‘Elizabeth-’ there was a tremble in her uncle’s voice - ‘this is Master Shardlake. He’s a lawyer, he has the best mind in London. He can help you. But you must talk to him.’
I squatted on my haunches so I could look into her face without sitting on that disgusting straw. ‘Miss Wentworth,’ I said gently, ‘can you hear me? Why will you not speak? Are you protecting a secret - yours, or perhaps another’s?’ I paused. She looked right through me, not even stirring. In the silence I heard the tapping of feet from the street above. I felt suddenly angry.
‘You know what will happen if you refuse to plead?’ I said. ‘You will be pressed. The judge you will come before on Saturday is a hard man and that will be his sentence without a doubt. They’ve told you what pressing means?’ Still no response. ‘A dreadful slow death that can last many days.’
At these words her eyes came to life and fixed mine, but only for a second. I shivered at the pit of misery I saw in them.
‘If you speak, I may be able to save you. There are possible ways, whatever happened that day at the well.’ I paused. ‘What did happen, Elizabeth? I’m your lawyer, I won’t tell anyone else. We could ask your uncle to leave if you would rather speak to me alone.’
‘Yes,’ Joseph agreed. ‘Yes, if you wish.’
But still she was silent. She began picking at the straw with one hand.
‘Oh, Lizzy,’ Joseph burst out, ‘you should be reading and playing music as you were a year ago, not lying in this terrible place.’ He put a fist to his face, biting his knuckles. I shifted my position and looked the girl directly in the eyes. Something had struck me.
‘Elizabeth, I know people have come down here to look at you, to taunt. Yet though you hide your body you show your face. Oh, I know that straw is vile but you could hide your head, it would be a way of preventing people from seeing you, the turnkey would not be permitted to let them in. It is almost as though you wanted them to see you.’
A shudder ran through her and for a moment I thought she would break down, but she set her jaw hard; I saw the muscles clench. I paused a moment, then got painfully to my feet. As I did so, there was a rustle from the straw on the other side of the cell and I turned to see the old woman raising herself slowly on her elbows. She shook her head solemnly.
‘She won’t speak, gentlemen,’ she said in a cracked voice. ‘I’ve been here three days and she’s said nothing.’
‘What are you here for?’ I asked her.
‘They say my son and I stole a horse. We’re for trial on Saturday too.’ She sighed and ran her tongue over her cracked lips. ‘Have you any drink, sir? Even the most watery beer.’
‘No, I’m sorry.’
She looked over at Elizabeth. ‘They say she has a demon inside her, that one, a demon that holds her fast.’ She laughed bitterly. ‘But demon or no, it’s all one to the hangman.’
I turned to Joseph. ‘I don’t think there’s any more I can do here now. Come, let us go.’ I led him gently to the door and knocked. It opened at once: the gaoler must have been outside listening. I glanced back; Elizabeth still lay quite still, unmoving.
‘The old beldame’s right,’ the turnkey said as he locked the door behind us. ‘She has a devil inside her.’
‘Then have a care when you bring people down to goggle at her through that spy hatch,’ I snapped. ‘She might turn herself into a crow and fly at their faces.’ I led Joseph away. A minute later we were outside again, blinking in the bright sunlight. We returned to the tavern and I set a beer in front of him.
‘How many times have you visited since she was taken?’ I asked.
‘Today’s the fourth. And each time she sits there like a stone.’
‘Well, I can’t move her. Not at all. I confess I’ve never seen anything like it.’
‘You did your best, sir,’ he said disappointedly.
I tapped my fingers on the table. ‘Even if she were found guilty, there may just be ways of stopping her from being hanged. The jury might be persuaded she was mad, she could even claim she was pregnant, then she couldn’t be hanged till the baby was born. It would buy us time.’
‘Time for what, sit?’
‘What; Time to investigate, find what really happened.’
He leaned forward eagerly, nearly knocking over his tankard. ‘Then you believe she is innocent?’
I gave him a direct look. ‘You do. Though her treatment of you, in all honesty, is cruel.’
‘I believe her because I know her. And because, when I see her there, I see—’ He struggled for words.
