C. Sansom - Lamentation

‘Rich can never be trusted. And yet I can’t see either why he would report my burning the books to the council now. It was risky, I could have spilled the truth about Anne Askew.’

‘Rich always turns with the political wind, doesn’t he?’

‘Yes. He started as Cromwell’s man.’

‘What if this was a double-bluff? Rich gets the matter onto the council agenda along with the Slanning complaints because he knew that your burning the books wasn’t illegal, and that the Slanning charges were all shit?’

‘Why would he do that?’ Nicholas asked.

‘Because he is turning with the tide towards the reformers,’ Barak answered excitedly. ‘The whole performance could have been intended to show a shift of loyalty on his part, by siding with Lord Hertford and the Queen’s brother.’

‘That sounds too devious to be credible,’ Nicholas said doubtfully.

‘Nothing is too devious for those courtiers,’ I replied vigorously. ‘But the problem with that idea is that Rich knew nothing of the Slanning case. He didn’t know Isabel would have no evidence and make a fool of herself as she did. And he seemed genuinely worried afterwards.’ I sighed. ‘Only Lord Parr can help to sort this out. And he ought to be told about it.’

Barak said, ‘The Queen’s brother will have told him.’

‘Not the whole story.’

‘What role is Secretary Paget playing in all this?’ Nicholas asked. ‘They say he is the King’s closest adviser.’

‘No: his closest servant . There is a difference. He is the King’s eyes and ears, the ringmaster, if you like. From all I understand, he never challenges the King over policy. He remembers Wolsey and Cromwell too well.’ I smiled wryly. ‘He is the Master of Practices, not Policy.’

‘He must have an eye to the future; when the King is no longer here.’

‘Well said,’ Barak agreed. ‘He’ll be looking out for his own interest; he’ll no doubt jump to whichever faction is most likely to win.’

‘He is like all of them,’ I said angrily. ‘He will do anything to anybody. And people like me are the pawns, useful in the game but dispensable. And now, Nick, smarten yourself up a little, while I write this letter.’

I did no work for the remainder of that afternoon. After sending Nicholas with the message, I went out and sat in the shade on a bench under an old beech tree, occasionally nodding to colleagues who passed by. Nobody, thank God, knew I had been in the Tower a second time, though doubtless the news would get out as it always did. Exhausted, I closed my eyes and dozed. After a time I heard something fall onto the bench beside me and, opening my eyes, saw it was a leaf, dry and yellow-tinged. Autumn would soon be here.

I turned at the sound of someone calling my name. John Skelly was running towards me. I stood. It was too early for a reply from Hampton Court. ‘Master Coleswyn has called to see you, sir,’ he said as he came up. ‘He seems agitated.’

I sighed. ‘I will come.’

‘I thought you no longer represented Mistress Slanning, sir. I thought your involvement in that case was over.’

I said with feeling, ‘I wonder, John, if that case will ever end.’

But it was about to, and for ever.

Philip was waiting in my office. He looked haggard. ‘What has happened?’ I asked breathlessly. ‘Not more accusations?’

It was more a tremor than a shake of the head. ‘No, not that.’ He swallowed. ‘Edward Cotterstoke is dead.’

I thought of the desperate figure in the boat that morning. Edward was not young, and the last few days had turned his world upside down. ‘How?’

Philip took a deep breath, then started to sob. He put a clenched fist to his mouth, fought to bring himself under control. ‘By his own hand. I took him home, fed him and put him to bed, for he seemed at his last gasp. He must have taken the knife from the kitchen. A sharp one.’ He shuddered, his whole solid frame trembling. ‘I went to see how he was, two hours ago, and he had slit his throat, from ear to ear. It must have taken great force.’ He shook his head. ‘There is blood everywhere, but that is the least of it. His soul, his soul. He was in great torment, but such a sin. .’ He shook his head in despair.

I remembered Cotterstoke’s words on the boat, talking of the disgrace that confessing to his stepfather’s murder would bring his family. He had said he knew what had to be done. I said, ‘He felt he deserved death for what he did, and believed he was damned anyway; he did not want his family to suffer.’

Philip laughed savagely. ‘They will suffer now.’

I answered quietly, ‘Suicide is a terrible disgrace, but less than murder. His family will not see him hang, nor will his goods be distrained to the King.’

‘There could have been some other way; we could have talked about it, talked with our vicar. This is — is not — sane.’

‘After what had just happened to him, anyone might lose their reason. Perhaps God will take account of that.’

A reply from Hampton Court arrived just as I was going to bed. Martin brought it up, his expression a deferential mask as usual. I examined the Queen’s seal carefully in the privacy of my room, to ensure it was unbroken, before opening it. The letter was from Lord Parr:

Matthew,

Forgive my not replying to your earlier messages: there has been much to do, with the move to Hampton Court and the arrangements for the admiral’s coming, and also I have been ill. Furthermore, Jane Fool told the guard your first message was not urgent; out of spite against you, I think. I have seen that she is well punished for it, despite the Queen and the Lady Mary’s softness towards her.

Neither I nor the Queen knew you were to appear before the Privy Council; Paget kept that to himself, though the Queen’s brother told me afterwards. We do not know who pressed to have the matter brought there; thank heaven the Slanning woman made a fool of herself, and Rich had motive to speak on your behalf.

Regarding your faithless steward, yes, keep him on for now. But other than that, do nothing. I will have the house you mentioned watched.

I will write further, and we may see each other at the ceremonies.

By the way, your boy, the messenger, did well. He was gentlemanly and polite, which is not always true of your other man.

I felt relieved as I laid down the letter. Lord Parr’s tone was friendly; the observation about Barak made me smile. The Queen and her uncle had not, after all, abandoned me. The story about Jane Fool rang true. I wondered, not for the first time, whether she was a fool of any sort at all, or merely a woman who had found a profitable role in pretending it.

Next day was the 17th, only three days before the admiral’s arrival at Greenwich, and I still needed a gold chain. I went to a shop in the goldsmith’s quarter, one of the smaller ones, guarded outside by a large man ostentatiously bearing a club. Barak accompanied me. Asking around on my behalf, he had discovered the service this shop provided.

Inside, another man was posted beside an inner door. The owner, a stout elderly fellow, came over and gave me a deep bow. ‘God give you good morrow, sir.’

‘And to you. I require a gold chain; I have to be at the ceremony welcoming the French admiral on Saturday.’

‘Ah yes, his progress through the city. It has brought some good business.’ He looked me over professionally. ‘A lawyer, sir? Is that a serjeant’s coif you wear?’

‘Well observed.’

‘It is the nature of my business, to judge who people are. You should buy a good long chain, with thick links.’ He smiled unctuously.