by C. J. Sansom
‘Fuck!’ Toby shouted. ‘He’s gone!’ We ran to the window. Outside the sloping roof of an outhouse allowed easy access to a yard. Walter had vanished.
We raced outside. Toby ran up the alley, while Nicholas and I went down to Tombland. We looked at the roads and lanes branching off from the square. Walter could have taken any of them. Nicholas went into the Maid’s Head, to see whether any staff had noticed a boy running across the square. He came back shaking his head, and shortly afterwards Toby rejoined us. ‘It’s hopeless,’ he said. ‘He could be anywhere.’
‘Where are the Sandlings, his home?’
‘Down on the Suffolk coast. But there are many roads, and he probably won’t take the obvious ones. We’ve lost him. I said he was a cringer.’
‘He was terrified,’ Nicholas said.
‘There’s nothing we can do,’ I said bleakly. ‘I can give testimony as to what he said, but without Snockstobe or Walter it’s all just hearsay.’
‘Scambler could testify he lost the key,’ Toby suggested.
‘I don’t think his losing the key for a day would help much. And I doubt he’d make a good impression in court. He seems to be a figure of fun around Norwich generally.’
Nicholas said, ‘If Snockstobe was murdered, could Scambler be in danger too? If the twins gave the key to the man who went into the shop?’
I nodded agreement. ‘Nicholas, could you go to Scambler’s place again, warn him and his aunt to stay indoors until Friday. Perhaps they can get someone from their church to stay with them. Say I will visit them tomorrow, to make sure all is well. Toby, you may as well go back to your parents now. We will see you at the Blue Boar at nine o’clock. Do you know where we might hire a sword for you?’
‘How are you going to waylay the twins afterwards?’
‘I’ve thought about that. I’ll go to Master Reynolds’s house later and say I wish to speak to them. He’ll doubtless say they’ve gone to the cockfight so I’ll say I will try and talk to them later. That will cover us accosting them. When we do we say nothing threatening, but knowing those two, I’d rather we had swords. Just in case. I doubt the discussion will go well.’
Toby smiled wryly. ‘My carrying a weapon could be seen as suspicious; I’m not a gentleman, the sumptuary rules don’t allow me to carry a sword.’
‘You can if you’re my servant and you’re protecting me.’
‘You and Master Nicholas would have to buy it. There’s a shop over there,’ he added, nodding to a small establishment set between the big houses, a display of daggers in the window. ‘Plenty of gentlemen in Tombland.’ I frowned, for I guessed all this had been simply to make a point about his status.
Nicholas and I went into the shop. We explained that I wished to buy a sword for my servant, given the atmosphere in the city just now. We went outside, the weapon in its scabbard banging against my leg. Toby had left.
‘You could have got one for yourself as well,’ Nicholas said.
‘I’d probably just cut your head off, or Toby’s.’
‘Toby’s might be no loss. Cross-grained radical, unfeeling, too, for all his talk of social reform.’
I sighed. ‘It looks like it will be me and Isabella Boleyn alone testifying for her husband on Thursday.’
‘Could we not ask Witherington’s shepherd to testify how difficult it would be for one man to have carried Edith to the water and put her in?’
‘Witherington will probably push him to say nothing that might benefit Boleyn. And having been to the site I can give testimony myself as to how difficult it would be. And now I am going back to the Maid’s Head. I slept badly last night, I need to rest to be of use at all tonight.’
Nicholas looked at me with concern. ‘Sir, do not let this filthy business tire you out.’
I smiled sadly. ‘Yes, this is more than the distraction from routine business we expected, isn’t it? A second person, dead now. And, with all this walking and riding, I feel my age and my poor back, but I shall not give in. I shall go to the coroner’s office this afternoon, chase up what they found when they opened Snockstobe. If he was murdered, that changes things; we might even ask for a postponement of the trial.’ I took a deep breath. ‘And then, tonight, the twins.’
*
AS ARRANGED, Nicholas and I called at Gawen Reynolds’s house on the way to the Blue Boar. A female servant answered the courtyard door. We were not invited in, but Gawen Reynolds himself hobbled out on his stick. I said we wished to speak to the twins and that we understood they were out at the cockfighting that evening.
