C. Sansom - Lamentation

‘And that was how you got this post? Through your family’s connection with the Queen’s mother?’

‘Yes, sir. She wrote to Lord Parr as to whether there might be a place for me.’ His breath was coming noticeably fast now.

‘Are both your parents still alive?’

‘Not my father, sir.’ The boy hesitated. ‘He was imprisoned in the Tower after the Northern Rebellion ten years ago, and died there.’

I considered carefully. A boy whose mother had served Catherine of Aragon and whose father had taken part in the Northern Rebellion. ‘Your family history, then, might make people wonder about your religious sympathies,’ I said slowly.

Garet’s collapse was sudden, and total. Almost falling off his chair, he knelt on the floor, wringing his hands. ‘It is not true! I swear I am no papist, I loyally follow the King’s dispensations. I keep telling people, if only they would leave me alone — ’

‘Get up,’ I said gently. I felt sorry to have unmanned him so. ‘Take your chair again. Now, listen, I am not here to harm you. What people?’

He shook his head desperately. Tears were coursing down his cheeks now.

‘Come, Garet. If you have done nothing wrong you will suffer no harm. If you have — and if you confess — the Queen will be merciful.’

The boy took a long, shuddering breath.

‘I have done nothing, sir. But it is as you say, because of my family’s past, people think I might be one who would spy against the reformers. Though Lord Parr and the Queen know my family wish only to live quietly and serve loyally. But since coming to the palace — ’ He hesitated.

‘Yes?’

‘A man has approached me, twice, and asked if I would observe what I could about the Queen and report to those who would serve what he called true religion. I refused, I swear — ’ He stared at me miserably, his face puffy with tears, and I realized suddenly what it must be like for an innocent boy to step into this gilded sewer-pit.

‘Did you report this to your superiors? Lord Parr?’

‘No, sir, I didn’t dare. The man, he — frightened me.’

‘When did this happen?’

‘When I first came, last autumn. Then again in April, when the hunt for heretics began.’

‘The same man approached you both times?’

‘Yes. I did not know him. I told one of the other pages and he said it sometimes happens when you first come to court, an approach from one side or the other, and if you would keep your skin whole you should always say no. The approach is always by someone unknown at court, a servant of one of the great men, but from outside the palace.’

‘What was his name?’

‘He would not tell it. He approached me the first time in the street. The second occasion he was waiting for me outside an inn I frequent. There was something in his face that frightened me.’ The boy looked down, ashamed of his weakness.

‘Can you describe him?’

The boy looked up at me again. He realized it was all or nothing now. ‘He was in his twenties, thin but wiry and strong. He wore cheap clothes but spoke like a gentleman. I remember he had half of one ear missing, like it had been cut off in a fight.’ Garet shuddered.

Half an ear gone, like one of the men Elias had disturbed trying to break into the print-shop that first time. I tried not to let my excitement show. Garet continued, ‘Both times he said that if I agreed to spy on the Queen I would earn the gratitude of a very great personage of the realm, who would reward me and advance my career at court.’

‘Surely an enticing prospect,’ I observed.

‘No.’ Garet shook his head fiercely. ‘Now I only want to leave here as soon as possible.’

‘You did the right thing in telling me,’ I said soothingly. ‘You have nothing to fear. Now, after you turned this man down for the second time, did you see him again?’

‘Never. It is like that, I’m told, if they cannot turn you they give up. I wish I could go home to my family, sir,’ he added in a small voice. ‘Without disgrace.’

‘I think that may be arranged.’

Garet wiped a satin sleeve across his face. I could not but sympathize with his weakness. If I had found myself in the same danger at his age my reaction would probably have been the same. I let him leave, and sat alone in Lord Parr’s office. At last, I thought, a clue.

Mary Odell was a tall, plump woman in her early thirties, dressed in black silk livery, the Queen’s badge fixed to the cap atop her fair hair. She had soft features, and something of a motherly air, although she wore no wedding ring. Her green eyes were keen and alert. I stood and bowed, inviting her to sit. She did so, folding her hands in her lap, looking at me with curiosity and, I thought, a touch of speculative amusement.

‘I am Serjeant Matthew Shardlake.’

‘I know, sir. The Queen has spoken of you. She believes you an honest and most clever man.’

I felt myself blush. ‘I apologize for troubling you, Mistress Odell, but I must speak with everyone who was in the Queen’s privy lodgings the night her ring was stolen.’

‘Certainly. Her majesty asked me to do all I could to help you.’

‘Lord Parr says you have been chamberer and friend to the Queen for some time.’

‘We are related. I knew her majesty before she was Queen.’ Mary Odell smiled slightly, with that hint of secret amusement the Queen herself had so often shown in happier days. ‘Poor relations do well when a person reaches such exalted status.’ She paused, and then continued, her voice serious now. ‘But my loyalty to her majesty goes far deeper than gratitude for my post. She has favoured me with her trust and good friendship, and I tell you frankly I would die for her.’ Mistress Odell took a deep breath. ‘She has told me much of what has happened these last months. Her — troubles.’

‘I see.’ But not about the Lamentation . That would be too dangerous.

Mistress Odell looked at me quizzically. ‘The Queen seems extraordinarily upset over the loss of her ring. She loved the good Margaret Neville, but even so seems somehow stricken very hard by the theft.’ I could see this intelligent woman had guessed that more was involved here than a stolen jewel. But of course I could not comment.

‘I understand you were on duty as chamberer that night. And that you — pray, excuse me — share the Queen’s bed on occasion.’

‘I do sometimes. For company, when my mistress is feeling lonely, or troubled.’

‘Could you tell me everything that happened when you came to prepare the Queen’s bedchamber the night the ring was stolen? Anything even slightly unusual that you saw or heard might help.’

She nodded, seeming to approve that I was getting down to business. ‘I have two rooms in the lodgings by the gatehouse. That evening I left them perhaps ten minutes early, a little before nine; I was tired and wanted to get my duty done and out of the way. I crossed the courtyard to the Royal Apartments. The routine is that the pages clean the rooms, and then I go in to prepare the bed, make sure all is in order in the bedchamber, and lay out the Queen’s nightgown and hairbrushes.’

‘One of the pages always cleans the bedchamber first?’

‘Yes.’

‘Are the pages obedient? Boys are prone to mischief.’

‘Once or twice I have caught them playing cards in the Queen’s Gallery and reported them to the gentleman usher, but they would not dare to make any real trouble in the Queen’s quarters. The boys on duty that evening had done a good enough job. One of the guards told me her majesty was with the King that evening. Sometimes when she returns she likes to talk with me, so as I went back to my lodgings I told the guard I would be there if she wanted me. I have to say, Serjeant Shardlake, it seemed a very ordinary evening. Nothing unusual, nothing out of place. Only — ’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘There was a slightly unpleasant smell in the bedchamber. So slight you could barely catch it.’