Lamentation (The Shardlake Series Book 6)

by C. J. Sansom

  ‘I will contact you soon,’ Lord Parr said after we had mounted. ‘Keep that steward safe. Is he well frightened?’

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘Good.’ As I turned away he said, ‘I almost forgot. The Queen sends you her best wishes.’

  I RODE SLOWLY BACK to the city. I had not gone far, though, when another horseman pulled up beside me. To my surprise I saw it was young William Cecil, his face serious as usual.

  ‘Brother Cecil. I had not thought to see you again so soon.’ I allowed a note of reproach to enter my voice. He had been of great help earlier, but now Lord Parr must feel his absence greatly.

  ‘Brother Shardlake.’ His thin lips set slightly at my tone.

  ‘How goes your service with Lord Hertford?’

  ‘Well, thank you.’ He hesitated. ‘His secretary retires soon, it is possible I will take his place.’

  I inclined my head. ‘You made a good move, then.’

  He pulled his horse to a halt, and I, too, stopped. The young lawyer looked at me squarely, fixing me with those large, keen blue eyes. ‘Brother Shardlake, I was sorry to leave the Queen’s service. But an offer of serious advancement came and I had to take it.’

  ‘As men do.’

  ‘Also, I confess, after that turmoil on the wharf, I did some serious thinking. About what I am – and am not – capable of. I am not a fighting man, and I have a young family to consider. My talents, such as they are, are best put to use behind a desk. Where,’ he added, ‘I can serve the cause of reform. Believe me, I am sincere in that, as in my continued love and respect for the Queen.’

  I dared to say, ‘But your first loyalty now is to the Seymours, not the Parrs.’

  ‘Both families serve reform. And I followed you today, Brother Shardlake, to tell you something I thought you should know. Lord Parr’s health is failing. I did not know how ill he was when I left, but my purpose now is to tell you that if your involvement in the Queen’s matters continues – and I know you have appeared before the Privy Council – you must rely on your own judgement as well as his.’ He looked at me earnestly.

  ‘I saw just now that he was not well,’ I said quietly.

  ‘And under pressure, with all this – ’ Cecil cast an arm behind him at the disappearing cavalcade. ‘He has much to do at Hampton Court, the Queen is to play a prominent role at the ceremonies there.’

  ‘I know. I will be attending tomorrow.’

  There was no need for him to have ridden up to me to tell me this. ‘Thank you, Brother Cecil,’ I said.

  ‘If I hear anything that may be of use to you or the Queen, I will tell you.’

  ‘What do you think has happened to the Queen’s book?’

  ‘Lord Parr thinks it destroyed,’ Cecil said.

  ‘Do you?’

  ‘I do not know. Only that the moment for the conservatives to use it to maximum advantage has passed. The wind is blowing fast in the other direction now. Perhaps whoever took it realized that and destroyed it.’ He shook his head. ‘But likely we shall never know.’

  We rode on, talking of the ceremonies and the autumn Progress that was to begin afterwards, apparently going only to Guildford for a couple of weeks because of the King’s health. We parted at the foot of Chancery Lane. ‘This mystery is not yet unravelled,’ I said. ‘If you do hear anything, please inform me.’

  ‘I will, I swear.’

  As I rode down Chancery Lane I thought, yes, you will, but only so long as it serves the Seymours as well as the Parrs.

  Chapter Forty-seven

  I TURNED INTO MY HOUSE, aware of the sweat stiffening on my forehead under my coif, and rode round to the stable. Now I would speak to Timothy. But the boy was not there; Martin or Agnes must have set him some task around the house. I dismounted wearily, removed my cap and coif, and went indoors.

  Immediately I heard the sound of a woman crying in the kitchen; desperate, racked sobbing. I realized it was Agnes Brocket. Josephine murmured something and I heard Martin say in loud, angry tones, ‘God’s bones, girl, will you leave us alone! Don’t stare at me with those cow eyes, you stupid creature! Get out!’

  Josephine stepped into the hall, her cheeks burning. I said quietly, ‘What is happening?’

  ‘Oh, sir, Master and Mistress Brocket – ’ She broke off as Martin stepped out, having heard my voice. His square face was angry. But he pulled himself together and asked quietly, ‘May I speak with you, sir?’