His eyes narrowed. ‘Who told you that?’
‘It’s not a secret, is it?’
‘What d’you want to speak to them about?’ he snapped.
‘Their view of the case.’ I was not going to say anything about the key.
His expression changed, and he gave a nasty grin. ‘Same as mine, that their father killed their mother. Just to let you know, we’ve decided to give evidence against his character, me and Gerald and Barnabas. You’re not talking to them in my house, but if you find them elsewhere, good luck to you. I’ve told them to get back here after the cockfight – we’re going to discuss their evidence tomorrow.’ He smiled at me evilly, then slammed the courtyard door in our faces.
Nicholas looked at me. ‘Shit,’ he said. ‘Another three witnesses against Boleyn.’
‘We’ll interview the twins nonetheless. And we’ve got that old brute’s blessing to talk to them; no one will be able to say we deliberately intimidated them.’
*
SIX OF US were due to meet in the garden of the Blue Boar by Bishopsgate Bridge that evening; Nicholas and I, Toby and Barak, and Josephine and Edward Brown. I arrived with Nicholas shortly before nine. Earlier he had been to visit Scambler and his aunt. Both had been terrified at the news of the locksmith’s murder, and Nicholas had little doubt that they would stay indoors until Thursday. Until then, the aunt was going to try and get someone from their church to stay with them. She had blamed her nephew, of course, for the whole situation, shouting and yelling at him.
We found Barak sitting at a candlelit table under a tree, frowning over a letter in the failing light. Nicholas and I had both donned grey woollen doublets so that we would not stand out among the clientele, who again were mostly from the artisan classes. I saw no sign of the boatmen who had attacked Nicholas on our last visit. I glanced at the great gatehouse; Snockstobe had walked under it to his death the night before.
Barak raised his eyebrows. ‘I’ve never seen you wear a sword,’ he said.
‘It’s for Toby Lockswood.’
‘Don’t draw attention to it, we don’t want to be singled out as gentlemen again. Mine’s in my room.’
We put the swords under the table, then Nicholas went in to get some beer. I looked at Barak enquiringly. ‘Who is that from?’ I asked.
‘Tamasin.’
‘Does she say how Guy is?’
‘Much the same; no better, no worse. Still gets fevers that come and go. She says she’s having to take little Tilda with her as well as George when she visits him; Mistress Marris is complaining about looking after her all the time.’ He grunted angrily. ‘In fact, the whole letter’s naught but a litany of complaints; the price rises, the number of armed men in the city, how she feels lonely at night and wishes I were back. Not that she complains at the money I bring back when I go on Assizes. Oh, and she hopes I’m not drinking too much and mixing with disreputable people. She forgets her background is as common as mine. She can’t even write; the letter’s in Guy’s assistant Francis’s hand.’
‘It can’t be easy being a woman alone with children in London now.’
‘No?’ He frowned. ‘Here’s the best bit.’ He read aloud, angrily, ‘“I expect by now you will be in Norwich, with only the Suffolk Assizes to follow. I know Master Shardlake is in Norwich, and I hope you have heeded my entreaty to have no dealings with him. If you should happen to pass each other in court, ensure that you ign
ore him.” Fucking cheeky mare,’ Barak said, taking a long swig of beer.
I looked at him. The marriage between these two strong personalities had not always been smooth, and more than once Barak had taken refuge in drink. ‘There’s nothing we can do about her feelings towards me,’ I said sadly.
‘It’s her attitude to me that pisses me off,’ he answered darkly. ‘Where’s Nick? I need another drink.’
‘Don’t have too much,’ I said. ‘We’ve to talk to the twins later. We’ll discuss that after the Browns have gone.’
Nicholas returned with six mugs of beer on a tray. Shortly after, Toby arrived. Barak greeted him with a smile. ‘How go things with you, Commonwealth man?’
‘Well enough.’
‘They’ve got your sword. It’s under the table.’
‘Good,’ he said with satisfaction.
‘Can you use one?’ Nicholas asked.
‘Yes. There are some kept in our church, in case the militia is raised. When I was young we lads used to pinch them and practise. I wasn’t bad.’
