C. Sansom - Lamentation

‘That brother of mine will try to have the case delayed again, you wait and see,’ Isabel said, in her customary self-righteous tone. ‘He’s trying to wear me down, but he won’t. With that lawyer of his. He’s a tricky, deceitful one.’ Her voice rose indignantly, as it usually did after a couple of sentences.

‘Master Coleswyn has behaved quite straightforwardly on this matter,’ I answered sharply. ‘Yes, he has tried to have the matter postponed, but defendants’ lawyers ever will. He must act on his client’s instructions, as I must on yours.’ Next to me Nicholas scribbled away, his long slim fingers moving fast over the page. At least he had had a good education and wrote in a decent secretary hand.

Isabel bridled. ‘That Coleswyn’s a Protestant heretic, like my brother. They both go to St Jude’s, where all images are down and the priest serves them at a bare table.’ It was yet another bone of contention between the siblings that Isabel remained a proud traditionalist while her brother was a reformer. ‘That priest should be burned,’ she continued, ‘like the Askew woman and her confederates.’

‘Were you at the burning this morning, Mistress Slanning?’ I asked quietly. I had not seen her.

She wrinkled her nose. ‘I would not go to such a spectacle. But they deserved it.’

I saw Nicholas’s lips set hard. He never spoke of religion; in that regard at least he was a sensible lad. Changing the subject, I said, ‘Mistress Slanning, when we go to court the outcome of the case is by no means certain. This is a very unusual matter.’

She said firmly, ‘Justice will prevail. And I know your skills, Master Shardlake. That is why I employed a serjeant at law to represent me. I have always loved that picture.’ A touch of emotion entered her voice. ‘It is the only memento I have of my dear father.’

‘I would not be honest if I put your chances higher than fifty-fifty. Much will depend on the testimony of the expert witnesses.’ At the last hearing it had been agreed that each side would instruct an expert, taken from a list of members of the Carpenters’ Guild, who would report to the court on whether and how the painting could be removed. ‘Have you looked at the list I gave you?’

She waved a dismissive hand. ‘I know none of those people. You must recommend a man who will report the painting can easily be taken down. There must be someone who would do that for a high enough fee. Whatever it is, I will pay it.’

‘A sword for hire,’ I replied flatly. There were, of course, expert witnesses who would swear black was white for a high enough fee.

‘Exactly.’

‘The problem with such people, Mistress Slanning, is that the courts know the experts and would give little credibility to such a man. We would be much better off instructing someone whom the courts know as honest.’

‘And what if he reports back to you against us?’

‘Then, Mistress Slanning, we shall have to think again.’

Isabel frowned, her eyes turning to narrow little slits. ‘If that happens, then we will instruct one of these “swords for hire”, as that strange expression puts it.’ She looked at me haughtily, as though it were I, not her, who had suggested deceiving the court.

I took my copy of the list from the desk. ‘I would suggest instructing Master Jackaby. I have dealt with him before, he is well respected.’

‘No,’ she said. ‘I have been consulting the list. There is a Master Adam here, he was Chairman of his Guild; if there is a way to get that painting off — which I am sure there is — he will find it.’

‘I think Master Jackaby would be better. He has experience of litigation.’

‘No,’ she repeated decisively. ‘I say Master Adam. I have prayed on the matter and believe he is the right man to get justice for me.’

I looked at her. Prayed on it? Did she think God concerned himself with malicious legal cases? But her haughty expression and the firm set of her mouth told me she would not be moved. ‘Very well,’ I said. She nodded imperiously. ‘But remember, Mistress Slanning, he is your choice. I know nothing of him. I will arrange a date when the two experts can meet together at the house. As soon as possible.’

‘Could they not visit separately?’

‘The court would not like that.’

She frowned. ‘The court, the court — it is my case that matters.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Well, if I lose in King’s Bench I shall appeal to Chancery.’

‘So, probably, will your brother if he loses.’ I wondered again at the bitterness between them. It went back a long way, I knew that; they had not spoken in years. Isabel would refer contemptuously to how her brother could have been an alderman by now if he had made the effort. And I wondered again, why had the mother insisted on using that wording in her Will. It was almost as though she had wished to set her children against each other.

‘You have seen my last bill of costs, Mistress Slanning?’ I asked.

‘And paid it at once, Serjeant Shardlake.’ She tilted her chin proudly. It was true; she always settled immediately, without question. She was no Bealknap.

‘I know, madam, and I am grateful. But if this matter goes on into next year, into Chancery, the costs will grow and grow.’

‘Then you must make Edward pay them all.’

‘Normally in probate matters costs are taken out of the estate. And remember, with the value of money falling, the house and your mother’s money are going down in value too. Would it not be more sensible, more practical, to try and find some settlement now?’

She bridled. ‘Sir, you are my lawyer. You should be advising me on how I can win, surely, not encouraging me to end the matter without a clear victory.’ Her voice had risen again; I kept mine deliberately low.

‘Many people settle when the outcome is uncertain and costly. As it is here. I have been thinking. Have you ever considered buying Edward’s half-share of the house from him and selling your own residence? Then you could live in your mother’s house and leave the wall painting intact, where it is.’

She gave a braying little laugh. ‘Mother’s house is far too big for me. I am a childless widow. I know she lived there alone but for her servants, but she was foolish; it is far too large for a woman by herself. Those great big rooms. No, I will have the painting down and in my hands. Removed by the best craftsmen in London. Whatever it costs. I shall make Edward pay in the end.’

I looked at her. I had had difficult, unreasonable clients in my time but Isabel Slanning’s obstinacy and loathing of her brother were extraordinary. Yet she was an intelligent woman, no fool except to herself.

I had done my best. ‘Very well,’ I said. ‘I think the next thing is to go over your most recent deposition. There are some things you say which I think would be better amended. We must show ourselves reasonable to the court. Calling your brother a pestilent knave will not help.’

‘The court should know what he is like.’

‘It will not help you.’

She shrugged, then nodded, adjusting her hood on her grey head. As I took out the deposition, Nicholas leaned forward and said, ‘With your leave, sir, may I ask the good lady a question?’

I hesitated, but it was my duty to train him up. ‘If you wish.’

He looked at Isabel. ‘You said, madam, that your house is much smaller than your mother’s.’

She nodded. ‘It is. But it suffices for my needs.’

‘With smaller rooms?’

‘Yes, young man,’ she answered tetchily. ‘Smaller houses have smaller rooms. That is generally known.’

‘But I understand the wall painting is in the largest room of your mother’s house. So if you were able to remove the painting, where would you put it?’