‘A woman whose air is of one who has been done a great wrong, rather than one who has committed a great crime?’
‘Yes,’ he said eagerly. ‘Yes. That is it exactly. You feel it too?’
‘Ay, I do.’ I looked at him evenly. ‘But what you or I feel is not evidence, Joseph. And we may be wrong. It is not good for a lawyer to base his work on instinct. He needs detachment, reason. I speak from experience.’
‘What can we do, sir?’
‘You must go and see her every day between now and Saturday. I don’t think she can be persuaded to speak, but it will show her she is not forgotten and I feel that is important, for all that she ignores us. If she says anything, if her manner changes at all, tell me and I will come again.’
‘I’ll do it, sir,’ he said.
‘And if she still does not speak, I will appear in court on Saturday. I don’t know if Forbizer will even hear me, but I’ll try and argue that her mind is disturbed—’
‘God knows, it must be. She has no reason to treat me so. Unless—’ he hesitated - ‘unless the old woman is right.’
‘There’s no profit in thinking that way, Joseph. I’ll try to argue that the issue of her sanity should be remitted to a jury. I am sure there are precedents, though Forbizer doesn’t have to follow them. Again, that would buy us time.’ I looked at him seriously. ‘But I am not optimistic. You must prepare your mind for the worst, Joseph.’
‘No, sir,’ he said. ‘While you are working for us, I have hope.’
‘Prepare for the worst,’ I repeated. It was all very well for Guy to talk of the merit of good works. He did not have to come before Judge Forbizer on gaol-delivery day.
Chapter Four
I RODE FROM NEWGATE TO my chambers at Lincoln’s Inn, just up the road from my house in Chancery Lane. When King Edward III ordered that no lawyers should be allowed to practise within the precincts of London, necessitating our removal outside its walls, he did us great service for the Inn was semi-rural, with wide orchards and the space of Lincoln’s Inn Fields beyond.
I passed under the high square towers of the Great Gate, left Chancery at the stables and walked to my chambers across Gatehouse Court. The sun shone brightly on the red-brick buildings. There was a pleasant breeze; we were too far from the City walls here for London smells to penetrate.
Barristers were striding purposefully around the precincts; the Trinity law term began the following week and there were cases to set in order. Among the black robes and caps there were also, of course, the usual young gentlemen in bright doublets and exaggerated cod-pieces strutting around, sons of gentry who joined the Inns only to learn London manners and make social contacts. A pair of them walking by had evidently been rabbiting in Coney Garth, for a pair of hounds frisked at their heels, their eyes on the furry bodies dripping blood from poles slung over their masters’ shoulders.
Then, ambling down the path from Lincoln’s Inn Hall with his customary amiable smile on his beaky features, I saw the tall, thin figure of Stephen Bealknap, against whom I would be pleading in King’s Bench in a few days. He halted in front of me and bowed. The courtesies require that barristers, even when opponents in the bitterest of cases, must observe the civilities, but Bealknap’s friendly manner always had something mocking in it. It was as though he said: you know I am a great scamp, but still you must be pleasant to me.
‘Brother Shardlake!’ he declaimed. ‘Another hot d
ay. The wells will be drying up at this rate.’
Normally I would have made a curt acknowledgement and moved on, but it struck me there was a piece of information he could help me with. ‘So they will,’ I said. ‘It has been a dry spring.’
At my unaccustomed civility, a smile appeared on Bealknap’s face. It seemed quite pleasant until you came close and saw the meanness in the mouth, and realized the pale-blue eyes would never quite meet yours no matter how you tried to fix them. Beneath his cap a few curls of wiry-looking blond hair strayed.
‘Well, our case is on next week,’ he said. ‘June the first.’
‘Ay. It has come on very quick. It was only in March you lodged your writ. I am still surprised, Brother Bealknap, that you have taken this up to King’s Bench.’
‘They have a proper respect for the rights of property law there. I shall show them the case of Friars Preachers v. the Prior of Okeham.’
I laughed lightly. ‘I see you have been ferreting in the Assize of Nuisance Rolls, Brother. That case is on a different point and it is two hundred years old.’
