Lamentation (The Shardlake Series Book 6) (46 page)

Lord Parr nodded agreement. ‘Yes, my nephew’s reports of Rich and Wriothesley being subdued at council meetings date from then. Though, as I say, they seem brighter now.’

Cecil asked, ‘But would either of them then dare go on to murder the printer and steal those books?’

‘Perhaps,’ I said thoughtfully. ‘If they had an informer in an Anabaptist sect and were told about the books. Recovering the
Lamentation
and presenting it to the King would then help enormously in restoring their position.’

They considered this theory. Then we all jumped at a sudden knock. We looked at each other nervously – perhaps it was not wise for us all to be seen together with the Queen. Lord Parr went to the door and opened it. One of the Queen’s guards was outside. He bowed low to the Queen, then said, ‘Master Secretary Paget is outside, my Lord. He would speak with you and her majesty.’

‘Very well,’ Lord Parr said. ‘Give us a moment, then show him in.’

As the man closed the door Cranmer spoke quietly. ‘It may be politic for me to leave. Perhaps go down to the Queen’s Gallery.’

‘Very well, my Lord Archbishop,’ Lord Parr agreed.

The Archbishop opened the door and left swiftly. But immediately we heard a deep voice in the corridor. ‘My Lord Archbishop. Visiting her majesty?’

‘Indeed, Master Secretary.’

‘Perhaps you could stay a moment. I have called to discuss arrangements for the French admiral’s reception.’

Cranmer returned to the room, frowning a little. Then Secretary Paget entered, alone. He bowed to the Queen, then looked around at us with the confident stare of a man in charge of his surroundings. I remembered that square, hard face from the burning, the mouth a downturned slit between his long moustache and unruly forked beard. He wore a grey robe and cap today, no ostentation apart from his heavy gold chain of office, and carried a sheaf of papers under his arm. ‘Meeting with men of the Queen’s Learned Council, eh, my Lord?’ he asked Lord Parr cheerfully. ‘How would our lands ever be administered without lawyers dipping their quills in the ink, hey? Well, I, too, was a lawyer once. I hope you do not trouble her majesty too much?’ he added maliciously, regarding Lord Parr with a flat, unblinking stare.

I glanced at the Queen; she had managed in an instant to compose her features. She now radiated quiet regality: a lift of the chin and shoulders, a slight stiffening of the body. ‘My councillors simplify matters for my weak woman’s wit,’ she said cheerfully.

Paget bowed again. ‘I fear I, too, must ask to indulge your well-known patience, but on a more congenial subject, I am sure. The King has given orders for new clothes for your ladies who will accompany you at the festivities for the French admiral. He wishes you to be very well attended.’

‘His majesty is gracious as ever.’

‘I know the festivities are a month away, but there is a great deal to organize. May we discuss the arrangements? Afterwards, my Lord Archbishop, perhaps we could talk about your role, which will also be important.’

Behind Paget’s back, Lord Parr looked at Cecil and me, then curtly inclined his head to the door. Fortunately, we were too lowly to be introduced to Master Secretary. We bowed to the Queen and sidled out. Paget was saying, ‘The finest cloth has been ordered, to be made up at Baynard’s Castle . . .’

Cecil and I walked away up the corridor, saying nothing until we reached the discreetly positioned window overlooking the courtyard, where I had seen the King that first day. The courtyard was empty this afternoon apart from a couple of young courtiers lounging lazily against a wall. The afternoon shadows were lengthening.

I spoke quietly. ‘Secretary Paget. I saw him at the burning.’

‘Yes.’

‘He is a traditionalist, is he not?’

‘He was first brought to court under Bishop Gardiner’s patronage, but he is not linked to him any more.’

‘No?’

‘He is the King’s man now and nobody else’s. With the King so physically weak, he puts more and more of the work in Paget’s hands, but Paget never oversteps himself.’

‘Yes, I heard he learned that lesson from Wolsey and Cromwell.’

Cecil nodded. ‘Whichever way the wind blows, Paget will follow only the King’s wishes. If he has any principles of his own they are well hidden away.’