  I nodded. ‘Come to the parlour.’

  When the door was closed I said, ‘What is it, Martin? You have not told Agnes about your spying?’

  ‘No! No!’ He shook his head impatiently, then said more quietly, ‘It is our son.’

  ‘John?’

  ‘We have had a letter from the gaoler at Leicester. John has another sickness of the lungs, a congestion. They called a doctor and he said he is like to die. Sir, we must go to him. Agnes insists we leave today.’

  I looked at him. I realized from the desperation in his eyes that, whatever the consequences, Agnes would go to her son. And Martin, who for all his faults loved his wife, would go, too. ‘When was the letter sent?’ I asked.

  ‘Three days ago.’ Brocket shook his head despairingly. ‘It may be too late already. That would kill Agnes.’ When I did not reply he said, suddenly defiant, ‘You cannot stop us. You may do what you like. Give me bad references, spread the word round London about what I did. Tell the Queen’s people. It makes no difference, we are going today.’

  I said, ‘I am sorry this has happened to you.’

  He did not reply, just continued staring at me with that desperate look. I considered, then said quietly, ‘I will make a bargain with you, Martin Brocket. Take one more message to that tavern, now, saying you have important news and will be at the house in Smithfield at nine tomorrow night.’

  He took a deep breath. ‘We go today,’ he repeated, an edge to his voice now.

  ‘I do not expect you to keep the appointment. Others will do that. But to set the wheels in motion you must deliver the message, in your writing, in person.’

  ‘And in return?’ he asked, suddenly bold.

  ‘In return, I will give you a reference praising your household skills and diligence. But I will not say you are a trustworthy man, for you are not.’

  ‘I was honest all my life,’ Martin replied, a tremble in his voice, ‘until John’s actions brought me to this.’ Then he added spitefully, ‘I might not even have agreed to play the spy but for the fact I never respected you, Master Hunch – ’ He broke off, realizing he was about to go too far.

  I answered quietly, ‘Nor did I respect you, Martin, proud, narrow man that you are. With a wife too good for him.’

  He clenched his fists. ‘At least I have one.’

  In the silence that followed I heard Agnes sobbing uncontrollably again. Martin winced. I spoke quietly. ‘Come to my study. Write me that note and deliver it. While you are gone I will compose a reference. I will give it to you when you return. Then you can get out.’

  IN THE STUDY I THOUGHT, what is sure to bring Stice, and perhaps Rich, to that house? I told Martin to write ‘I have urgent news concerning the visit of an Italian gentleman’. There, that would do: Lord Parr had told me that rumours of Bertano’s presence were starting to leak out. Rich would be keenly interested. I had Martin add: ‘Please make sure we are alone. It is all most confidential.’

  When the note was written and I had gone over it, Martin left for the tavern; I wrote out a reference for him in ill conscience. I wondered whether he might throw the note away and not deliver it, but before he left I warned him again that very senior people were involved in this, and oddly I also felt that his pride would ensure that he honoured this last promise. Josephine took Agnes upstairs to pack. I stood at my parlour window, looking out on the sunny lawn, full of sad thoughts. A wife. I would have wished the Queen for a wife. I wondered whether perhaps I was a little mad, like poor Isabel.

  There was a knock at the d
oor. Agnes Brocket entered, her face weary and tear-stained. ‘Martin has told you our news, sir?’

  ‘About John? Yes. I am sorry.’

  ‘Thank you for letting us go, sir. We will return as soon as we can. Martin has gone out on a last piece of business.’ She smiled wanly.

  So Martin had not told his wife they would not be returning. No doubt he would make up some story later. Poor Agnes, so honest and hard-working, so full of goodwill. Her son in prison, her husband’s deceits kept from her. I said gently, ‘I have been looking out at my garden. You have done much good work there, and in the house.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’ She took a deep breath, then said, ‘My husband, I know he is not always easy, but it is I who insisted we must go to John today – the fault is all mine.’

