by C. J. Sansom
‘I guessed that. Don’t be sorry, I told you I was sick of it.’ He looked down over the city again. ‘Tamasin won’t be pleased, though. My ears will be ringing for months.’ He grinned. ‘Better not tell her you were involved, eh?’
‘Jack, let me make some recompense –’
He shook his head. ‘The work I’ve got with the London solicitors will keep me going.’ He sighed. ‘Where’s Toby?’
‘He has taken Isabella back to her inn.’
‘Tell you what,’ Barak said. He spoke evenly, but he had a slightly wild look in his eyes which I recognized, and which worried me. ‘Let’s get some lunch, then meet up and go over the case.’ He clapped Nicholas on the shoulder. ‘Just like old times, eh, lad?’
I ran a hand through my hair, then looked at the great bulk of the castle rising over the Shire Hall. ‘I have to see John Boleyn, tell him about the pardon. Then I must write to the Lady Elizabeth and Master Parry immediately, tell them it has come to the worst. Let us meet later, say for dinner at the Maid’s Head.’
Barak nodded. ‘All right. Just you and me for lunch then, Nick.’
I said, ‘Should you not leave Norwich now, get back to London?’
‘I’m paid up at the Blue Boar till Sunday. Then I’m supposed to be away another week, at the Suffolk Assizes; I’m not keen to get back to London early to face the music.’
He turned away, began walking down the path. ‘I’m sorry,’ I called after him. Without turning, he raised his good hand in acknowledgement. I grasped Nicholas’s arm, and whispered, ‘Watch how much he drinks. I see danger signs.’
Nicholas nodded, then followed Barak down the sunlit path. I began walking to the main door of the castle.
Chapter Thirty
Isabella was with Boleyn in his cell. She had preferred to go there instead of back to the inn with Chawry. They sat side by side on the bed, holding hands. When the gaoler let me in, they looked up with faces filled with hope and fear.
I smiled. ‘The execution is stayed pending the application for the pardon. Reynberd agreed, and the document is being drawn up.’ Their faces sagged with relief and they hugged each other.
‘Thank you, Master Shardlake,’ Boleyn said in heartfelt tones. ‘I thought I was done for, especially when I lost my temper with that judge.’
Isabella defended him. ‘But it wasn’t right, attacking us for living together as he did. It had nothing to do with the case.’
‘You are right, but judges on Assize like to read a moral lesson. Especially ones like Gatchet.’ I looked at Boleyn. ‘It did not help to show such a temper.’
‘I was provoked beyond endurance.’
‘Well, apart from that, you did well. I’m only sorry the twins could not be shaken about the key, and that Scambler made an exhibition of himself.’
Isabella smiled. ‘Poor Simon.’ She was the only person apart from me who had referred to him by his true name.
A despairing wail became faintly audible through the thick walls. One of those sentenced to hang on the morrow. Boleyn shook his head. ‘It was dreadful, sitting with those other people, listening to their cases. Three were found guilty of theft and will be executed. How Gatchet hurried through their cases, condemned them as sinful though they were poor people without work. I have always taken such things as natural but’ – he shook his head – ‘how they stank; some have been months in this place. And I was found guilty too, but am saved because of my connection to the Lady Elizabeth.’
Isabella took his arm. ‘But you are innocent, my love.’
I looked at him seriously. ‘I am afraid you may be here some time. Palms will have to be greased at the royal court, and getting the Protector to deal with the pardon may take time. And the outcome is not a certainty. But I have great hope.’ I thought, I will ask Parry to write to William Cecil.
Boleyn looked downcast, but Isabella said encouragingly, ‘I can visit you, bring food – can I not, Master Shardlake? And Daniel will take care of the farm.’
‘Yes, your treatment should be less severe now.’
Boleyn looked at Isabella. ‘You will need more money if I am to be here for a very long time. My finances are not – what they were.’ He looked into space gloomily for a moment. ‘I think it is time for Midnight to be sold. Chawry can handle him now, you said?’
‘Just about, if he is careful. But you will want to ride Midnight when you return –’
Boleyn shook his head. ‘I shall never return to Brikewell. Even if I am pardoned, the disgrace will remain. And –’ he sighed – ‘I am not sure I want to. Do you, my dear?’
