accompanied Jane Fool to see you. You gave her no hint about the book?’ He looked at me anxiously.

‘None, my Lord.’ I told him the absurd story about the duck, what I had gleaned from Garet Lynley about the man with half an ear missing, and Mary Odell’s story of the guard.

He nodded. ‘I will make discreet enquiries. A man with half an ear serving a great man of the realm . . .’

‘The page said one of the great
personages
of the realm.’

He studied me closely. ‘You mean the Lady Mary? That she might have sent Jane Fool to steal the book that evening after all?’

‘We must make absolutely sure the Queen dropped no hint about the book to Jane.’

Lord Parr shook his head. ‘Jane has always appeared a natural idiot.’

‘Perhaps. Yet her speech, even though childish, is fluent. And sometimes one can be – indiscreet – before fools.’

He nodded, taking the point, but said, ‘The Queen would not be. Not on this. And as I said before, the Lady Mary has stayed strictly orthodox for a decade. Nonetheless, I will speak to the Queen about Jane. Though even that theory begs the question of how someone managed to get the coffer open yet leave no signs of forced entry.’ He sighed. ‘Thank you, Master Shardlake, we may be starting to make progress. Now, the Queen is still with the King. A good time for us to take a look at the coffer. Come.’

T
HE
Q
UEEN
’
S BEDCHAMBER
overlooked the river. It was a large, feminine room, richly scented, with flowers in vases and large embroidered cushions scattered on the floor where one might lie and read. A huge four-poster bed dominated the room. There was a desk, bare save for an ornate inkwell: here, at this desk, the Queen had written
Lamentation of a Sinner
. Next to the desk stood a solid wooden chest, two and a half feet high, a red-and-gold turkey carpet fixed to the top. On the front two carved nymphs flanked a Tudor rose. There was no bed linen on the chest; tonight’s page had not arrived yet.

Lord Parr knelt down, with surprising suppleness for a man of his age, and I followed more slowly. He banged the side of the coffer, bringing forth a hollow echo.

‘Firm, solid oak,’ he said. ‘All the Queen’s valuables have been removed and placed elsewhere.’

I studied the lock. It was small but very solid, set firmly into the wood. I ran my fingers over it. ‘No sign of scratches on the metal, nor the wood surrounding it. It was either opened with a key, or by a very skilled locksmith.’

‘I have had the Queen’s valuables taken elsewhere,’ Lord Parr said, opening the chest carefully.

I looked at the empty interior, then bent carefully to study the lock from within. My back was hurting after this long day. No sign of scratches there, either. ‘I have seen many chests and coffers for securing valuables,’ I said. ‘Mostly documents in my case. Often they have two or three locks, and complicated mechanisms inside.’

He nodded agreement. ‘Yes. But this coffer was given to the Queen by her mother. She is very attached to it.’

I looked up at him. ‘But the lock is surely new.’

‘Yes indeed. When the hunt for heretics and the questioning of those within the royal household started this spring, the Queen had the locks on all her cupboards and coffers replaced. I asked if she wanted a more complex lock for this one, too, but she said it might damage the coffer. I remember her telling me, “If I have the only key and the new lock is strong, surely it is safe.” ’ ‘Of course,’ he added, with a note of bitterness in his voice, ‘I did not know then what lay within.’

‘Who made the new lock?’ I asked. ‘They could have made another key.’

Lord Parr shook his head. ‘You are right, it is an obvious point. But the Queen’s own coffer-maker constructed this lock, as well as all the other new locks. He is well trusted. He has been the locksmith to successive Queens for twelve years, and you do not keep a man in such a post if he is not trustworthy.’

‘Have you questioned him?’

‘Not yet. Again, I thought it best to leave that to you. But I do not consider him a likely suspect.’

‘Nonetheless, he is an obvious one.’

‘He works down at Baynard’s Castle. I thought perhaps on Monday you might go down there and question him. And talk to the embroiderer about that sleeve. Of course, they will not be there tomorrow, it being Sunday. That is a nuisance, but it will allow you a day of rest, and reflection.’

‘Thank you.’ I was grateful for the old man’s consideration. But then he continued, ‘What we really need is an expert on locks. Someone from outside the palace.’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘Your assistant Jack Barak is known to have experience in such matters. From the days when he was employed by Lord Cromwell.’

I drew a deep breath. So Lord Parr had been making enquiries about Barak. My assistant’s experience in such matters had indeed come in useful over the years, and yet – ‘I would rather not involve him,’ I said quietly.

‘It would help the Queen,’ Lord Parr pressed. ‘Barak need not know what this is about – in fact must not know. We will keep to the story of the jewel. But now the chest is empty I can send it down to Baynard’s Castle, and he can look at it when you are there on Monday.’

‘He would not claim to be a great expert – ’

Lord Parr looked at me hard. ‘He knows locks. And has experience of how the royal household works, the underside of it at least.’

I took a deep breath. ‘I will speak to him tomorrow, see what he says – ’

‘Good.’ Lord Parr spoke brusquely. ‘Be at Baynard’s Castle at nine on Monday. You can inspect the lock, speak to the cofferer and the embroiderer. I will arrange for William Cecil to be there, too; he can tell you what news he has of these religious makebates.’ He rubbed his hands. ‘We make a little progress.’

‘And yet,’ I said. ‘Whoever has the book could still make it public at any moment.’

