Lamentation

by C. J. Sansom

  Josephine looked at me. ‘Timothy – he has good clothes, and surely anybody who saw that gap in his teeth would remember it.’

  Young Brown put a hand on her shoulder. ‘There are many toothless children on the streets.’

  ‘Not with Timothy’s smile.’ Josephine burst into tears.

  I stood up. ‘Thank you for your help, both of you. I am going to Jack Barak’s house now. He may have some ideas.’ He would, I was sure; he had been a child on the streets himself once. ‘With your employer’s permission, Goodman Brown, we shall resume the search at first light tomorrow.’

  ‘OFFER A REWARD.’ That was Barak’s first suggestion. I sat with him and Tamasin in their parlour, nursing a jug of beer. As always, it was a cosy domestic scene: baby George abed upstairs; Barak mending a wooden doll the child had broken; Tamasin sewing quietly by candlelight, her belly just beginning to swell with the coming child.

  ‘I’ll do that. When we go out tomorrow. Offer five pounds.’

  Barak raised his eyebrows. ‘Five pounds! You’ll have every lost urchin in London brought to your door.’

  ‘I don’t care.’

  He shook his head. Tamasin said, ‘What is Josephine’s fiancé’s first name? You always speak of him just as Brown.’

  ‘Edward, it’s Edward. Though I seem to think of him as just young Brown.’

  She smiled. ‘Perhaps because he is taking Josephine away from you.’

  ‘No, no, he is a fine lad.’ I thought of his uncomplaining willingness to help tonight, his obvious love for Josephine. She could not have done better. Yet perhaps there was some truth in what Tamasin said.

  She said, ‘I will go out tomorrow with Goodwife Marris. I’ll come to your house in the morning and we can divide the city into sections.’

  ‘No, you won’t,’ Barak interjected. ‘Going up and down the streets and stinking lanes. No.’ He put down the doll. ‘I’ll talk to some people; plenty of the small solicitors and their servants would be happy to look for the boy for five pounds.’ There was still amazement in his voice at the size of the sum I was prepared to lay out. ‘Have you paid the latest instalment of your taxes?’ he asked me.

  ‘Not yet. But remember I got four pounds from Stephen Bealknap.’ I frowned slightly, thinking again of his deathbed words.

  ‘Make sure you find him,’ Tamasin told her husband. ‘Or I will be out looking the next day.’ She asked me, ‘Is tomorrow not the day you go to Hampton Court?’

  ‘Yes. But I do not have to be there till five in the afternoon. I’ll search for Timothy till I have to leave.’

  NEXT 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.

  THERE 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

  BY 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.

  ONE 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.

  I looked at his back, and that ridiculous cloak, wondering what he meant. Then, a little way off, I spied Mary Odell, in a dress of deep blue, the Queen’s badge on her cap, talking to a young man in an orange doublet. She looked bored. I crossed to her, removed my cap and bowed. The gold links of my chain tinkled.

  ‘Master Shardlake,’ she said, relief in her voice.

  The young man, handsome but with calculating eyes, looked slightly offended. He twirled the stem of his silver goblet. I said, ‘Forgive me, sir, but I must speak with Mistress Odell on a matter of business.’

  He bowed stiffly and walked away. ‘Thank you, Master Shardlake.’ Mistress Odell spoke with that agreeable touch of humour I remembered. ‘That young fellow is another would-be courtier, keen to talk with someone close to the Queen.’ She grimaced.

  ‘I am glad to have served,’ I answered with a smile. Then, more earnestly, ‘I need to speak with Lord Parr urgently. I hoped to see him here.’

  She glanced back at the Great Gate behind us. ‘He is in the Palace Court, with the Queen and her ladies, waiting for the King to come out with the admiral.’

  ‘Could you fetch him? I am sorry to ask, but it is very urgent. He is expecting to talk to me today.’

  Her face grew serious. ‘I know you would not ask on a trivial matter. Wait, I will try to find him.’

  She walked away, her dress swishing on the cobbles, and was allowed by the guards to pass through the Great Gate. I took some more wine and a comfit from a waiter. Looking over the crowd, I saw Serjeant Blower with a couple of aldermen, laughing heartily at some joke. William Cecil passed with an attractive young woman who must be his wife. He nodded to me but did not come over. Then, a little way off, I saw that Wriothesley was now talking to Sir Richard Rich, their heads together. I looked back at the gate. The feather plumes on the guards’ steel helmets stirred in a cooling breeze from the river. The sun was low now.

  Lord Parr appeared at the Great Gate, looking out at the throng. He craned his neck, trying to find me in the crowd. He looked tired. I walked over to him.

  ‘Master Shardlake,’ he said, irritation in his voice. ‘I am needed inside. The King and Queen and the admiral will be out in ten minutes.’

  ‘I am sorry, my Lord. I would not interrupt, but we must act against Stice tonight. He will be at the house near St Bartholomew’s at nine. Have you heard any more? Has anyone been to the house?’

  The old man shifted his weight a little uneasily. ‘My man says Stice came briefly yesterday, but soon left again.’

>   ‘Alone?’

  ‘Yes.’

  I spoke urgently, ‘Then if you could spare a couple of men to go tonight, I will go too. Stice must be questioned. Even if we have no cause – ’

  Then Lord Parr said firmly, ‘No.’

  ‘My Lord?’

  ‘Things have changed, Master Shardlake. Charles Stice must be left alone.’

  ‘But – why?’

  He leaned in. ‘This is confidential, Shardlake. I have had a direct approach from Richard Rich. He is in bad odour with Gardiner, for several reasons; his speaking up for you at the Privy Council did not help. He has offered to aid the Seymours and Parrs against Norfolk and Gardiner. He has changed sides, following the wind again.’

  I looked at him in amazement. ‘The Queen will work with Rich now? But she loathes him.’

  ‘She will,’ Lord Parr answered firmly. ‘For the sake of the Parr family, and the cause of reform. Rich is on the council, he is important, the King respects his skills, if not the man. As do I.’

  ‘But – why has he been spying on me? And may he not have information about the Lamentation?’

  Lord Parr shook his head firmly. ‘Rich will do nothing to harm the reformers now. Even if he had the book, which I do not believe he ever did.’

  ‘If he is your ally now should you not ask him?’

  Irritation entered the old man’s voice. ‘Our agreement involves my drawing a veil over all his activities this spring and summer. Those are not to be discussed. That includes what he did to Anne Askew, and everything else. As for his spying on you,’ he added more civilly, ‘in due course, when the time is right, I will ask him.’

  Stunned, I continued to stare at Lord Parr. He flushed, then burst out with sudden impatience, ‘God’s death, man, do not stand there with your mouth open like a fish. These are the necessities of politics. Rich and his people are to be left alone.’