К Сэнсом - Revelation

Barak shook his head. ‘So the poor continue to suffer, because a puffed-up old arsehole resents being spoken to roughly. Well, it was ever thus.’

‘I am afraid you are right.’

‘One day the poor will take things into their own hands,’ he said darkly; then smiled sardonically. ‘Have you tried asking Bealknap for money?’

We both laughed then. Since my return to Lincoln’s Inn Bealknap had studiously avoided me; he would vanish through doors or round corners at my approach. He was fully restored to health, and back to all his old ways. He had of course sent Dorothy no money, nor had he paid Guy’s fees for the treatment that had saved his sorry life. Yet embarrassment, perhaps even a sense of guilt, led him to go to these lengths to avoid me. It was becoming a running joke round Lincoln’s Inn that Bealknap was terrified of Brother Shardlake. He could have solved the problem in an instant by coming to me with some money for Dorothy and for Guy’s fee, but Bealknap would suffer any humiliation, look any sort of fool, rather than part with any of the gold he kept sitting uselessly in his chambers. Now, indeed, I pitied him.

We passed under Bishopsgate Bridge. ‘Well, here we are,’ Barak said dubiously. ‘I don’t know how you think a visit here is going to cheer us up.’

‘Wait and see,’ I said as we rode under the Bedlam gate, into the precinct of the hospital. We tied up the horses and I knocked at the door. Barak looked along the length of the building, anxiously, as though some lunatic might lean from the windows and shriek at him, rattling his chains. But the house seemed quiet today. The big keeper Gebons opened the door, bowing to me. Since my confrontation with Shawms over his locking out of Ellen, Gebons seemed to have developed a respect for me.

‘Are Goodman Kite and his wife here yet?’ I asked.

‘Ay, sir, they are. They are all in the parlour, with Ellen.’

‘Come, then, Barak. This is what I wanted you to see.’

I led the way into the parlour. The scene there today could have come from any peaceful domestic home. Adam and his father sat at the table playing chess. Sitting watching him, Minnie Kite had a look of happy repose that I would not have believed possible four months ago. Beside her, Ellen sat knitting, a look of pride on her long, sensitive face. The old woman Cissy sat next to Ellen, also knitting, though sometimes stopping and staring into space with a look of desperate sadness, seeing something not here in the room.

‘Well done, Adam.’ Minnie laughed and clapped her hands as her son reached out and checkmated her husband.

As we entered, the company rose to greet us, but I bade them sit again. ‘I have brought my assistant to see you, Adam,’ I said. ‘You may remember him from the court hearings. Master Barak. He helped me prepare your case.’ Barak bowed to the company.

‘I have beaten my father at chess for the third time running,’ Adam said. Then he fell silent for a second. ‘Is it the sin of pride to take such pleasure in it?’ He looked at Ellen.

‘No, no, Adam. How many times have we told you, it is no sin to take pleasure in the little diversions God has given us in this hard world.’

Adam nodded. He was still much troubled by fears of sin, but accepted – most of the time – that whether one was saved or damned was ultimately knowable only to God. His parents feared what would happen when he left the Bedlam and learned of Yarington’s terrible fate, which the congregation had been encouraged to blame on Catholic fanatics. But Guy believed that Adam ought to leave soon, return to the world, face up to the things it contained. His parents remained as radical as ever in their religious views, but because they loved their son they had agreed with Guy that his fragile mental state meant the subject of religion must be treated gently. Bishop Bonner had unintentionally done the family a favour with his persecution of radicals in the spring; Reverend Meaphon had taken a living in Norwich, far from the tumults of the capital, and had gone in May. A new vicar had been appointed; a time-server with no deep belief, a harmless man.

Daniel Kite rose from the table. ‘Come, son, shall we take a walk around the yard? I thought we might take ourselves as far as the Bishopsgate today.’

‘Yes, all right.’ Adam got up. His mother too rose and slipped her arm through his. I stepped away from the table. Adam turned to me with a nervous smile. ‘Master Shardlake, when we come back, will you tell me more about life in the law?’

‘I will, with pleasure.’ On my last couple of visits Adam had shown some interest in his legal position, even expressing indignation when I told him he could not be freed without the agreement of the Privy Council. It was a world away from the days when nothing was real to him save his desperate struggle with God.

Adam glanced past me to Barak, and reddened slightly. ‘I remember seeing you at court, sir,’ he said.

‘Ay, that’s right.’

‘I was in a bad way then,’ the boy said quietly.

‘That you were.’ Barak smiled, though he still looked uneasy with Adam, and with this place.

We watched from the open front door as father and mother and son walked slowly across the yard, talking quietly; Ellen stood a little behind us, afraid as ever to step too close to the world outside.

‘Adam’s parents care for him,’ she said. ‘They are not like those families that abandon their troublesome relatives here.’ There was a note of bitterness in her voice; I looked at her and she forced a smile. I wished I knew the details of her story but beyond what Shawms had told me of the attack on her when she was a girl I knew nothing; she would not say, and I would not pry.

‘This sudden interest of Adam’s in the law is a new thing,’ I said. ‘He’s a bright lad.’

‘Who knows, one day he may make a lawyer?’

‘Ay. I will give him Barak’s place, and train him up. He will come cheaper.’ Ellen laughed.

‘Exploiting the mad, I call it,’ Barak said. Then he turned to me. ‘He certainly looks different from the last time I saw him. But there is still something …’

‘Fragile?’ Ellen asked. ‘He has a long journey to make yet. But I believe he will complete it. One day.’

‘So there you are, Barak,’ I said. ‘Madness is an illness, and sometimes, like other illnesses, it may be treated.’ I thought, but did not say, that he had been so damaged he might well slip back at times, though I hoped never to the terrible state in which I first found him. Could he ever fully recover? I did not know.

Barak stepped outside and bowed to Ellen. ‘I ought to get over to the Old Barge. I have things to pack. And some of Tamasin’s things to sort out. She said I could take them over to her new lodgings. Better make sure I’ve got everything.’

‘I will see you at Lincoln’s Inn tomorrow morning.’

‘Ay. Couple of tricky cases coming up.’

I sensed he was glad of the excuse to leave. He untied Sukey and rode away, raising his cap to the Kites as he passed them at the gate.

‘Your assistant is moving house?’ Ellen asked.

‘Yes, he and his wife have separated. It is sad, he could not bear to stay in their old lodgings. He has taken a room near Lincoln’s Inn. They may get back together in time, there is still a great bond between them. I hope so.’

‘The papers requesting Adam’s release go to the Court of Requests this week?’ Ellen asked.

‘Yes, on Thursday. If the judge agrees to the request it will be forwarded to the Privy Council. I believe they will grant it.’ I knew they would, for Cranmer had written to me, promising he would see the matter through.

‘Is he ready?’ Ellen asked. ‘There are still times when I go into his room and find him sitting, or worse kneeling, on the floor. Still times when he fears his damnation.’