She considered. ‘No, not after all that has been done to us.’
‘We could move to London perhaps.’
‘But you said the house there was too expensive to keep up.’
‘Then we shall sell it, and, yes, the Brikewell estate and my other lands, pay off my debts and buy somewhere smaller in London, or elsewhere, if you prefer. We shall live quietly as modest gentlefolk.’
Isabella sighed. ‘Married again, in a place where nobody knows our history. Yes, that I should like.’
Boleyn looked at me. ‘I imagine I will not be able to buy or sell any land until the pardon is granted?’
‘No. For the moment you are in a sort of legal limbo. Legally, you should not even sell the horse.’
Boleyn laid a hand on Isabella’s and smiled gently. ‘Have Midnight sold quickly and quietly, for next to nothing if need be. When he is gone, go to the back of the stable. Count four bricks up from the floor and twelve along from the right. Remove the bricks and mortar and you will find the twenty sovereigns. Nobody knows that but Master Shardlake.’
He sighed. ‘I shall miss Midnight. I got him as a yearling, Master Shardlake; he was hard to control even then, but by good treatment I managed it. But now he must go.’
Isabella touched his cheek. ‘You are good to me.’
‘I have brought you naught but trouble.’
I said, ‘Well, we have a good chance now. I will fetch the order cancelling the execution tomorrow morning. I shall visit you again then.’
‘You will return to London soon?’ Isabella asked, sadness in her voice.
‘Yes, but I shall keep closely in touch by letter. Now, I must go and prepare a letter to the Lady Elizabeth, ready to send to her with the judge’s order tomorrow morning.’ I looked at Boleyn. ‘I am sorry you lost the case, but it was always going to be difficult.’ I paused, then said, ‘An alibi for the evening of Edith’s murder might well have decided things the other way.’ Isabella looked between us, frowning slightly. Boleyn only said, ‘That is all done with now.’ But I caught the note of tetchiness in his voice.
*
I WALKED BACK TO the Maid’s Head. It was midday, the summer sun hot. I had walked rather than ridden in Norwich; riding around the city would have been difficult in the crowded, narrow streets, and walking was easier on my back, though as I entered Tombland the muscle between my shoulder blades was hurting again. I wondered how Barak was faring; I felt deeply that I had let him down again.
I went to my room, and there prepared letters to the Lady Elizabeth and Parry, writing several drafts. In the end I decided on short, near-identical missives where I explained that Boleyn had been found guilty despite our best efforts, but my application for a pardon had been approved and a stay of execution granted. In the letter to Parry I added that I much regretted the verdict, and the adverse publicity that must follow, but the pardon application was my only option given my instructions. I advised him to get in touch with Cecil. I shook my head as I sanded the letters before going down to order a fast post-rider to Hatfield. Elizabeth would be angry at the verdict, and Parry furious about publicity in the country, and at the royal court, when the pardon request was presented. I had little doubt that both of them would make their displeasure known.
*
I WAS TIRED – I seemed to tire easily these days – and slept for a couple of hours until a servant arrived t
o tell me that Nicholas was back, with the two ‘goodmen’ who assisted us. It was still early for dinner, so I asked him to send them up.
Nicholas looked quite fresh, his pale skin a little sunburned, and he told me he and Barak had taken a walk up on Mousehold Heath after lunch – ‘a healthful place, the winds fresh’. I guessed he had taken Barak there to ensure that he did not get drunk. ‘Full of tussocky grass that snags your legs though,’ Barak added. He looked quite cheerful, but there was still that hard, too-bright look in his eyes. Toby looked tired. I told him the pardon request had gone in. He said quietly, ‘Master Shardlake, after dinner I would like to go back to my parents’ farm to stay. I am sorry the case was lost, but with the pardon lodged, there is little more I can do. If there is anything you or Master Copuldyke need, perhaps you could write to me.’ Given all the work we had done together, his manner remained unemotional, a little distant. But he would be preoccupied with the farm, and his mother’s illness.
‘Of course, Toby. Thank you for all the help you have given.’
‘Stay for dinner, though,’ Barak said. He looked at me. ‘Meanwhile, I wouldn’t mind going over the case again, now it’s over.’
Nicholas spoke seriously. ‘After all, we still do not know who murdered Edith Boleyn.’