He smiled back, his eyes darting around. ‘It is still relevant. The prior pleaded that matters of nuisance such as his faulty gutter were beyond the council’s jurisdiction.’
‘Because his priory came directly under the king’s authority. But St Michael’s priory comes under yours now. You are the freeholder and you are responsible for the nuisance your priory causes. I hope you have better authority than that to hand.’
He would not be drawn, bending to examine the sleeve of his robe. ‘Well, Brother,’ I said lightly, ‘we shall see. But now we are met, I would ask a question on another matter. Will you be at the gaol delivery on Saturday?’ I knew that running compurgators in the bishop’s court was one of Bealknap’s disreputable sidelines, and he often lurked around the Old Bailey justice hall looking for clients. He flicked a curious glance at me.
‘Perhaps.’
‘Judge Forbizer is on, I believe. How quickly does he deal with the cases?’
Bealknap shrugged. ‘Fast as he can. You know the King’s Bench judges; they think dealing with common thieves and murderers beneath them.’
‘But Forbizer has good knowledge of the law for all his hardness. I wondered how open he would be to legal argument for the accused.’
Bealknap’s face lit up with interest and his eyes, bright with curiosity, actually met mine for a moment. ‘Ah, I had heard you were retained for the Walbrook murderess. I said I didn’t believe it, you’re a property man.’
‘The alleged murderess,’ I replied flatly. ‘She comes up before Forbizer on Saturday.’
‘You won’t get far with him,’ Bealknap said cheerfully. ‘He has a Bible man’s contempt for the sinful, wants to hasten them to their just desserts. She’ll have little mercy from Forbizer. He’ll want a plea or a kill.’ His eyes narrowed and I guessed he was thinking whether he might turn this to his advantage. But there was no way, or I should not have asked him.
‘So I thought. But thank you,’ I added, as lightly as I could. ‘Good morning!’
‘I shall look out for you on Saturday, Brother,’ he called after me. ‘Good luck: you will need it!’
IT WAS IN NO GOOD temper that I entered the small set of ground-floor rooms I shared with my friend Godfrey Wheelwright. In the outer office my clerk, John Skelly, was studying a conveyance he had just drawn up, a lugubrious expression on his thin face. He was a small, weazened fellow with long rats’ tails of brown hair. Although not yet twenty he was married with a child and I had taken him on last winter partly from pity at his obvious poverty. He was an old pupil of St Paul’s cathedral school and had good Latin, but he was a hopeless fellow, a poor copier and forever losing papers as I had told Guy. He looked up at me guiltily.
‘I have just finished the Beckman conveyance, sir,’ he mumbled. ‘I’m sorry it is late.’
I took it from him. ‘This should have been done two days ago. Is there any correspondence?’
‘It is on your counting table, sir.’
‘Very well.’
I passed into my room. It was dim and stuffy; dust motes danced in the beam of light from the little window giving onto the courtyard. I removed my robe and cap and sat at my table, breaking the seals on my letters with my dagger. I was surprised and disappointed to find I had lost another case. I had been acting on the purchase of a warehouse down at Salt Wharf, but now my client wrote curtly to say the seller had withdrawn and he no longer required my services. I studied the letter. The purchase was a curious one: my client was an attorney from the Temple and the warehouse was to be conveyed into his name, which meant the purchaser must want his own name kept secret. This was the third case in two months where the client had suddenly withdrawn his instructions without reason.
Frowning, I put the letter aside and turned to the conveyance. It was clumsily written and there was a smudge at the bottom of the page. Did Skelly think such a mess would pass? He would have to do it again, with more time wasted that I was paying for. I tossed it aside and, sharpening a new quill, took up my commonplace book, which held years of notes from moots and readings. I looked at my old notes on criminal law, but they were scanty and I could find nothing about peine forte et dure.
There was a knock at the door and Godfrey came in. He was of an age with me. Twenty years before we had been scholars and ardent young reformers together, and unlike me he had retained his zealous belief that following the break with Rome a new Christian common, wealth might dawn in England. I saw that his narrow, delicate-featured face was troubled.