I said, ‘Let’s hope we don’t need to use them tonight.’
‘We’ll see. I have some news, Master Shardlake. Good and bad.’ I raised my eyebrows. ‘I called in on a friend of mine on my way out of town earlier; he has contacts among the weavers, and has managed to trace Grace Bone’s family.’
‘That is good,’ Nicholas said enthusiastically.
‘Grace lived with her brother and sister in the north of the city. The brother is a weaver, he’s fallen on hard times and only just keeps going. His sisters helped him and did some spinning. He still lives there. But the bad news is that Grace Bone and her sister Mercy both died from congestion of the lungs last spring; they all got it, but only Peter Bone, the brother, survived. Like so many, they didn’t make it through the hard winter and spring.’
‘Well,’ I said, ‘at least now we know she wasn’t killed when Edith left.’
Toby asked, ‘Any news on the examination of Snockstobe’s body?’
‘It’s to take place tomorrow morning. I didn’t want to press the coroner too hard. But he said they’d stripped the body, and there were no signs of wounds.’
‘Snockstobe is dead?’ Barak asked, astonished.
I told him about the locksmith and the apprentice. He considered. ‘Someone could have got Snockstobe blind drunk, taken him for a walk and heaved him off the bridge to drown.’
‘They could. But there’s no evidence.’ I turned to Toby. ‘Can you take me to see Grace Bone’s brother tomorrow?’
‘Certainly.’
Barak said, ‘I have a piece of news as well, though I fear it’s not good. Three new prosecution witnesses for the Boleyn trial have been added.’
‘We know. Alderman Gawen Reynolds, and Gerald and Barnabas Boleyn. They’ll testify to Boleyn’s bad character, no doubt.’
Nicholas said, ‘And perhaps Reynolds will recount his daughter telling him Boleyn had tried to force himself on her during their marriage. That’s not illegal, but it’d go down badly with the jury.’
Nicholas nudged me, and I saw Josephine and Edward walking towards us across the lawn, hand in hand. A man sitting at one of the tables hailed Edward, and he went over and shook his hand. Then they came over to us. Both looked slightly uneasy, especially Josephine, and I guessed they did not spend much time in company. I introduced them to Toby, and they sat down.
‘How is little Mousy?’ I asked.
Josephine smiled, a little wanly. ‘Grizzly these last couple of days. One of the neighbours is looking after her.’ I remembered what she had said about most children in the yard not surviving their second birthday. I had always thought that Josephine would be the best of mothers; she should be enjoying her child, not fearing she might suddenly die.
‘It is good to see you both,’ I said.
‘Ay,’ Edward said. ‘You and Master Nicholas saw us married, you gave her away.’ His manner was much friendlier tonight. He asked Toby, ‘Do you work for Master Shardlake as well?’
‘For the moment. I am a Norwich man.’
I said, ‘Toby is indefatigable in finding people. It was thanks to him that I traced you.’
‘And the Bone family,’ Nicholas added.
‘It’s interesting work,’ Toby said. I glanced at him; he had spoken with a strange lack of emotion. Was this all the case was to him? Something interesting?
Josephine said, ‘Peter Bone and his sisters? We knew them slightly when we lived in Pit Street.’
‘You did?’ I asked, surprised.
‘The world of Norwich weavers is not so large. Peter Bone is a weaver, I did some spinning for him now and again. His sisters were well-known around the area. Grace and Mercy.’
‘Ay,’ Edward agreed. ‘A pair of merry fat wenches, hair black as coal, always ready with a joke, lewd tongues on both of them though neither married. We didn’t see them again after we moved to the yard.’
‘I fear both sisters died from congestion of the lungs this spring.’
‘That’s sad,’ Josephine said. ‘God save their souls.’
‘I was just saying,’ Toby observed, ‘many poor folks died last winter and spring. While the merchants and landlords were snug in their houses with good fires. Let’s hope Hales’s commissioners and the Protector’s Commonwealth friends may bring some justice to the realm.’
Edward Brown snorted. ‘The Commonwealth men. They’re full of radical talk but they’ll do nothing for the likes of us. Too reliant on the gentlemen. All the Protector really cares about is conquering Scotland.’
