Lamentation (The Shardlake Series Book 6) (82 page)

N
EXT MORNING
, while Barak was busy rousing people to join the hunt, Josephine and Goodman Brown and I went out again. They took the road eastward, to see if the boy had left London; if he had, he would be impossible to find. But he had spent all his life in the city, he must surely be here somewhere.

There was a little crowd in Fleet Street, for today was hanging day and people always gathered to watch the cart that carried the condemned to the great gibbet at Tyburn, its occupants standing with nooses round their necks. Some of the crowd shouted insults, others encouraged the condemned to die bravely. Though I shuddered as always at this spectacle, I stopped and asked people if they had seen Timothy. But none had.

I went along Cheapside, calling in all the shops. I had dressed in my robe and coif, to impress the shopkeepers, but perhaps some thought I was mad as I asked each a set of questions which soon became a chant: ‘I am looking for a lost stable-boy . . . ran away yesterday afternoon . . . thirteen, medium height, untidy brown hair, his two front teeth missing . . . Yes, five pounds . . . no, he hasn’t stolen anything . . . yes, I know I could get another . . .’

I asked among the beggars at the great Cheapside conduit. At the sight of a rich gentleman they crowded round me, their stink overpowering. There were children among them, filthy, some covered in sores, eyes feral as cats’. Women as well, too broken or mad even to be whores, in no more than rags, and men missing limbs who had been in accidents, or the wars. They were all blistered by the sun, with cracked lips and dry, matted hair.

More than one said they had seen Timothy, holding out a hand for a reward. I gave each a farthing to whet their appetites and told them the extraordinary sum of five pounds awaited if they produced the boy – the
right
boy, I added emphatically. One lad of about twelve offered himself in Timothy’s stead, and bared a skinny arse to show what he meant. One of the women waiting for water at the conduit called out ‘Shame!’ But I did not care what they thought, so long as Timothy was found.

T
HERE WAS ONE
further resource I had not tapped. Guy had met Timothy several times at my house, and the boy liked him. What was more, if something happened to him, he might turn up at St Bartholomew’s. Despite the distance that had come between us, I needed Guy’s help.

His assistant Francis Sybrant opened the door and told me his master was at home. He looked at me curiously, for I was dusty from the streets. I waited in Guy’s consulting room, with its pleasant perfume of sandalwood and lavender, and its strange charts of the human body marked with the names of its parts. He came in; I noticed he was starting to walk with an old man’s shuffle, but the expression on his scholarly brown face under the thinning grey curls was welcoming.

‘Matthew. I was going to write you today, about Mistress Slanning. I am glad you told me about her.’

‘How does she fare?’

‘Not well. Her priest has spoken with her, but she told him what she and her brother did, and allowed him to tell me, but then broke down again badly. I have prescribed her a sleeping draught; she has a good household steward, he will keep her from doing what her brother did, so far as anyone can. Perhaps in a little while she may confess fully, and receive absolution.’

‘Do you think confession would rest her mind?’

He shook his head sadly. ‘I think it will never rest again. But it would ease her.’

‘Guy, I need your advice on another matter – nothing to do with the great ones of the realm,’ I added as his expression became wary. I told him Timothy was missing, and he readily offered to look out for him at the hospital. But he added sadly, ‘There are thousands of homeless children in London, more every week, orphans and those cast out from their homes, or coming in from the countryside. Many do not live long.’

‘I know. And Timothy – it is partly my fault.’

‘Do not think of that. I am sure you are right, he is still in the city, and your offer of a reward may find him.’ He put a comforting hand on my arm.

I
RETURNED TO THE HOUSE
shortly before lunchtime. Barak was there, and said he had half a dozen people out looking. He had told those who had joined the hunt to recruit others, on the promise that each would get a portion of the reward if they found the boy. ‘Contracting the job out,’ he said with a grin. ‘I’ve got Nick out looking too, we’ve more than caught up with the work at chambers.’

‘Thank you,’ I said, grateful as ever for his practicality.

‘I think you should stay here now, to hand over the reward if someone finds him. What time must you be at the banquet?’

‘Five. I must leave by three.’

‘I’ll take over here then.’ He stroked his beard. It was tidy as usual, Tamasin kept it well trimmed. ‘You’ll look for Lord Parr?’

‘I’ll make sure I find him,’ I answered grimly.

‘Remember, Nick and I are available tonight, if we’re needed.’

‘Tamasin – ’

‘Will be all right. You’d be mad to go there alone.’

‘Yes. I hope Lord Parr will supply some men, but bring Nicholas back here after the search for Timothy, and wait for me. Just in case. Thank you,’ I added, inadequately.

Chapter Forty-nine

B
Y THREE
O
’
CLOCK
, several ragged boys had come or been brought to my door, but none was Timothy. I left Barak and took a wherry upriver to Hampton Court. I had done my best to clean the London dust from my robe before I left. I carried the rented gold chain in a bag; wearing it in the city would be a sore temptation to street robbers. I was tired, my back hurt, and I would have liked to lie down rather than be forced to sit on the hard bench of the boat.