  ‘No fault to want to see your son.’ I reached for my purse which I had put on the desk. ‘Here, take some money, you will need it on the journey.’ I gave her a half-sovereign. She clutched it tightly and lowered her head. Then, with a desperate effort at her old cheerfulness, she said, ‘Make sure Timothy and Josephine stay out of mischief, sir.’

  I waited till Martin returned and confirmed he had delivered the message. I gave him the reference. I did not want to watch them leave, so I left the house again and walked to Lincoln’s Inn. I needed to speak to Barak and Nicholas and take their counsel.

  I TOOK THEM BOTH INTO my office and told them what had just happened. I said, ‘This means Stice must be dealt with tomorrow.’

  ‘What grounds are there to lift him?’ Barak asked. ‘He hasn’t done anything illegal, and Rich won’t be pleased.’

  ‘That’s a matter for Lord Parr. I will look for him at this great banquet at Hampton Court tomorrow afternoon. My last assignment for Treasurer Rowland. From what I gleaned from the instructions, it will be just a matter of standing round with hundreds of others,’ I said bitterly, ‘showing d’Annebault how many prosperous Englishmen with gold chains there are. Though most are struggling with the taxes to pay for the war, while many thousands more that he will not see struggle simply to exist.’

  Barak raised his eyebrows. ‘You sound like one of the extreme radicals.’

  I shrugged. ‘Anyway, I should be able to find Lord Parr then.’

  ‘What if you don’t? Among all that throng?’

  ‘I will.’ Then all the anger that had been building in me in these last few days burst out and I banged a fist on my desk, making the glass inkpot jump and spill ink. ‘I’ll find what Rich and Stice have been up to. Damn them, spying on me for months, kidnapping Nicholas, cozening me into working for them. I’ll have no more of it! I’m tired to death of being used, used, used!’

  It was seldom I lost my temper, and Barak and Nicholas looked at each other. Nicholas said tentatively, ‘Might it not be better to leave the matter where it is, sir? Your faithless steward is gone. Anne Askew’s book is taken abroad, the Queen’s book vanished. And it was taken by different men, not Stice. There is now no trace of the men who killed Greening and those others in his group.’

  ‘And no evidence at all they are connected to Rich,’ Barak agreed. ‘Quite the opposite.’

  ‘There has always been some – some third force out there, someone who employed those two murderers,’ I said. ‘But we have never been able to find out who. Whatever Rich and Stice’s reason for spying on me – as they have been since well before the book was stolen – it may be nothing to do with the Lamentation; but it is to do with the Queen. Brocket said he was told particularly to watch for any contact between us. For her sake I have to resolve this. And, yes, for mine!’

  Nicholas looked at me seriously. ‘Do you want me to come to the house tomorrow?’

  Barak nodded at him. ‘There is no guarantee Stice will be alone tomorrow.’

  ‘Lord Parr has sent a man to watch the house, he’ll know who’s coming and going.’

  ‘You should still have somebody with you, sir,’ Nicholas persisted. I looked at him; the expression on his freckled face was sincere, though I did not doubt that his youthful taste for adventure had been stirred again.

  Barak said, ‘Well, if he goes, I’d better go too, to keep an eye on you both.’

  I hesitated. ‘No, you have both done enough. I’m sure I can persuade Lord Parr to send some men.’

  ‘But if you can’t – ’ Barak raised his eyebrows.

  I looked at them. I realized that from the moment I had sent Brocket with the message I had wanted them to offer to come. And both of them had made their offer mainly from loyalty to me. My throat felt suddenly tight. ‘We will see,’ I said.

  Nicholas shook his head. ‘I wish we could have discovered who was behind those men who stole the Queen’s book.’

  Barak laughed. ‘You’re doing a lot of wishing, long lad. It doesn’t look like Rich but it’s not impossible. Or it could be Wriothesley, or either of them acting on Bishop Gardiner’s orders.’

  ‘Yes,’ I agreed. ‘But I don’t know. The Lady Mary could even be involved, with that so-called fool Jane; though I doubt that now. Or even the Seymours, working against the Parrs.’

  Barak raised an imaginary glass. ‘Here’s to the King and all his family, and all his grand councillors, and the great Admiral d’Annebault. To the whole bloody lot of them.’