Barak broke the uneasy silence that followed. ‘I hear from talk around the Assizes that the Lady Mary refuses to use the new Prayer Book. Still hears the old Latin service. Her chapel over at Kenninghall is full of images and incense. She’ll get herself into trouble.’
‘I doubt they’ll make too much trouble for her,’ I said. ‘She’s the heir to the throne; the Protector has made efforts to win her friendship. And her cousin is the Holy Roman Emperor, whom the Protector needs to keep friendly, with France helping the Scots.’
‘This damned pointless war,’ Barak said. ‘It all comes back to that.’
‘If we could secure Scotland for good,’ Nicholas answered, ‘it would stop France using the Scotch against us in any future war. And bring our two countries together in religious amity. I hear the Scotchman John Knox has been sent by the Protector to preach in Berwick, close to his countrymen.’
‘When did you care for religion?’ Barak answered irritably. ‘Anyway, the war is lost.’ I noticed he had emptied his glass already. ‘We’ve been kicked out of every fort the Protector built.’
‘Not Haddington. And the Protector is preparing a new army.’
‘More sheep for the slaughter,’ Edward muttered.
I stood up. ‘I need to go to the jakes,’ I said. ‘I’ll get some more beer for everyone as well.’ I looked meaningfully at Barak. ‘Make this your last.’
‘Want me to come with you?’ Nicholas asked. ‘After what happened to me last time?’
‘No. I’ve no reason to fear trouble; I’m dressed like a common fellow.’
I made my way between the candlelit tables, the tray in my hands. Dressed as I was, people took no notice, though one or two glanced at my bent back. It took me a minute to find the shed with the lantern outside – more tables had been set out this fine night – but my visit passed without incident. When I came out, I walked back towards the inn to get the drinks, but it was quite dark now and I missed my way – an oak tree which I thought was the one beside our table turned out to be another. I stood still a moment, trying to get my bearings, then heard a familiar voice from a nearby table; Edward Brown’s, in a tone of quiet intensity.
‘With one army gone to the West Country and another leaving for Scotland they’ll be short of forces.’ I stood back, sheltering behind the tree. Edward sat at a nearby table, together with the man he had greeted when he and Josephine had arrived, and a
third, whom, to my surprise, I recognized as Michael Vowell, Gawen Reynolds’s former steward who had told us where we could waylay the twins. The three sat with their heads together, talking animatedly.
Vowell said, ‘I’ve just come back from Attleborough, Miles. They want to rise and destroy all John Greene’s fences on the twentieth.’
‘That’s too soon,’ the third man replied angrily. He was tall and well built, in his early forties, with short fair hair and beard and a hard, intelligent face.
Vowell said, ‘We can’t control people, only guide and try to agree timing, and the Attleborough folk are angry.’
At that moment a girl from the inn came to clear the table and they fell silent. I slipped away and made my way to the inn. As I waited for the drinks, I pondered on what I had heard. Was the man called Miles one of the stirrers roaming the country encouraging rebellion? But such talk was everywhere. I decided, for now at least, to say nothing. I would talk to Barak when I had the chance.
When I returned to our table, the others were quietly discussing the new Prayer Book, agreeing it was good to have it in English, though none were greatly exercised by the religious arguments. Edward Brown’s chair was vacant. I smiled at Josephine. ‘No Edward?’
‘He said something about going to talk to a friend for a moment. He likes to talk when he gets the chance, does Edward.’ Her face became sad. ‘Usually about how the commons are oppressed. He took our being thrown out of our home by Master Henning’s children hard. People can be cruel.’ She smiled wanly. ‘But you know that, sir, you knew my father.’
‘Yes,’ I agreed sadly.
‘I am sorry Edward was rude to you yesterday. You must understand, he feels so bad that he cannot properly provide for us. He’s a good man, he cares much for me and Mousy.’
‘I see that.’ Mousy’s name reminded me of the heath, and I stared up at the dark escarpment beyond the river. A light shone at the top, no doubt some caretaker now living in the Earl of Surrey’s old mansion.
Josephine said, ‘I have been thinking of suggesting to Edward that we return to London. We might have a chance of getting work in service there. Perhaps – perhaps you could even help us –’