‘Going to the celebrations to welcome the French admiral, sir?’ the boatman asked.

‘That’s right.’

‘They enlisted me last year, sent me to Hampshire. Our company didn’t go on the King’s ships, though. We came home after the French fleet sailed away. I lost a lot of money through being taken from my trade.’

‘At least you came back with your life.’

‘Ay. Not all did. And now we’ve to welcome that Frenchie like a hero.’ He turned and spat in the river as the high brick chimneys of Hampton Court came into view in the distance.

O
NE OF THE MANY GUARDS
posted at the landing stage led me into the Great Court fronting the palace. The wide lawned court backed on to high walls, and in the centre was the Great Gate leading to the inner court and the main buildings, whose red-brick facade looked mellow in the sunlight. Hampton Court was a complex of wide interlocking spaces, a complete contrast to the cramped turrets and tiny courts of Whitehall – less colourful, but more splendid.

In the Great Court I saw two large temporary banqueting houses, skilfully painted to look like brickwork, with the flags of England and France flying from pennants above. Even the smaller of the two structures looked as though it could seat a hundred people. Some of the royal tents had also been put up, their bright varied colours making a vivid picture. Hundreds of people, mostly men, but a goodly number of women too, stood conversing in the wide courtyard, all in their finest clothes. Servants bustled to and fro, handing out silver mugs of wine and offering sweetmeats from trays. There was a steady hum of conversation.

An usher marked my name on a list – there was a list, of course, and anyone who did not turn up would hear about it – and told me that at six o’clock the King and Queen would walk with Admiral d’Annebault and their households from the Great Gate, cross the Great Court and enter the banqueting halls. Later there would be music and dancing. All of us were to cheer loudly when the trumpets sounded. Until then I was told I should mingle, just mingle.

I took a mug of wine from a servant and made my way through the throng, looking for Lord Parr. I could not see him, though there were many other faces I recognized. The old Duke of Norfolk, in a scarlet robe with white fur trim despite the heat, stood with his son the Earl of Surrey, whom I had seen with the ladies in the Queen’s Presence Chamber at Whitehall. Both looked over the crowd with aristocratic disdain. In one corner Bishop Gardiner in his white surplice was talking earnestly to Lord Chancellor Wriothesley. Both looked angry. Edward Seymour, Lord Hertford, peregrinated across the court, looking over the crowd of city dignitaries and gentry courtiers with confident, calculating eyes. On his arm was a thin woman in a green farthingale and feathered hat. I recognized her from my first visit to Whitehall Palace to see the Queen; she had asked if I was another hunchback fool. It had annoyed the Queen. Only five weeks ago; it seemed like an age. Many said that Hertford’s wife, Anne, was a shrew who ruled him in private, for all his success as soldier and politician. She certainly had a sour, vinegary face.

The wine was very strong. That and the hubbub made me feel a little light-headed. I saw Sir William Paget in his usual dark robe, walking with a woman who despite her finery had a pleasant, homely countenance. He turned to her as she said something, his hard face softening unexpectedly.

I recalled the boatman spitting in the river. All this splendour for d’Annebault, ambassador of France. I wondered where Bertano, the Pope’s emissary, was. Not here, for sure: his mission was still a secret. Perhaps he had already left England. As I walked slowly around, trying to spot Lord Parr, I began to find the gold chain heavy and the sun hot. I halted for a moment under the shade of one of the broad oak trees beside the outer wall.

I felt a tap on my shoulder and I turned: Sir Thomas Seymour, in a silver doublet, with a short yellow cloak over his shoulder and a matching cap worn at a jaunty angle. ‘Master Shardlake again,’ he said mockingly. ‘Are you here as a member of the Queen’s Learned Council?’

‘No, Sir Thomas. As a serjeant of Lincoln’s Inn. I no longer serve the Queen.’

He raised his eyebrows. ‘Indeed? Not out of favour with her majesty, I hope?’

‘No, Sir Thomas. The task she set me came to an end.’

‘Ah, that missing jewel. Wicked, that some servant should steal an object of such great value to the Queen and get away with it. He should have been found and hanged.’ His brown eyes narrowed. ‘It
was
a jewel, wasn’t it?’

‘It was.’

Seymour nodded slowly, fingering that long, shiny, coppery beard. ‘Strange, strange. Well, I must find my brother. We shall be sitting at the King’s table at the banquet.’ He smiled again, with preening self-satisfaction. You vain, stupid man, I thought. No wonder not even your brother wants you on the Privy Council.

My feelings must have shown on my face, for Seymour frowned. ‘A pity you will not be dining. Only the highest in the land will be seated at the banquet. It must be uncomfortable for you, standing about here. See, even now you shift from foot to foot.’

I knew Thomas Seymour would never part without an insult. I did not reply as he leaned close. ‘Watch your step, Master Shardlake. Things are changing, things are changing.’ He nodded, smiled maliciously, and walked away.