I said, ‘A good idea. Will you stay, Toby?’
‘I do not think we can penetrate the mystery now. But yes, I will stay.’
I pulled out the table which stood by the window, we brought up chairs, and I fetched out paper and ink to take notes. A spasm went through my back as I sat.
‘All right?’ Barak asked.
‘Yes,’ I answered impatiently.
‘Well,’ Nicholas began, ‘it seems pretty much established that the deed was done by two men. Both probably strong, and with knowledge of Brikewell.’
Toby said, ‘If only you could find that boy Walter, and identify who came into Snockstobe’s shop. I’ve little doubt he can see as well as any of us. But he is in the wind.’ I noticed how ‘we’ had become ‘you’. It saddened me a little.
‘Well,’ Barak said, ‘at least we know who stole the key. The twins. Two strong young men.’ He looked at me. ‘Are you really sure it isn’t them? They’re as mad as two rabid dogs.’
‘Are they?’ Nicholas asked. ‘Mad, or just malign?’
‘Good point,’ I agreed. ‘I’ve seen a fair amount of them now, and I just don’t think they’d murder their mother, though of course it can’t be ruled out. And think, their relations with their father may have been very bad, but he still got them to lead the resistance to Witherington’s attempt to occupy the disputed lands earlier this year. Now they want him dead. I think that means they believe he killed her.’
Toby shook his head. ‘Remember the story of how Barnabas got that scar. The twins as children, drawing lots to see who would scar whose face, so that their mother would stop complaining that she could not tell them apart. They’re mad.’
‘Does that not show they wanted her love?’ I answered.
Barak looked at me. ‘When they did not get it, love could have turned to hate. And they gain from their father’s death. If Southwell agrees to make them wards of their grandfather, and the Protector agrees to return their lands to them, as often happens, they would get the estate. They’ll get rid of Isabella, and sell the estate. To Southwell, perhaps, in exchange for his cooperation over the wardship.’
‘Reynolds could pay Southwell for the wardship, and though the money goes to the King, he will cream off a good profit. And from what I hear, he is a man who much likes profit.’
Toby said, ‘He’s already been pardoned for a murder once, and he’s a powerful man.’
‘I know. Secretary Cecil warned me off him. He could benefit financially from using Brikewell to join his estates together. And from what I’ve seen of him, I can imagine him capable of anything.’
‘And then there’s Flowerdew,’ Nicholas added. ‘He’ll have charge of the wardship, and if the twins are to seek to get them back perhaps palms will be greased there too.’
‘I wish we could shake the twins’ alibi for the night of the murder,’ Toby said.
‘Who gave them that alibi? Their group of trouble-loving gentlemen friends. Including John Atkinson, whom Richard Southwell aided when he abducted that poor girl from Mousehold Heath last year. Perhaps they were never at the cockfight that night.’
Nicholas said, ‘But there would have been dozens there.’
‘He only needed enough respectable young gentlemen to provide alibis.’
I shook my head. ‘If they weren’t there, that would lay the twins and their friends open to blackmail from anyone who was.’
Toby’s voice became impatient. ‘You don’t know Norwich, you don’t know how scared people are of the Boleyn twins. And of Southwell.’
Barak said thoughtfully, ‘Interesting that John Boleyn’s steward, Chawry, was there the night the key vanished.’
‘It is,’ I agreed. ‘But the twins answered his allegations about the key well. I expect their grandfather briefed them.’ I leaned forward. ‘Well, I agree we certainly can’t exclude the twins.’ I wrote down and circled, Gerald and Barnabas Boleyn, then drew a wavy line to John Atkinson and their friends. They were not suspects, but could have provided a false alibi. I drew another wavy line connecting them to Sir Richard Southwell. Then I wrote, John Flowerdew. I considered, then said, ‘Let us assume, for the moment, that the twins told the truth, and that the key was stolen from them. That could have been done by another of Southwell’s lads on his behalf – but there is also the possibility that it was stolen overnight, by their grandfather or someone in his household.’
‘That old man?’ Nicholas asked. ‘He’s well into his sixties, and has to walk with a stick. I can’t see him killing his daughter and putting her into the stream, even with help.’
‘He has a motive,’ Barak said. ‘He hates John Boleyn and Isabella, would love to see John hanged and the estate go to the twins. He could have someone in his household do his dirty business.’
