C. Sansom - Lamentation

‘I am sure of it.’ But the Seymours as well as the traditionalists would oppose her there, I knew.

She came to a halt. ‘Soon the French admiral will come, and afterwards the King and I go on Progress, as you heard.’ She looked at me seriously. ‘You and I may not have another opportunity to talk.’

I answered quietly, ‘A young courtier waiting outside said there is a vacancy on your Learned Council. Do you wish me to resign my position?’

‘The vacant post is not yours but Master Cecil’s. He asked to go. What he experienced at the docks was too much for him, not that he is a coward, but he fears if anything happened to him his wife and children would be left alone. And Lord Hertford has asked him to become one of his advisers. I consented; Cecil is a man of great loyalty and will say nothing of the Lamentation . As for you, Matthew, I wonder if it might be best for all if you were to leave as well.’

‘Yes. After all, I was supposedly appointed only to find a missing jewel.’ I smiled. ‘And sadly, it indeed seems there is no chance of finding your book. Perhaps it would be — politic — for me to leave now.’

‘So my uncle thinks, and I agree.’ She smiled tiredly. ‘Though I would still rather have your counsel.’

‘If you need to call on me again — ’

‘Thank you.’ She looked at me, hesitated, then spoke with quick intensity. ‘One thing more, Matthew. Your lack of faith still troubles me. It will eat away at you from the inside, until only a shell is left.’

I thought sadly: was the real purpose of our talk for her to make another essay at bringing me to faith? I answered truthfully, ‘I have wished for God, but I cannot find him in either Christian faction today.’

‘I pray that may change. Think on what I said, I beg you.’ She looked into my eyes.

‘I always do, your majesty.’

A sad little smile, then she nodded and turned to Mary Odell. ‘We should go back, sit with the ladies awhile. They will think we are neglecting them.’

We walked back up the gallery. Near the door she paused at a table on which stood a magnificent gold clock a foot high, ticking softly. ‘Time,’ the Queen said softly. ‘Another reminder we are but grains of sand in eternity.’

Mary Odell went in front of us and knocked at the door. A guard opened it from the other side and we stepped through into the heavily guarded vestibule, with its doors leading to the Queen’s rooms, the King’s, and the Royal Stairs. At the same moment another guard opened the doors leading to the King’s chambers, and two men stepped out. One was the red-bearded Lord Chancellor Wriothesley, the other Secretary Paget, a leather folder thick with papers under his arm. They had probably just come from seeing the King.

Seeing the Queen, they bowed deeply. I bowed to them in turn, and rose to see both staring at me, this hunchbacked lawyer wearing the Queen’s badge, who had been walking with her in her gallery. Wriothesley stared with particular intensity, his gaze only relaxing a little when he saw Mary Odell standing by the door: her presence showed the Queen had not been walking alone with a man who was not a relative.

The Queen’s face immediately assumed an expression of regal composure; still, quiet, a little superior. She said, ‘This is Serjeant Shardlake, of my Learned Council.’

Wriothesley’s stare intensified again. Paget’s large brown eyes held mine with a forceful, unblinking look. Then, turning to the Queen, he lowered his eyes and spoke smoothly. ‘Ah yes, the man appointed to help you seek your stolen jewel.’

‘You have heard of that incident, Master Secretary?’

‘Indeed. I was grieved to hear of its loss. A present from your late stepdaughter Margaret Neville, I believe, God save her.’

‘It was.’

‘I see Serjeant Shardlake’s name has been added to the list of those on your Learned Council. And I see young William Cecil has moved to Lord Hertford’s service. He will be a loss, your majesty, he is marked down as a young man of ability.’ I thought, yes, Paget would know of all the changes in the royal household; he would inspect all the lists and ensure nothing of interest passed him by. He would have learned that trick from Thomas Cromwell, his old master and mine.

The Queen said, ‘Serjeant Shardlake is also leaving my council. My jewel has not been discovered, despite his best efforts. There seems little chance of finding it now.’

Paget looked at me again, that stony unblinking stare, and ran a hand down his long forked beard. ‘A great pity the thief could not be caught, and hanged,’ he said, a note of reproof in his voice. He patted his thick leather folder. ‘If you would excuse us, your majesty, the King has just signed some important letters, and they should be immediately dispatched.’

‘Of course.’ She waved a hand in dismissal. Wriothesley and Paget bowed low, then passed through a small door leading into the labyrinthine depths of the palace. The Queen, Mary Odell and I were left standing with the impassive-faced guards. In their presence the Queen’s face remained regally expressionless, giving away nothing of how she had felt at thus encountering Wriothesley and Paget. She knew that Wriothesley, at least, would have had her in the fire.

With a formal smile she said, ‘Farewell, then, Matthew. I thank you again.’

I bowed low, touched her hand briefly with my lips; a scent of violets. In accordance with the rules of etiquette I remained bowed until she and Mary Odell had walked back into her quarters and the doors closed behind her. Then, painfully, I straightened up.

I left my robe bearing the Queen’s badge with one of the guards before I quitted Whitehall, my relief tinged with sadness.

Early next morning I sat at breakfast, morosely studying a printed circular from Paget’s office, which had been sent to me by Rowland’s clerk. It detailed the duties of those who were to wait in the streets to welcome Admiral d’Annebault’s party when it paraded through London. Representatives of the Inns of Court were to take positions with the city dignitaries beside St Paul’s Cathedral, and cheer as the French party passed. We would be present again at the reception of the admiral given by Prince Edward near Hampton Court Palace two days later, and at the great banquet fixed for the day after. I was not looking forward to any of it, and was still in a sad humour after leaving the Queen, my mission unfulfilled. I had been terse with Martin as he served me that morning, snapping because the butter was on the turn. As usual he reacted with a deferential lack of emotion, apologized, and went to fetch some more.

He returned, laying a fresh dish on the table. I said, ‘I am sorry I spoke roughly just now, Martin.’

‘You were right, sir,’ he answered smoothly. ‘I should have checked the butter. Although Josephine set it out.’ I frowned; he could not resist the chance to criticize her. ‘A visitor has called to see you,’ he said then. ‘Master Coleswyn, of Gray’s Inn.’

‘Philip? Ask him to wait. I will be with him in a moment.’

Martin bowed and left. I wondered if this meant Philip had reconsidered investigating the story of Isabel and Edward’s stepfather. I wiped my lips with my napkin and went through to the parlour. Philip, his handsome features thoughtful, was looking through the window at the garden, bright in the August sunshine. He turned and bowed.

‘Matthew, forgive this early visit. God give you good morrow.’

‘And you. I am glad to see you.’

‘You have a beautiful garden.’

‘Yes, my steward’s wife has done much to improve it. How is your family?’

‘They are well. Much relieved that matters of state have — settled down.’