C. Sansom - Lamentation

The guard checked me through into the Queen’s Privy Chamber. Again a group of ladies sat sewing in the window. Once more Edward Seymour’s wife, Lady Hertford, gave me a haughty look. The Duchess of Suffolk’s spaniel saw me and gave a little bark. The Duchess scolded it. ‘Quiet, foolish Gardiner! ’Tis only the strange-looking lawyer come again.’

The inner door opened, and Lord Parr beckoned me in.

Lord Parr went to stand beside the Queen. She sat in her chair cushioned with crimson velvet, under her cloth of estate. Today she wore a dress in royal purple, with a low-cut bodice, the forepart decorated with hundreds of tiny Tudor roses. She was laughing at the antics of the third person in the room: dressed all in white, Jane Fool was executing a clumsy dance in front of her, waving a white wand. I exchanged a quick glance with Lord Parr. Jane ignored us, continuing with her steps, kicking up her legs. It amazed me that intelligent adults, let alone the highest in the land, could laugh at such a scene, but then it struck me that amid the formality of the court, with the endless careful watching of words and gestures, the antics of a fool could provide a welcome relief.

The Queen glanced at us and nodded to Jane. ‘Enough for now, my dear. I have business with my uncle and this gentleman.’

‘This gentleman,’ Jane mimicked, giving me an exaggerated bow. ‘This hunchback gentleman frightened me, he would have had Ducky taken away.’

I said nothing; I knew licence to insult and mock was part of a fool’s role. Nonetheless the Queen frowned. ‘That is enough, Jane.’

‘May I not finish my dance?’ The little woman pouted. ‘One minute more, I beg your majesty.’

‘Very well, but just a minute,’ the Queen replied impatiently. Jane Fool continued the dance and then, with a skilled athleticism I would not have expected, bent over and performed a handstand, her dress falling down to reveal a linen undergarment and fat little legs. I frowned. Surely this was going too far.

I became conscious that someone else had entered the room through an inner door. I turned and found myself looking at the magnificently dressed figure of the Lady Elizabeth, the King’s second daughter. Lord Parr bowed deeply to her and I followed suit. I had met Elizabeth the year before, in the company of the Queen, to whom she was close. She had grown since then; almost thirteen, she was tall and the outline of budding breasts could be seen under the bodice of her dress. It was a splendid concoction; crimson, decorated with flowers, the forepart and under-sleeves gold and white. A jewelled French hood was set on her light auburn hair.

Elizabeth’s long, clever face had matured, too; despite her pale colouring I saw in her features a resemblance to her disgraced, long-dead mother, Anne Boleyn. She had acquired, too, an adult’s poise, no longer displaying the gawkishness of a girl. She stood looking at Jane’s antics with haughty disapproval.

The Queen seemed surprised to see her. ‘My dear. I thought you were still with Master Scrots.’

Elizabeth turned to her stepmother. ‘I have been standing still for hours on end,’ she answered petulantly. ‘I insisted upon a rest. Will the painting of this picture never end? Kat Ashley that is attending me fell asleep!’

‘It is important you have your own portrait, child,’ the Queen said gently. ‘It helps establish your position, as we have discussed.’

Jane Fool sat down on the floor, pouting, clearly annoyed at the Lady Elizabeth for taking the attention of her audience. Elizabeth glanced at her, then turned to the Queen. ‘Can you ask Jane Fool to go? She is unseemly, waving her great bottom in the air like that.’

Jane, quick as a flash, appealed to the Queen in a tone of injured innocence. ‘Your majesty, will you let the Lady speak to me so, I that seek only to entertain you?’

Elizabeth’s face darkened. ‘God’s death,’ she snapped in sudden temper, ‘you do not entertain me! Get out!’

‘Leave now, Jane.’ The Queen spoke hastily. Jane looked alarmed for a moment, then picked up her wand and left without another word.

The anger left the Lady Elizabeth’s face, and she smiled at Lord Parr. ‘My good Lord, it is a pleasure to see you.’ She looked at me. I bowed deeply. When I rose, her dark eyes were puzzled for a moment but then her face cleared. ‘This gentleman, too, I know. Yes, Master Shardlake, you and I once had an agreeable discussion about the law. I thought long on it.’

‘I am greatly pleased it interested you, my Lady, though I am surprised you remember.’

‘God has blessed me with a good memory.’ Elizabeth smiled complacently. If she was half a woman in body now, she was more than half in mind and demeanour. Yet her remarkably long fingers fiddled nervously with the rope of pearls at her waist.

She said, ‘You told me that lawyers acting even for wicked clients have a duty to find what justice there is in their case and bring it to court.’

‘I did.’

‘And that it is a virtuous undertaking.’

‘Yes, my Lady.’ I thought suddenly of the Slanning case. The inspection of the wall painting was due to take place tomorrow. Was fighting that case virtuous?

‘But it seems to me,’ Lady Elizabeth continued, ‘for that to be so, there must be at least some virtue in the case.’

‘Yes, my Lady, you are right.’ And in the Slanning case, I realized there was no virtue on either side, only hatred. Young though she was, Elizabeth had nailed a central point.

‘Elizabeth,’ the Queen said gently, ‘will you not go back to Master Scrots? You know the portrait is almost done. And there is business I must conduct here. Come back in an hour, perhaps.’

Elizabeth nodded and gave her stepmother an affectionate smile. ‘Very well. And I am sorry for shouting at Jane Fool, but I fear that, unlike you and my sister, I do not find her amusing.’ She gave me a brief nod. ‘Master Shardlake. My Lord Parr.’

We bowed again as she left by the inner door. The Queen closed her eyes for a second. ‘I am sorry for that scene. It appears I cannot even control the people in my own privy quarters.’ I noticed the strain and tension writ large on her face.

Lord Parr addressed her. ‘I told you what Master Shardlake said about Jane Fool. About her having been in your chambers that night, about her closeness to the Lady Mary.’

The Queen shook her head firmly. ‘No. Jane Fool knew nothing of my book, and would not have had the wit to steal it.’

‘Perhaps the Lady Mary would.’

‘Never. Mary is my friend.’ She frowned sadly, then said, ‘Or at least not my enemy. The trouble over her mother, Catherine of Aragon, is long over.’

‘Well, we may have some answers soon.’ Lord Parr smiled at me, rubbing his thin hands together. ‘The Captain of the Guard spoke to the man who was on duty guarding the Queen’s lodgings on the night the book was stolen. And mark this, it was not Zachary Gawger, whose odd behaviour Mary Odell reported. It was another man entirely, called Michael Leeman. It seems there was a substitution. The captain has had Gawger placed in custody, though on my instructions has asked no questions of him yet. And Leeman was to be taken when he came on duty this morning. That was at six; he will have him under guard now. I ordered both to be held for you to question, Master Shardlake.’ He smiled triumphantly at the Queen. ‘I think we are about to find the answer.’

‘I hope so.’ But she spoke doubtfully. Lord Parr gave a quick frown of impatience. The Queen turned to me.

‘First, Master Shardlake, may we go over the other developments? My uncle has told me, but I would like to hear first-hand from you.’

‘Quickly,’ her uncle murmured.