‘Have you heard the rumours?’ he asked.
‘What now?’
‘Yesterday evening the king rowed down the Thames to dinner at the Dowager Duchess of Norfolk’s house with Catherine Howard beside him under the canopy. In the royal barge, for all London to see. It’s the talk of the City. He meant to be seen - it’s a sign the Cleves marriage is over. And a Howard marriage means a return to Rome.’
I shook my head. ‘But Queen Anne was beside him at the May Day jousts. Just because the king has his eye on a Howard wench doesn’t mean he’ll put the queen aside. God’s wounds, he’s had four wives in eight years. He can’t want a fifth.’
‘Can’t he? Imagine the Duke of Norfolk in Lord Cromwell’s place.’
‘Cromwell can be cruel enough.’
‘Only when it is necessary. And the duke would be far harsher.’ He sat down heavily opposite me.
‘I know,’ I said quietly. ‘None of the privy councillors has a crueller reputation.’
‘He is a lunch guest of the benchers here on Sunday, is he not?’
‘Yes.’ I made a face. ‘I shall see him for myself for the first time. I do not greatly look forward to it. But, Godfrey, the king would never turn the clock back. We have the Bible in English and Cromwell’s just got an earldom.’
He shook his head. ‘I sense trouble coming.’
‘When has there not been trouble these last ten years? Well, if London has a new topic that may take the heat from Elizabeth Wentworth.’ I had told him yesterday that I had taken on the case. ‘I’ve been to see her in Newgate. She won’t say a word.’
He shook his head. ‘Then she’ll be pressed, Matthew.’
‘Listen, Godfrey, I need a precedent to say someone who won’t speak because they’re mad can’t be pressed.’
He stared at me with his large blue-grey eyes, strangely innocent for a lawyer’s. ‘Is she mad?’
‘She may be. There’s a precedent somewhere in the yearbooks, I’m sure.’ I looked at him; Godfrey had an excellent memory for cases.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I think you’re right.’
‘I thought I might try the library.’
‘When’s gaol delivery - Saturday? You’ve little time. I’ll help you look.’
‘Thank you.’ I smiled gratefully; it was like Godfrey to forget his own worries and come to my aid. His fears, I knew, were real enough; he knew some of the eva
ngelicals in the circle of Robert Barnes, who had recently been put in the Tower for making sermons with too Lutheran a flavour.
I walked with him to the library and we spent two hours among the great stacks of case law, where we found two or three cases which might be helpful.
‘I’ll send Skelly over to copy these,’ I said.
He smiled. ‘And now you can buy me lunch as a reward for my help.’
‘Gladly.’
We went outside into the hot afternoon. I sighed. As ever, among the law books in the magnificent library I had felt a momentary sense of security, of order and reason; but out in the harsh light of day I recalled that a judge could ignore precedent and remembered Bealknap’s words.
‘Courage, my friend,’ Godfrey said. ‘If she is innocent, God will not allow her to suffer.’
‘The innocent suffer whilst rogues prosper, Godfrey, as we both know. They say that churl Bealknap has a thousand gold angels in the famous chest in his rooms. Come, I’m hungry.’
As we crossed the courtyard to the dining hall I saw a fine litter with damask curtains standing outside a nearby set of chambers, carried by four bearers in Mercers’ Company livery. Two attendant ladies, carrying posies, stood at a respectful distance while a tall woman in a high-collared gown of blue velvet stood talking to Gabriel Marchamount, one of the serjeants. Marchamount’s tall, plump figure was encased in a fine silk robe, and a cap with a swan’s feather was perched on his head. I remembered Bealknap had been under his patronage once until he tired of Bealknap’s endless crookery; Marchamount liked his reputation as an honest man.
I studied the woman, noting the jewelled pomander that hung at her bosom from a gold chain, and as I did so she turned and met my eye. She murmured something to Marchamount and he raised his arm, bidding me to halt. He gave the woman his arm and led her across the courtyard to us. Her attendants followed, their skirts making a whispering noise on the stone flags.