  I RETURNED HOME TIRED, and with a guilty conscience. It was my feeling of being used that had caused me to lose my temper, but what was I myself doing if not using Barak and Nicholas?

  The house was quiet, the late afternoon sun glinting on the window panes. A rich man’s house; in many ways I was lucky. I thought of Martin Brocket and poor Agnes, now no doubt riding hard northwards, kerchiefs round their mouths against the dust. At least the money I had given Agnes should ensure them decent mounts. I would have to rely on Josephine and Timothy until I could find a new steward.

  Josephine was in the kitchen, preparing the evening meal. ‘They are gone?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes, sir.’ I could see she had been crying. She added, a little hesitantly, ‘Sir, before he left, Master Brocket went to the stable, to take leave of Timothy.’ I frowned. Martin had never had any time for the boy before, thinking I spoiled him. ‘I don’t know what he said, but I saw Timothy afterwards and he was upset, he was crying and wouldn’t say what about. Then he ran back to the stable. He will be sad that Agnes is gone. He has – not been himself of late.’

  ‘I have had – well – cause to be displeased with Timothy. I meant to speak to him today. I will do it now.’

  She looked relieved. ‘I think that a good idea, sir – if I may say,’ she added hastily.

  I smiled at her. ‘You may, Josephine. You are in charge of the household now.’ Her eyes widened with a mixture of pleasure and apprehension.

  I went to the stable. I could hear Genesis moving inside. I took a deep breath as I opened the door. ‘Timothy,’ I said quietly, ‘I think we should have that talk – ’

  But there was nobody there, only my horse in its stall. Then I saw on the upturned bucket where the boy habitually sat a scrawled note addressed to Master Shardlake. I picked it up. I unfolded the note apprehensively.

  I am sorry for what I did, my spying on you that day. I was bad. I never meant harm to you, sir. I swear to Lord Jesus. Master Brocket says he and Mistress Agnes are leaving and it is all my fault, it is because of what I did. I do not deserve to stay in your house so I go on the road, a sinner in lammentation.

  A sinner in lamentation. The misspelt word jolted me. But its use was common now, in a land where more and more believed they had great sins to lament before God. I put the note down, realizing that my terseness with the boy had done more damage than I could have imagined. Martin had delivered the note to the tavern for me, I was sure, but then he had taken his anger and bitterness out on a child. The foul churl.

  I crumpled the note in my fist. Then I ran back to the house, calling to Josephine. ‘He is gone! Timothy. We must find him!’

  Chapter Forty-eight

  JOS
EPHINE WENT TO FETCH her fiancé, young Brown. He was happy to help look for Timothy and he and Josephine went one way, I another, to search all the surrounding streets, up beyond Newgate. But although Timothy could not have been gone more than an hour, we found no trace of him. Only when it grew dark did I abandon the search, returning to a deserted house where I lit a candle and sat staring dismally at the kitchen table. I cursed Brocket, who had deliberately humiliated the boy. I realized that I had come to think of Timothy almost as my own son, just as I had come to see Josephine, in a way, as a daughter. Perhaps that was why I had been so hurt by what Timothy did, and had in turn hurt him, by letting my anger fester. Foolish, foolish, I. It would have been better for us all had I looked on them only as servants.

  As I sat there, hoping Josephine and Brown would return with Timothy, Bealknap’s words as he lay dying came back to me: What will happen to you? Almost as though he had foreseen the disasters that would come.

  Then I drew a deep breath. I remembered again how, last autumn, Bealknap had made those uncharacteristic overtures of friendship; for a while seeming to be always hovering nearby, as if wishing to engage me. And then he had fallen badly ill – in the first months of the year, that would have been; at just about the time I took Martin on. I had thought Martin’s spying was connected with the heresy hunt. But what if Bealknap, too, had been trying to spy on me? Perhaps Stice had first recruited him and then, when Bealknap’s efforts to worm his way into my confidence failed, and he fell ill, Stice had gone looking for another spy and found that my new steward had money worries.

  I ran a shaking hand through my hair. If Bealknap had been spying on me, that would explain his deathbed words. But who could have had an interest in me as long ago as last autumn? The heresy hunt had not yet begun and I was not even working for the Queen then.