Lamentation (The Shardlake Series Book 6) (53 page)

Stice poured me a beer, then lounged back in his chair. He was, I reckoned, about twenty-five. He dressed well – again the silk cuff of his shirt was visible below the sleeve of his doublet, like the one he had torn on his aborted raid on Greening’s premises. His face was good-looking in a hard way, though that lopped ear was a disfigurement. I wondered that he did not wear his hair long to hide it.

Stice saw me looking and put his hand to the ear. ‘Can’t miss it, eh? People’s eyes get drawn to it, as I daresay they do to your back. I’m not ashamed of it, I came by it in an honest duel, with a mangehound who impugned my ancestry. And in the sort of business Master Rich sometimes has me on, it shows people I’m not to be treated lightly.’

‘How long have you worked for Rich?’

‘Two years. I come from Essex, where Sir Richard has many properties. My father’s land adjoins his, and he sent me to court to try my luck. Sir Richard was looking for young gentlemen with no ties and a taste for adventure.’ He smiled again.

I thought, another young gentleman, like Nicholas, in search of excitement. Yet Stice, I guessed, would stoop to anything, including murder, for the sake of rising in Rich’s service. That, no doubt, was why Rich had chosen him.

He laughed. ‘By Mary, sir, you have a grim look. Sir Richard said you had the manner of a canting Lutheran, though not the religion.’

I did not answer directly. ‘You hope to advance under Rich?’ I asked.

‘I do. Sir Richard is loyal to those who serve him. It is well known.’

I laughed. ‘Loyalty is not the word that comes to my mind.’

Stice waved a dismissive hand. ‘You speak of his dealings at the King’s court. None of the great men is truly loyal to any other. But Sir Richard is known to stick by those who serve him, and reward them well.’ His eyes narrowed over his mug. ‘I hope the same can be said of the Queen and her people. Who is it you work for? Sir Richard told me it was probably Lord Parr, her uncle.’

I was not going to be drawn. I put down my mug and stood abruptly. ‘I will let you know if I have news of any developments. And you can contact me at my house. It is in Chancery Lane.’

He raised his mug in a mocking gesture. ‘I know where it is.’

I
HAD DECIDED
to warn Philip Coleswyn of the latest turn in the Slanning case, but I thought that was best done after I had discussed Isabel Slanning’s complaint with Treasurer Rowland on the morrow. I went home; I had what remained of Sunday to myself, and there were two other things I needed to do.

First I went to my study and wrote a letter to Hugh. I wrote of the general news, and my part in the coming ceremonies to welcome Admiral d’Annebault. Then I advised him that John Bale was a dangerous man, that he was to be avoided, and warned Hugh not to write to me of him again. There, I thought: at least I have not drawn Hugh into this. I sealed the letter and put it in my satchel to be posted from Lincoln’s Inn tomorrow.

I went downstairs. The house was silent. As agreed, Josephine had gone walking with her young man again, so I knew she was not at home. There was nobody in the kitchen; a tallow candle was burning on the table there, in order that there should be fire ready for cooking later. I went out to the stables, where Timothy was energetically mucking out the stable, a pile of old straw and horse dung already by the door.

‘God give you good morrow, master,’ he said.

‘And you, Timothy. Remember to keep the horse-dung for Mistress Brocket’s vegetable patch.’

‘Ay. She gives me a farthing for a good load.’

‘Have you thought any more about going for an apprenticeship? I could speak to the Lincoln’s Inn stablemaster about what places may be available among the farriers.’

A shadow crossed his face. ‘I would still rather stay here.’

‘Well, I would like you to give it some more careful thought.’

‘Yes, sir,’ he replied, but unenthusiastically, his head cast down.

I sighed. ‘Do you know where Master and Mistress Brocket are?’

‘They went for a walk. Mistress Brocket asked me to keep an eye on the candle in the kitchen, light another from it if it got too low.’

‘Good.’ So the house was empty. There was nothing illegal in what I planned to do next, but I did not want to be seen by anyone. ‘They had a letter delivered this morning, by messenger,’ Timothy added. ‘I was in the kitchen with them. I don’t know who the letter came from but they both looked upset. They ordered me from the kitchen and a little after they said they were going for a walk. Master Brocket looked grim, and I think poor Mistress Brocket had been crying.’

I frowned, wondering what that was about. I said, ‘Timothy, there is a job of work I have to do. Can you make sure I am undisturbed for an hour? If anyone comes to the door, say I am out.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Thank you.’

I went upstairs, and unlocked the chest in my bedroom. My heart was heavy as I looked at the books within; several were on the new forbidden list and must be handed in to the city authorities at the Guildhall by the 9th of August. After that date, possession of any of the books would attract severe penalties. With a heavy heart I lifted out my copies of Tyndale’s translation of the New Testament, and some old commentaries on Luther dating from twenty years before. These books had been my friends in my old reformist days; one of them had been given me by Thomas Cromwell himself. But given my current employment with the Queen, to say nothing of the trouble with Isabel Slanning, I had decided it was definitely better to burn them privately than hand them in and risk my name appearing on a list of those who had owned forbidden books.