‘Bend with the wind rather than break.’

‘Yes, indeed.’

‘But – are we sure? If Paget is a traditionalist in religion, and on good terms with Rich and Wriothesley? It seems those two may have taken the initiative to torture Anne Askew without consulting the King; perhaps Paget, too, is capable of using his initiative. With the King so ill. And is the Secretary not responsible for all official spies and informers?’

‘Official ones, certainly,’ Cecil replied slowly. ‘But as Lord Parr said earlier, all the great men run unofficial ones. As for the King’s health, his body is breaking down, but, from all I hear, his mind and will are as sharp as ever.’

I looked at young Cecil: clever, always coolly in control, with more than a touch of unscrupulousness, I suspected. But nonetheless he had nailed his flag unhesitatingly to the Queen’s mast. He gave a heavy sigh and I realized that he, too, must be feeling the strain of all this. I wondered whether he also felt afraid now when he smelled smoke. ‘What happens next?’ I asked him gently.

‘It is in Lord Parr’s hands, and mine, for now, I think. Watching the docks, trying to find this man with half an ear, and solving the mystery of Bertano.’

He touched my arm, an unexpected gesture. ‘We are grateful to you, Master Shardlake. That talk clarified much – ’ He broke off. ‘Ah, see. Down there.’

I looked into the courtyard. Two men had entered and were walking across it, talking amiably. The two young layabouts who were already there stopped leaning on the wall and bowed deeply to them. One was the Queen’s brother, William Parr, Earl of Essex, tall and thin with his gaunt face and trim auburn beard. The other was the man I had heard the Queen’s ladies speaking of as being back in England, a man whom the Queen had once loved and whom I despised: Sir Thomas Seymour. He wore a short green robe, with white silk hose showing off his shapely legs, and a wide flat cap with a swan feather on his coppery head. With one hand he was stroking his dark auburn beard, which was long like Paget’s, but combed to silky smoothness.

‘The Parr–Seymour alliance in action,’ Cecil whispered, with the keen interest of a connoisseur of politics. ‘The two main reformist families meet.’

‘Is not Sir Thomas too headstrong for a senior position?’

‘Yes indeed. But for now his brother Lord Hertford is abroad, and Sir Thomas keeps the flag flying. Lord Hertford returns very soon, though. I have contacts in his household.’ Cecil looked at me with a quick, vain little smile, then bowed. ‘I will leave you now, sir. You will be summoned when there is further news. Thank you again.’

I watched him walk away down the corridor, with his quick, confident steps. That smile made me think: Cecil, too, would one day make a politician; already he had his foot on the first rung of the ladder. I wondered about the alliance between the Parrs and the Seymours. For now, they were united against the religious conservatives. But when the King died both families would have separate claims to govern the realm in the name of the boy Edward: the Parrs as the family of his stepmother, the Seymours as that of his dead true mother. And how long, then, would the alliance last?

Chapter Twenty-seven

A
S
I
WALKED BACK ALONG
the corridor towards the gilded public chambers, I heard a strange sound. A creaking, clanking noise from behind the wall, and what sounded like the rattle of chains. I looked around, and saw a door in the corridor I had not noticed previously. Unlike the others it did not have a magnificently decorated surround but was set flush to the wall, with the same linenfold panelling as the walls on either side. There was a small keyhole, but no handle. Overcome with curiosity, I pushed at it gently and to my surprise it opened easily on oiled hinges.

Within was a wide, square platform, lit with torches bracketed to the walls. The platform surrounded a staircase leading down to the ground floor. To my astonishment, in one corner of the platform, four men in the dark uniform of the King’s Gentlemen Pensioners were straining to turn the handles of a large winch, hauling something up the stairwell from the ground floor. I heard a wheezy shout from beneath, ‘Careful, you dolts, keep me steady!’ Then, as the men pulled harder on the ropes, an immense figure rose into view, seated on a heavy wheeled chair, secured by a leather belt round his immense waist. I glimpsed a near-bald head, an immense, red, round face, folds of thin-bearded flesh wobbling above the collar of a caftan. The King’s huge cheeks twitched in pain.

