C. Sansom - Lamentation

I studied the lock. It was small but very solid, set firmly into the wood. I ran my fingers over it. ‘No sign of scratches on the metal, nor the wood surrounding it. It was either opened with a key, or by a very skilled locksmith.’

‘I have had the Queen’s valuables taken elsewhere,’ Lord Parr said, opening the chest carefully.

I looked at the empty interior, then bent carefully to study the lock from within. My back was hurting after this long day. No sign of scratches there, either. ‘I have seen many chests and coffers for securing valuables,’ I said. ‘Mostly documents in my case. Often they have two or three locks, and complicated mechanisms inside.’

He nodded agreement. ‘Yes. But this coffer was given to the Queen by her mother. She is very attached to it.’

I looked up at him. ‘But the lock is surely new.’

‘Yes indeed. When the hunt for heretics and the questioning of those within the royal household started this spring, the Queen had the locks on all her cupboards and coffers replaced. I asked if she wanted a more complex lock for this one, too, but she said it might damage the coffer. I remember her telling me, “If I have the only key and the new lock is strong, surely it is safe.” ’ ‘Of course,’ he added, with a note of bitterness in his voice, ‘I did not know then what lay within.’

‘Who made the new lock?’ I asked. ‘They could have made another key.’

Lord Parr shook his head. ‘You are right, it is an obvious point. But the Queen’s own coffer-maker constructed this lock, as well as all the other new locks. He is well trusted. He has been the locksmith to successive Queens for twelve years, and you do not keep a man in such a post if he is not trustworthy.’

‘Have you questioned him?’

‘Not yet. Again, I thought it best to leave that to you. But I do not consider him a likely suspect.’

‘Nonetheless, he is an obvious one.’

‘He works down at Baynard’s Castle. I thought perhaps on Monday you might go down there and question him. And talk to the embroiderer about that sleeve. Of course, they will not be there tomorrow, it being Sunday. That is a nuisance, but it will allow you a day of rest, and reflection.’

‘Thank you.’ I was grateful for the old man’s consideration. But then he continued, ‘What we really need is an expert on locks. Someone from outside the palace.’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘Your assistant Jack Barak is known to have experience in such matters. From the days when he was employed by Lord Cromwell.’

I drew a deep breath. So Lord Parr had been making enquiries about Barak. My assistant’s experience in such matters had indeed come in useful over the years, and yet — ‘I would rather not involve him,’ I said quietly.

‘It would help the Queen,’ Lord Parr pressed. ‘Barak need not know what this is about — in fact must not know. We will keep to the story of the jewel. But now the chest is empty I can send it down to Baynard’s Castle, and he can look at it when you are there on Monday.’

‘He would not claim to be a great expert — ’

Lord Parr looked at me hard. ‘He knows locks. And has experience of how the royal household works, the underside of it at least.’

I took a deep breath. ‘I will speak to him tomorrow, see what he says — ’

‘Good.’ Lord Parr spoke brusquely. ‘Be at Baynard’s Castle at nine on Monday. You can inspect the lock, speak to the cofferer and the embroiderer. I will arrange for William Cecil to be there, too; he can tell you what news he has of these religious makebates.’ He rubbed his hands. ‘We make a little progress.’

‘And yet,’ I said. ‘Whoever has the book could still make it public at any moment.’

‘I know that,’ he answered testily. ‘I have feared every day that someone will hand it to the King. Or that some papist printer is setting it into type in order to print it and distribute it in the streets. And it is not a long book, by now many copies could have been printed.’ He shook his head. ‘Yet day after day passes, and nothing happens. Someone is keeping it hidden. Why?’ He looked suddenly old and tired. He stood up, his knees creaking. ‘Tonight’s page will be arriving soon, we should go. Take a good day of rest tomorrow, Master Shardlake. We still have much to do.’

The lawyers and their wives progressed out of Lincoln’s Inn chapel, slowly and soberly as always after service; the men in black robes and caps, the women in their best summer silks. I stepped into the July sunshine, fresher that morning for a thunderstorm that had broken in the night, waking me from an uneasy sleep. Some rain would help the crops. And now I had to keep my promise to visit Stephen Bealknap. As I walked down the side of the chapel, Treasurer Rowland came over to me, a hard smile on his narrow face.

‘Good morrow, Serjeant Shardlake,’ he said cheerfully. ‘A fine service.’

‘Yes, Master Treasurer. Yes, indeed.’

In fact I had scarcely heard any of it, even though tomorrow would be the anniversary of the sinking of the Mary Rose . I should have been praying for the souls of my friends and the hundreds of others who had died, although I was no longer sure there existed a God who would listen. But even on that of all Sundays, I could not get my mind away from thinking of the Lamentation .

Rowland inclined his head to one side like an inquisitive crow. ‘I thought you looked a little strained during service. I hope it was not the effect of attending the burnings.’

‘I have many matters on just now,’ I answered brusquely.

‘Well, the Inn notes with gratitude your representing us on Friday. And you may be called upon to represent us again next month, at a further public occasion.’

‘Indeed,’ I answered slowly, apprehensively.

‘A celebration, though, not an execution.’ Rowland smiled thinly. ‘It is confidential still. But this will be a marvellous thing to see.’ He nodded, bowed briefly, and was gone. I looked after him. Next month. Just now I could think no further ahead than tomorrow. I put his words from my mind.

I walked slowly on across the courtyard, ruminating. For all that I had found some leads yesterday, they were but threads in a great tangled skein. Why had the man with the damaged ear tried to break into poor Greening’s premises before the Queen’s book was stolen? How had someone managed to get into the coffer without leaving any marks, when the only key was around the Queen’s neck? Could the locksmith have made a second key? And I wondered who this Jurony Bertano was, of whom Elias the apprentice was so terrified. The name sounded Spanish or Italian; I wondered if I dared ask Guy.

I almost tripped over a cobble which had become detached from its setting, and kicked it angrily away. I asked myself if I had done right to involve myself in a matter which could easily turn deadly. Images chased each other through my head: the weeping page, Garet Lynley, talking of the man with the slashed ear who would recruit him for a spy; Jane Fool, yanking at her duck’s leash; Mary Tudor’s severe face. I knew that if the Lamentation appeared in public I myself could be in danger, as would the Queen and Lord Parr. And that danger would extend to those who worked with me, like Nicholas: I had seen him standing on the far side of the chapel with the other clerks, a head taller than most of them, looking a little the worse for wear as he often did on Sundays.

The best protection I could give those who worked for me was to make sure they knew as little as possible of the true facts. But an order from Lord Parr was not to be denied. And so, before church that morning, I had gone round to Jack and Tamasin’s house.