C. Sansom - Lamentation

I rode back to Lincoln’s Inn. Genesis trotted along slowly. I thought how with his increasingly bony face and stiff whiskers he was starting to resemble a little old man, though mercifully a good-natured one. I remembered Isabel and Edward shouting about the things they could say about each other. What had they meant? I recalled again what Isabel had said to me in chambers: ‘If you knew the terrible things my brother has done.’ And Vowell, the servant whom they had otherwise ignored, intervening as though to stop them saying too much. Edward had said his sister was not in her right wits, and neither sibling had seemed entirely sane that morning. I hoped my client could now be made to accept that she could not win her case, but I doubted it.

I half expected her to be at chambers when I arrived, ready for a fight, but all was quiet. Barak was making notes on some new cases to be heard at the Court of Requests when the Michaelmas term began in September.

‘What happened at the inspection?’ he asked eagerly.

‘The experts agreed that any attempt to remove the wall painting will make the plaster collapse.’

‘That’s it then? We’ll never have to see that woman’s sour face again?’

‘Oh, I think we will. She stormed out in high dudgeon; but somehow I suspect she’ll present herself here soon, probably today.’

Barak nodded to where Nicholas sat copying out a conveyance. ‘He has some news for you. Won’t tell me what it is. Been looking like the cat that got the cream.’

Nicholas stood. There was indeed a self-satisfied expression on the boy’s freckled face. ‘Come through,’ I said. As Nicholas followed me to my office I saw Barak frown and Skelly smile quietly to himself. Barak indeed seemed jealous of my involving my pupil in a mission from which he himself was excluded. I felt a momentary annoyance. I was only protecting him; Tamasin would skin him alive if she suspected I had involved him in court politics again, as well he knew.

I closed the door. ‘What is it?’ I asked Nicholas. ‘News of that sleeve?’

‘It is, sir.’ He removed the silk carefully from his pocket and laid it on the desk with his long, slim hands. ‘The second embroiderer I visited today recognized it instantly. He sewed the shirt for a client. Mention of Master Gullym’s name did the trick; the embroiderer knows him. He looked at his records. The shirt was made for a gentleman called Charles Stice. He gave me an address, down by Smithfield.’

‘Well done,’ I said.

‘There’s more. I noticed he wrinkled his nose when he spoke of Stice, so I asked what he was like. He said Stice was one of those young men who come into money or position and put on haughty airs.’ Nicholas was finding it hard to keep the excitement from his voice. ‘But here’s the thing, sir. Charles Stice is a tall, brown-haired young man with half an ear missing. Looked like he got the injury from a knife or a sword in a fight, the man said.’

I looked again at the little, ragged piece of silk. Nicholas said, ‘So this was left not by the men who killed Greening, but by those who fled into the garden after young Elias discovered them trying to break in earlier. They escaped the same way.’

I thought, and this Charles Stice was the man who had tried to suborn the Queen’s page, young Garet. ‘You have done well, Nicholas. Very well.’ I looked at him seriously. ‘But leave the matter with me now. This man is dangerous.’

Nicholas looked disappointed. ‘Will you arrange for him to be found?’

‘This afternoon.’ I must get the news to Lord Parr.

There was a gentle knock on the door, and Skelly entered. He spoke apologetically. ‘A visitor, sir. Will not wait. Must see you immediately.’

I smiled wryly at Nicholas. ‘Mistress Slanning?’

‘No, sir. It is a man called Okedene. He says he is a printer, that he knows you, and that it is a matter of life and death.’

Skelly showed Okedene in. He wore a light wool doublet and his face was red and sweating, as though he had been running. As Skelly closed the door behind him I saw Barak looking in at us curiously. I stood. ‘Master Okedene, what is it?’ I wondered with a thrill of horror whether, as I had feared might happen, he or his family had been attacked.

The printer slowly regained his composure. The constant physical activity of his trade meant he had to be fit, but he was not young any more. ‘Master Shardlake,’ he said quickly, ‘I’ve come to see you about that note you sent. To tell you I am leaving London. I am selling the business and putting the proceeds into my brother’s farm, out in Norfolk. I have feared for my wife and children since the night poor Armistead was murdered.’ He frowned at Nicholas, doubtless remembering his part in provoking Elias’s flight. He did not know his former apprentice was dead.

‘I am sorry,’ I said. I saw how the lines of strain and worry on his face had deepened since we last met.

He raised a hand. ‘Never mind that now,’ he said. ‘There is no time.’

‘No time for what?’ Nicholas asked.

‘I stopped on the way here to buy a glass of beer — I was thirsty, it is a warm day. At the sign of Bacchus near St Paul’s. It is a big inn — ’

‘I have been there,’ I said.

‘Inside, I saw two men sitting at a table by the window. I am sure it was the men who killed Armistead, even though they were wearing gentlemen’s clothes today; the Bacchus is a respectable place.’ He took another deep breath. ‘I have never been able to get my old assistant Huffkyn’s description of them out of my mind. Two young men, both big and tall, one fair and with a wart on his brow and the other near bald, young as he is. I have feared to see them ever since. Those murderers,’ he added bitterly, ‘sitting quietly supping beer in full view of everyone.’ He looked from me to Nicholas, then squared his shoulders. ‘I ran all the way here. The inn is less than fifteen minutes if we go fast.’

Nicholas said, ‘The authorities-’

‘There is no time, boy!’ Okedene snapped. ‘They must be taken before they leave. A citizen’s arrest!’ I saw he was eager to take the chance to capture Greening’s killers himself, and perhaps to lift the cloud of worry from his family. ‘Master Shardlake, have you any other people here who could help us?’ he asked. ‘Perhaps that bearded man in your outer office?’

I sighed. Okedene was right, this might be our only chance. But these were killers, young, fit men, experienced in violence. Nicholas might give a good account of himself but Okedene was no youngster, while I would be of little use in a fight. Nor would Skelly. That left Barak, whom I had sworn to involve no further. But here was a chance to take the killers, present them to Lord Parr myself. Nicholas and Okedene looked on impatiently as I considered. Then I crossed to the door and asked Barak to join us. He rose from his desk, an odd mixture of anticipation and reluctance flashing across his face.

I explained that Master Okedene had been a witness to the murder I was investigating, and he had just seen the killers at the Bacchus Inn. I said, ‘These are dangerous fellows. I doubt we could take them without you. I’ve no right to ask you to come, and if you say no, I’ll understand.’

Barak took a long, deep breath. ‘Is this connected with the — other matter? With Baynard’s Castle?’

I nodded slowly. ‘This may be our one chance to settle both matters.’

Barak bit his lip. Through his shirt he fingered his father’s old Jewish mezuzah, which he wore round his neck as constantly as the Queen had worn the key round hers. Then he said, ‘Have we weapons enough? Young Nick wore his sword into work today, showing off as usual. I have a good knife.’