‘Yes,’ Nicholas agreed. ‘It’s possible. If only the steward Vowell had not gone; he must know the household inside out.’
I did not answer. I had missed the possibility of speaking to Vowell when I saw him talking with Josephine’s husband and the man Miles. Instead I said, ‘That whole family is the oddest I have ever encountered, and I’ve come across a few. The grandfather is a brute, who turned Edith away when she came to him in trouble, the grandmother racked with sorrow for her daughter –’
Nicholas looked at me. ‘What were those words she muttered in court?’
‘ “Edith, God save you, I wanted a boy!” ’
Barak laughed uneasily, ‘You’re not saying she killed her daughter?’
I said, ‘Perhaps she only meant that a boy would have had an easier life in that household. I saw the old man shove a woman aside in the Shire Hall. And the twins seem to see all women as fair game.’
Nicholas nodded. ‘Their grandfather appears to encourage them.’
Toby said, ‘But there was malice in Edith as well.’ He looked around at us. ‘She didn’t deserve to be brutally murdered but she treated people badly, too. Perhaps there is something in the family blood.’
I said, ‘Certainly there was a strangeness and hostility in her.’ I drew more circles, round the names Gawen Reynolds, Jane Reynolds, Reynolds household? Then another connecting line from the key to Snockstobe and, separately, the name of the boy who could still throw light on the mystery, Walter the apprentice. I pushed the paper to the centre of the table for the others to look at. Nicholas said, ‘So much depends on the key being stolen. But the central evidence there comes from Walter.’
‘It does. But we’re not quite finished.’ I drew another circle, round the name Leonard Witherington. ‘His neighbour, who hated him and wanted part of his land. And, but for the pardon, could now buy it all.’
Nicholas said, ‘I doubt he’d stand up to
Southwell, if he wanted the land too. And frankly, he struck me as too stupid to get involved in such a plan.’
Toby shook his head. ‘We saw how he treated the tenants when they were trying to clear the doves off their crops at Brikewell. And I’m sure he intimidated that shepherd.’
‘I agree with Nicholas,’ I said. ‘He seems too stupid to be involved. But we should add him to the list.’
Nicholas coughed. He had reddened slightly. ‘I don’t like to complicate things, but –’
‘Spit it out, lad,’ Barak said encouragingly.
‘There is another man who might have an interest in seeing Boleyn dead.’ We all looked at him. ‘Daniel Chawry, Boleyn’s steward.’
Toby looked at him, puzzled. ‘But what does he stand to gain?’
Nicholas answered, ‘Isabella.’
There was a moment’s silence, then Toby burst out laughing. ‘Isabella? God’s death, boy, I could see she makes you hot, and she’s a fine buxom woman, even though she does run her mouth off more than a woman should, but anyone can see she’s devoted to her husband. Christ’s wounds, he even proposed to her in court and she accepted him!’
I remembered how Chawry had looked upset at that. Nicholas said quietly, ‘Even if she does not love him, he could be blind with love for her. And they are from the same class.’
Toby laughed again. To prevent yet another argument between the two I said, ‘I think Chawry is perhaps in love with Isabella, and possibly she even knows and uses it. But she loves John Boleyn.’ I looked at Barak. ‘What do you think, Jack?’
‘I can’t see Chawry as the murderer, but it’s possible. It’s even possible it was he who took the opportunity to make an impression of the key. I suppose both their names should go on the list.’
I nodded, then said heavily, ‘And there is one more who has no alibi.’ I wrote down, John Boleyn.
We looked at the list. Gerald and Barnabas Boleyn. Gawen and Jane Reynolds and members of their household. Leonard Witherington. John Flowerdew. Sir Richard Southwell. Daniel Chawry and Isabella Boleyn, and finally John Boleyn. Ten names. It seemed a more hopeless task than ever. I looked at Toby, who was frowning slightly at Nicholas. I said, ‘Toby, you have done a great deal for us, and been injured in the process. We appreciate it greatly. May I ask one more thing? When we have left, could you try to trace the apprentice and the steward Michael Vowell, who could tell us more about the household? Perhaps you could get Walter’s surname from the locksmiths’ guild, see if you could trace him.’