C. Sansom - Lamentation

Her husband reached across and put his hand on her arm.

‘No, madam,’ I said quietly. ‘You speak true.’

She made her tone light. ‘I have strawberries and sugared cream to come. Let me fetch them. A woman’s place is to work, not lecture.’

When she had left Philip turned to me apologetically. ‘I am sorry. When it is unsafe to discuss certain things in general company, and one finds someone trustworthy, one talks of little else. It relieves the strain, perhaps. But we should not impose on you.’

‘That is all right. I do not like these dinners where one fears to discuss aught but trivia.’ I hesitated. ‘By the way, do you think there are any Anabaptists in London these days?’

He frowned. ‘Why do you ask?’

‘The question has arisen in connection with a case. Their beliefs are very strange — that only adult baptism is valid, that Christ was not of human flesh — and, of course, that earthly powers should be overthrown and all men live in common.’

Coleswyn’s mouth turned down in distaste. ‘They are violent madmen. They brought blood and ruin in Germany.’

‘I had heard that most of them, while holding to their social beliefs, have now renounced violence as a means of attaining them.’ I thought, there are always other means, however misguided, including publishing a radical book by the Queen if they believed, however wrongly, that such an action would serve their political ends.

‘Any that have been found have been burned,’ Coleswyn replied. ‘If there are any left they are keeping underground. Some I believe are old Lollards, and they had plenty of experience of living in hiding.’

‘But perhaps Anabaptists, too, when in company, are tempted to talk unwisely,’ I said thoughtfully. ‘They are, after all, merely men like any other.’

He looked concerned. ‘All the same, you do not want to meddle with such people.’

‘No,’ I answered feelingly. ‘You are right.’

Ethelreda returned with the pudding, and we discussed politics no more. Master Coleswyn asked where I was from — he could not place my accent — and I told him about Lichfield: amusing stories of the poor monks’ school where I received my early education. It grew dark and candles were lit in the sconces. Towards nine I became tired, suddenly finding it hard to keep my eyes open, and excused myself. Coleswyn showed me to the door. In the porch he shook my hand. ‘Thank you for coming, Master Shardlake. Forgive my wife’s anxiety, but the times — ’

I smiled. ‘I know.’

‘Thank you for listening to us. I think in truth you are a godly man.’

‘Many would disagree.’

‘Study the Bible, pray.’ He looked earnestly at me. ‘That is the way, the only way, to salvation.’

‘Perhaps. In any event, you and your good lady must come to dine at my house soon.’ I sensed the Coleswyns had been isolating themselves with their worries. More than was good for them.

‘That would be most pleasant.’ He clasped my hand. ‘God give you good night.’

‘And you, Master Coleswyn.’

‘Call me Philip.’

‘Then you must call me Matthew.’

‘I shall.’

He closed the door, leaving me to adjust my eyes to the darkness. The moon was up, but the overhanging eaves of the houses meant the sky was but a narrow strip. I began to walk towards the stables.

Ahead I saw a movement near the ground. I flinched, then realized it was nothing more than the lost dog, still wandering up and down the street in search of its owner. I had startled the poor creature, which ran into a doorway opposite.

There was a thud, a sudden yelp, then the dog flew out the doorway and landed at my feet, lifeless, its head at a horrible angle, its neck broken by a kick.

I jumped back, my hand going to my knife as I peered into the darkness of the doorway. Shadows moved within. I had been too careless. If this was Daniels and Cardmaker they could have me dead in an instant. But then, to my amazement, Isabel Slanning stepped out into the street. Two men in servants’ dress followed her; one I recognized as the man she usually brought with her to consultations at Lincoln’s Inn. She stood before me, staring right into my face, the moonlight making strange play with her features, those overlarge eyes glinting.

Her expression was triumphant. ‘So, Master Shardlake,’ she said, her voice a vicious hiss. ‘I was right! You not only ride with Master Coleswyn, you dine with him. He calls you a godly man, you are his confederate — ’

‘Madam,’ I said, aware that my voice was shaking with shock. ‘I told you before, lawyers observe the courtesies with each other. They are not consumed with blind hatred as you are!’ Behind her back, I caught a flash of white teeth as one of her servants smiled.

Isabel jerked her head back. ‘I, Master Shardlake, am concerned with justice! A woman alone, faced with a confederacy of heretics! I am sure, now, that the so-called architect who came this morning to represent me is in league with my brother, too!’

‘You picked him!’

‘It is part of my brother’s plot.’ She waved a skinny finger in my face. ‘But I have time, and will spare no energy in my search for justice! This is not the first time I have waited outside that man’s house in the evening, to see who comes and goes. And tonight I see — you!’ The last word was an accusing shout. It occurred to me again that Isabel Slanning was more than a little mad.

She smiled; I had never seen Isabel smile before and I had no wish to see it again — a wide grimace, splitting her face and exposing long yellow teeth. There was something savage in it. ‘Well, Serjeant Shardlake!’ Her voice rose. ‘You will represent me no more! I will find a lawyer who will prosecute my case honestly, without heretic conspiracy! And I will write to the Lincoln’s Inn authorities, telling them what you have done!’

I could have laughed. There could be no better news than that I was to be rid of Isabel. As for a complaint based on such evidence of wrongdoing as she possessed, it would have even Treasurer Rowland sniggering over his desk. I said, ‘If your new lawyer will get in touch with me, mistress, I will happily give him the papers and answer any queries he has. And now I must get home.’

Philip’s door opened. The noise had brought him and his terrified-looking wife to find out what was going on. He stared in amazement at Isabel. ‘Brother Shardlake, what is happening?’

‘No matter,’ I said. ‘Mistress Slanning has, I am delighted to say, just sacked me. Mistress Coleswyn, your husband said you thought someone was watching the house. It was this mad beldame.’

Isabel pointed at me again, her finger trembling. ‘I will have you! I will have you all!’ Then she turned and walked away, her servants following.

Ethelreda Coleswyn had started to cry. Philip said, ‘All right, all right, my love, it was only that poor madwoman.’

‘She will not be back,’ I added reassuringly. Nonetheless, my eye was drawn to the poor dead dog. That must have been a vicious kick to break its neck like that, and Isabel had been standing in front of her servants in the doorway. It was she who had done it.

That night I slept deeply, but woke early with a mind full of fears and discontents. I recalled Isabel Slanning’s savage fury; I was sure she would like to serve me as she had that unfortunate dog.

There was a knock at the door and Martin entered, bearing towels and hot water, his face flatly expressionless as usual. ‘God give you good morrow, Master,’ he said. ‘It is another fine, warm day.’

‘Good morrow, Martin. Long may it continue.’ I looked at his solid back as he laid the bowl on the table, wondering what went on inside that head of close-cropped fair hair. What had he been looking for in my desk that time? And Josephine said he had been constantly enquiring about my friends and contacts when he first came. Trying to nose into my life. Yet Martin, as I had reminded Josephine, needed to know all about me if he were to perform his duties as steward. His old master, another barrister, had given me a glowing reference; Martin and Agnes had been with the man for ten years, and were only leaving because he was retiring and moving to the country. I did not have a forwarding address, so could not get in touch with him.