‘I know that,’ he answered testily. ‘I have feared every day that someone will hand it to the King. Or that some papist printer is setting it into type in order to print it and distribute it in the streets. And it is not a long book, by now many copies could have been printed.’ He shook his head. ‘Yet day after day passes, and nothing happens. Someone is keeping it hidden. Why?’ He looked suddenly old and tired. He stood up, his knees creaking. ‘Tonight’s page will be arriving soon, we should go. Take a good day of rest tomorrow, Master Shardlake. We still have much to do.’

Chapter Twelve

T
HE LAWYERS AND THEIR
wives progressed out of Lincoln’s Inn chapel, slowly and soberly as always after service; the men in black robes and caps, the women in their best summer silks. I stepped into the July sunshine, fresher that morning for a thunderstorm that had broken in the night, waking me from an uneasy sleep. Some rain would help the crops. And now I had to keep my promise to visit Stephen Bealknap. As I walked down the side of the chapel, Treasurer Rowland came over to me, a hard smile on his narrow face.

‘Good morrow, Serjeant Shardlake,’ he said cheerfully. ‘A fine service.’

‘Yes, Master Treasurer. Yes, indeed.’

In fact I had scarcely heard any of it, even though tomorrow would be the anniversary of the sinking of the
Mary Rose
. I should have been praying for the souls of my friends and the hundreds of others who had died, although I was no longer sure there existed a God who would listen. But even on that of all Sundays, I could not get my mind away from thinking of the
Lamentation
.

Rowland inclined his head to one side like an inquisitive crow. ‘I thought you looked a little strained during service. I hope it was not the effect of attending the burnings.’

‘I have many matters on just now,’ I answered brusquely.

‘Well, the Inn notes with gratitude your representing us on Friday. And you may be called upon to represent us again next month, at a further public occasion.’

‘Indeed,’ I answered slowly, apprehensively.

‘A celebration, though, not an execution.’ Rowland smiled thinly. ‘It is confidential still. But this will be a marvellous thing to see.’ He nodded, bowed briefly, and was gone. I looked after him. Next month. Just now I could think no further ahead than tomorrow. I put his words from my mind.

I
WALKED SLOWLY
on across the courtyard, ruminating. For all that I had found some leads yesterday, they were but threads in a great tangled skein. Why had the man with the damaged ear tried to break into poor Greening’s premises
before
the Queen’s book was stolen? How had someone managed to get into the coffer without leaving any marks, when the only key was around the Queen’s neck? Could the locksmith have made a second key? And I wondered who this Jurony Bertano was, of whom Elias the apprentice was so terrified. The name sounded Spanish or Italian; I wondered if I dared ask Guy.

I almost tripped over a cobble which had become detached from its setting, and kicked it angrily away. I asked myself if I had done right to involve myself in a matter which could easily turn deadly. Images chased each other through my head: the weeping page, Garet Lynley, talking of the man with the slashed ear who would recruit him for a spy; Jane Fool, yanking at her duck’s leash; Mary Tudor’s severe face. I knew that if the
Lamentation
appeared in public I myself could be in danger, as would the Queen and Lord Parr. And that danger would extend to those who worked with me, like Nicholas: I had seen him standing on the far side of the chapel with the other clerks, a head taller than most of them, looking a little the worse for wear as he often did on Sundays.

The best protection I could give those who worked for me was to make sure they knew as little as possible of the true facts. But an order from Lord Parr was not to be denied. And so, before church that morning, I had gone round to Jack and Tamasin’s house.

When I arrived at their house Jane Marris let me in, then went up to wake Barak and Tamasin from a late morning in bed. I had to sit uncomfortably in the parlour, listening as they clumped about getting dressed overhead, murmuring irritably. Jane brought George down. He was grizzling, and gave me a sad, tear-stained look. She took him to the kitchen, where I heard her starting to prepare breakfast.

Eventually Barak and Tamasin came down. I stood. ‘I am sorry to disturb you so early.’

Tamasin smiled. ‘It was time we were up. Will you have breakfast with us?’

‘Thank you, I have eaten. How do you fare, Tamasin?’

‘The sickness seems to have ended, praise be.’

‘Good. I will not stay, I must get back to Lincoln’s Inn, to church.’

‘We don’t bother any more than we have to,’ Barak said. I knew both of them had had enough of religion for a lifetime.

‘It’s soon noticed if I stay away from the chapel too long,’ I said. ‘Besides, I have promised to see Bealknap.’

‘You should leave him to rot, after all the harm he’s done you,’ Barak said. ‘You’re too soft.’

Tamasin nodded agreement. ‘He is the worst of men.’

‘Well, I confess I am curious to see what he has to say.’

‘Curiosity killed the cat, sir,’ Tamasin pressed.

I smiled sadly. ‘Cats have nine lives, and perhaps mine are not all used yet. Jack, I wonder if I might have a quick word with you. It concerns – a work matter.’

Barak and Tamasin looked at each other knowingly. Perhaps they, like Rowland, could see the strain on my face. Tamasin said, ‘I must see to Georgie. He is teething. He shall have a chicken bone to suck.’

Barak looked at me shrewdly as she left us. ‘Young Nicholas was very subdued yesterday afternoon. He wouldn’t say where you’d been, said you’d instructed him not to. I got the impression you’d told him off. Not that he doesn’t need it sometimes.’

‘I am sorry to have to leave so much to you.’

‘We’ll be all right for a few days. I’ve got Nicholas working hard. As I said, he seems quiet. Not his usual boisterous self.’ Barak raised an eyebrow. He had guessed something serious was afoot.