Another guard saw me and rushed over; a big, bearded fellow. He clapped a hand over my mouth and pushed me through the door, back into the corridor. He shut the door quietly, then grabbed the lapels of my robe. ‘Who are you?’ he spat with quiet fierceness. ‘How did you get in there?’

‘I – I heard strange noises behind the door. I pushed it and it opened easily – ’

‘God’s death, it should always be locked from inside – I’ll have Hardy’s balls for this.’ His expression suddenly changed, from anger to contempt. ‘Who are you, crookback?’ He glanced at my robe. ‘I see you wear the Queen’s badge.’

‘I am new appointed to her majesty’s Learned Council.’

He released me. ‘Then learn, and quickly, that in Whitehall you go
only
–
where
–
you
–
are
–
allowed
.’ He punctuated the last words with painful jabs to my chest with his finger, then glanced nervously over his shoulder. A heavy clunk from behind the door indicated the chair had been pulled in. He spoke hurriedly, ‘Now go, and thank your stars he did not see you. You think his majesty likes to be watched like this, being winched upstairs? Be gone, now!’ He turned and went back through the door. I scurried away as fast as possible. I knew the King could scarcely walk, but it had never occurred to me to wonder how he got to the Royal Apartments on the first floor. His immobility alone must be humiliating enough for that once famous athlete, but to be seen like that – I shuddered at my narrow escape. If he had glanced up momentarily and recognized me . . .

A
GAIN
,
THERE WAS A
period of silence from Whitehall. I heard nothing for a day or so. I returned to work, but found it harder this time to settle or rest.

On Saturday morning, the 24th of July, I arrived at chambers late in the morning to find Nicholas absent.

‘Perhaps he has had a late night in the taverns,’ Skelly observed disapprovingly.

‘He said yesterday his chest was hurting,’ Barak observed. ‘I’ll go to his place at lunchtime if he hasn’t come in, check he’s all right.’

I nodded.

Skelly added reproachfully. ‘That witness in that Common Pleas case called, as arranged, to have you take his deposition, and I had to say you had been called away on urgent business. Since I did not know where you were, sir,’ he added pointedly.

‘I am sorry,’ I said, annoyed at having forgotten; things could not go on like this.

‘And these notes were delivered for you.’ Skelly handed me some papers.

‘Thank you.’

I took them into my room and worked alone for the next few hours. Most were routine matters, but one was an official notification from Treasurer Rowland that a complaint had been made against me by my former client, Isabel Slanning. He asked me to call on him on Monday. I sighed. Well, that was not unexpected. There was nothing to it, but no doubt Rowland would enjoy trying to discomfit me.

I was a little worried about Nicholas. Barak had said he would visit him at lunchtime if he did not arrive at chambers. What if he found him ill, his wound infected perhaps, and needed to take him to Guy? But I knew Barak: if it was anything I should know, he would have sent a message. He might have gone home, as I had told him he could if he wished while Tamasin was expecting. I turned my attention back to the work that was still upon my desk.

Shortly after, there was a knock at the door. I hoped it might be Barak returned, but Skelly came in. ‘Master Dyrick has called to see you, sir, regarding the Slanning case.’

‘Show him in.’ I put down my quill, frowning. He must have come to collect the Slanning papers. They were on the table next to my desk. I would have expected him to send a clerk, though. We had had a passage of arms a year before, and I knew things about Vincent Dyrick that gave him an interest in not pushing me too far. Nonetheless, he was a man who loved a fight. I could imagine Isabel looking for the most aggressive barrister available. Someone who did not mind acting for difficult clients with hopeless cases, so long as they paid well. That fitted Dyrick exactly. I knew from experience that he would be relentless in trying to make something of the case; probably even persuade himself that her cause was just.

Dyrick came in with his confident, athletic step, his green eyes sharp as ever in his thin, handsome face, strands of red hair showing under his coif. He bowed briefly and gave me his sardonic smile.