C Sansom - Sovereign

‘Of course, sir.’ Her face working with concern, she hurried away to the kitchen. I took a seat in the parlour and looked out at my sopping garden, strewn with leaves. It was not raining, but the sky was heavy with dark clouds. My eye was drawn to the wall at the far end where the Lincoln’s Inn authorities had grubbed up an old orchard for replanting, remembering what Barak had told me. I had warned them in the summer that without trees to absorb the ground-water the bottom of the slope could flood. I should go and take a look.

My thoughts went back to Maleverer. He had allowed Rich to involve him in a plot against me, no doubt in return for help to get rebels’ lands, and that had been his downfall. But what if that had been a side issue, what if he had been playing a double game? He had refused to accept that Jennet Marlin might not have stolen those papers, had insisted Radwinter was guilty of Broderick’s death, and had allowed a pair of drunks to be appointed as his guards. I had taken it all for stupidity and obstinacy, but what if it had been something else? Where was he now, in London or on his way back to York? I thought, if I knew who appointed those guards…

Joan returned with eggs, bread and cheese. ‘I am sorry to land you with such a full household,’ I told her. ‘But I promised old Master Wrenne he could stay here till he is fit for some family business he has to deal with, and Barak hurt his leg. Where are they, by the way?’

She sniffed. ‘Went out early. Master Jack had some private business, he said, and Tamasin was to go to Whitehall to see if she still had a place. There is some trouble in the Queen’s household.’

‘So I hear,’ I replied neutrally. The household would be dissolved now. Tamasin could be out of a job.

She paused, then said, ‘I don’t mind Master Wrenne, sir, poor sick old gentleman, but that girl. It’s not right her being in the house with Jack. And she’s a pert way with her, in her fine ladylike clothes – she may say she only wants to help with the old man but I think she likes having her feet under a gentleman’s table.’

‘She’ll be gone soon, Joan,’ I said wearily. ‘The four of us need a few days’ rest.’

‘She’s no morals. They think I don’t hear her scurrying across to Master Jack’s room at dead of night, but I do.’

‘All right, Joan. I am too tired to deal with that now.’

She curtsied and went out.

I ate heartily. The meal over, I prowled the room restlessly. I thought of Maleverer and Sergeant Leacon, and Broderick swinging in his cell aboard ship. I thought of Tamasin; Barak would probably see his friend today, what would he find out about her father? I thought of Martin Dakin, and half resolved to go to Lincoln’s Inn, but I was still too tired to face the prospect of seeing familiar people, nosy lawyers who might have heard about Fulford. It could wait until tomorrow, when with luck the manacle would be off. Perhaps Bealknap would be there, and I wondered if that rogue knew what had been done to me to save that case for him.

I decided to go and look at the old orchard. Putting on my boots, I walked down the garden. Everything was drenched, and at the far wall, by the gate to the orchard, the ground was quite waterlogged. I unlocked the gate and went through.

The apple orchard had probably been there centuries; the trees had been gnarled and very old. The orchard walls bounded Chancery Lane on one side, the Lincoln’s Inn grounds on two, and my garden on the fourth. The ground sloped gently down to my wall. The orchard was, as Barak had said, a sea of mud, dotted with waterlogged holes where tree roots had been grubbed up. Without the trees to absorb any of the water from the rains, a pool the size of a small house had built up against my wall. I cursed; if there was much more rain my garden could be flooded. I resolved to visit the Inn Treasurer on the morrow.

The sight of the devastated orchard unsettled me. I went back into my garden and headed for the stables. There I found Genesis and Sukey in their stalls, munching hay. Both looked up and neighed in greeting. I went and stroked Genesis. Looking into his dark eyes I thought of what it must have been like for the horses, driven two hundred miles through unknown countryside by strangers. Did they wonder, as I had in the Tower, whether they would ever see home again? I had a sudden memory of Oldroyd’s huge horse charging through the mist at Tamasin and me, that misty morning two months before. That was where it had all started.

As I left the stable I felt raindrops on my face. I walked quickly round to the front door. There was someone standing in the porch, his back to me, a tall figure in a black coat. He was looking at the door as though uncertain whether to knock. My hand went to the dagger at my belt. I had worn it since it was returned to me at the Tower.

‘Can I help you?’ I asked sharply.

He turned round. It was Sergeant Leacon, in civilian clothes, a cap on his head instead of a helmet. His boyish face looked careworn. I saw he wore a sword, then thought, so do most men in London. He doffed his cap and bowed.

‘Master Shardlake-’ He broke off as he saw my face.

‘Yes,’ I said grimly. ‘I have had a hard time in the Tower.’

‘I heard you were released, sir. I got your address from Lincoln’s Inn. Sir, I am sorry I had to detain you at the wharf. Those were my orders-’

‘What do you want?’

‘A word, sir, if I may.’

He seemed tired and crestfallen. I took pity on him. ‘Come in, then.’ I walked past him, opened the door, and led him into the parlour.

‘Would you take off your sword, sergeant? Only I am wary of sharp blades just now.’

‘Of course, sir.’ He reddened as he hastily unbuckled his scabbard. I took it and stood it against the door.

‘Now, sergeant, what may I do for you?’

‘I – I have been discharged, sir. I am plain George Leacon now. For letting those men get drunk, they said, providing Broderick’s killer with an opportunity.’ He hesitated. ‘I was told Master Radwinter took his life. In the Tower.’

‘Yes, he did.’

‘I was questioned yesterday, by Archbishop Cranmer himself.’ I studied his face but he looked only dejected and exhausted. So Cranmer had not told him I was his informant.

‘Yes?’

‘He asked me how it came the guards were drunk.’

‘What did you say?’

‘That they were a pair of sots, sir, and drunks can always find liquor. They smuggled it aboard.’

‘Who chose those men?’ I asked quietly.

‘The guard captain suggested them to Sir William, I think to get them off his hands, save trouble on the journey back. When Sir William gave me the names of those two, said they were to come on the boat, I objected. I told him they were not good men to choose.’

I frowned. ‘Then why did he pick them?’

Leacon shrugged. ‘He did not want to be seen to do the bidding of a mere sergeant. I believe it was poor judgement on his part.’

That phrase again. ‘Poor judgement. Yet it is you that pays the price. You are made the scapegoat.’

‘That was ever the way of things, sir. Sir William has paid a price too, though. I hear he has been stripped of his place on the Council of the North.’

‘Tell me, do you think Radwinter killed Broderick?’

He looked puzzled. ‘Who else could it have been? Radwinter became stranger and stranger in his mind as time went on.’

‘Perhaps.’ I looked at him, then asked quickly, ‘Does the name Blaybourne mean anything to you? Or Braybourne?’

‘Braybourne is a place in Kent, sir, some way from where I come from. Have you another land case there?’ He looked puzzled, and a little concerned, as though the dishevelled figure before him might also be wandering in his mind.