I took them downstairs, lighting another candle from the one in the kitchen, then went out to Agnes’s neatly tended vegetable patch behind the house. There was a large iron brazier there, used for burning weeds and other garden rubbish. It was half-full, the contents brown and dry after all the recent sun. I took a dry twig from the brazier, lit it with the candle and dropped it in. The fire flared up quickly, crackling. I looked around to ensure I was unobserved, then, with a sigh, I took the first of my books and began tearing out pages and dropping them on the fire, watching the black Gothic script I had once read so carefully curling up. I remembered Anne Askew, her skin shrivelling in the flames, and shuddered.

N
EXT MORNING
, M
ONDAY
, I went into chambers early and caught up with some work. When Barak arrived I told him of my talk with Nicholas, and my meeting with Stice. I said there was nothing to do for now but wait for news from him or Cecil.

‘How is Tamasin?’ I asked.

‘Does nothing but talk of tomorrow’s party. All our neighbours are coming. You know what women are like.’ He looked at me shrewdly. ‘I think she’s forgotten any suspicions she had about what I might be doing. Let’s hope she goes on forgetting, eh?’ He raised his hand and I saw the bandage was off and the stitches out. ‘I’m ready for action,’ he said.

L
ATER THAT MORNING
I crossed the sunlit Gatehouse Court to visit Treasurer Rowland. The old man was as usual seated behind his desk, his office shutters half-closed, and he greeted me with a curt nod.

‘I looked for you at Bealknap’s funeral on Saturday. I wondered if you would come.’

‘Actually, I forgot about it.’

‘So did everyone else. There were only me and the preacher there. Well, Brother Bealknap lies in the chapel now, under a flagstone like any other, with his name and dates of birth and death inscribed upon it. He merited no mausoleum.’

‘Poor Bealknap,’ I said.

‘Oh no,’ Rowland said. ‘
Rich
Bealknap. Much good it did him in the end.’ I did not reply, and he turned to the pile of papers on his desk. ‘Secretary Paget’s people have sent me more details about the French admiral’s visit next month. It is going to be an even bigger event than I thought. I’ll show you the correspondence. But first,’ his voice deepened, ‘I’ve got to waste my time on this nonsense.’ He pulled a letter from the pile on his desk and threw it across to me: Isabel’s complaint, two pages covered in her neat, tiny writing. As expected, it accused me, along with Philip Coleswyn, her brother and the expert Master Adam, of collusion to defeat her case, ‘out of wicked spite’, as she was of honest religion while we were all heretics.

‘It’s all nonsense,’ I said. ‘She chose that architect herself.’

‘Is he a radical?’

‘No. The accusations of heresy she sent flying around at the inspection scared him out of his wits. As I said, it’s all nonsense.’

Rowland gave his laugh, a sound as though rusty hinges were opening and closing in his throat. ‘I believe you, Brother Shardlake. It is years since you associated with the radicals; we spoke not long ago of how you have been careful. Though you did not attend Mass yesterday.’

‘Urgent business. I will be there next weekend.’

He leaned back in his chair and regarded me closely, stroking his long white beard with fingers stained black from a lifetime’s working with ink, as mine were. ‘You seem to attract trouble, Serjeant Shardlake, despite yourself. How did you end up working for this madwoman?’

‘Ill luck. Every barrister has such clients.’

‘True. I am glad I am out of such nonsense. What of this Coleswyn, is he a radical?’

‘He has a reputation as a reformer.’

Rowland looked at me sharply. ‘Mistress Slanning says you went to dinner at his house.’

‘Once. We became friendly because we were both frustrated by our clients’ behaviour. Mistress Slanning’s brother is as much a vexatious litigant as she is. And Mistress Slanning found out about my visit because she sometimes passes the evening spying on Coleswyn’s house. That gives you a flavour of the woman.’

‘She says her brother met Coleswyn because they both attend the same radical church.’

‘It is a common enough way for lawyers to meet clients.’

He nodded agreement, then made a steeple of his fingers. ‘Who represents her now? Do we know?’

‘Vincent Dyrick of Gray’s Inn. He called to get the papers last week.’

Rowland frowned. ‘He has a vicious reputation. He’ll make something of this conspiracy theory in court. Probably instigated the complaint.’

‘He said he did not, it was all Isabel’s idea. Actually, I believe him there. But he won’t be able to stop her from making her allegations in court.’

‘Do you think she might complain to Gray’s Inn about Coleswyn?’

‘She’d have no right. He is not acting for her.’

Rowland considered. ‘Very well. I will try to make this go away. I will write to Mistress Slanning saying she has no evidence to back her complaints, and to warn her about the laws of defamation. That should frighten her off.’ He spoke complacently, though I feared such a letter would only anger Isabel further. ‘And you, Master Shardlake,’ Rowland continued, his voice full of angry irritation, ‘stay out of this case from now on. I don’t want you mixed up in any religious quarrels when you are to represent the Inn at the celebrations next month.’

‘I will step down from attending the ceremonies if you wish,’ I answered mildly.

Rowland gave his unpleasant half-smile and shook his head. ‘Oh no, Brother Shardlake, you will do your duty. I have already given in your name. Now, see this.’ He passed me another sheaf of papers. ‘Details of the peace celebrations.’