‘Yes, we had better. If we don’t she will take it as an admission of guilt or wrongdoing. With luck we shall not have to see her again.’
‘She said she was going to take the case to Master Dyrick, whom you had dealings with last year.’ Skelly looked at me curiously.
‘Really? Well, if she wants someone to run a hopeless case with the maximum vigour, and charge her for the pleasure of it, she could not do better than Vincent Dyrick.’ I turned to Barak. ‘Come through, would you, Jack?’
He followed me into my office and I motioned him to sit. ‘Dyrick again, eh? Well, they’ll suit each other,’ Barak said, managing a wry smile.
‘I am only glad to be out of it. And I doubt Dyrick will encourage her to make trouble for me; remember, I know things about him.’ I took a deep breath. ‘Jack, I am more sorry than I can say for what happened yesterday.’
‘I knew what I could be getting into.’
‘I would have come round last night, but I thought you were best left to tell Tamasin – to tell her – ’
‘A pack of lies,’ he finished heavily. ‘Yes, you are right. So far as she is concerned I had an accident at the office. I was making a hole in a pile of papers with a knife, to thread a tag through, when my hand slipped. Tammy was full of sympathy, which makes it worse. Listen, when Nick gets in we need to meet to make sure we have the story straight between the three of us. You’ll be seeing Tamasin next week at George’s party. Please.’
‘Yes, we will do that.’ I closed my eyes a moment. ‘Once again, I am sorry.’
He gave me his most piercing look. ‘I just wish I knew what was going on.’
I shook my head. ‘No. Safer not. How is your hand?’
‘Sore as hell. But I have to play it down for Tamasin’s sake, that’s why I came in today. I’ll survive,’ he added.
‘Any word from Nicholas?’
‘He got but a flesh wound,’ Barak said unsympathetically. ‘By the way, there’s a message for you, from Treasurer Rowland. He wants you to see him this morning. Before ten; he has a meeting then.’
‘I’ll go now. He did mention he had another task for me.’ I got up. ‘Dear God, I hope it’s nothing like what he had me do last week.’
ROWLAND WAS SEATED behind his desk again, writing. He raised his head, a cold look on his thin face. He had worn a similar expression when I had reported back to him after Anne Askew’s burning, complimenting me on finding a place at Smithfield where my presence would be noted. I had, of course, not told him of Rich’s glare at me. Looking at his white hair and long beard, I wished that, like Martin Brocket’s old employer, he would retire. But he was the sort who savoured power, and would probably die at his desk.
‘Serjeant Shardlake,’ he said. ‘Sit down.’ He tapped the paper on his desk with a bony, inky finger. ‘You knew the late Brother Bealknap, I believe. Had more than one passage of arms with him, I think.’
‘Indeed I did.’
‘I have just been composing a note to send round the Inn about his funeral. I am having to make the arrangements; his executor is not interested and there is no family. It will be in two days’ time, the twenty-fourth, in the chapel. I doubt many will come.’
‘No.’ Certainly I would not, after Bealknap’s piece of deathbed spite.
‘You will appreciate this,’ Rowland said. ‘Bealknap left a vast sum of money to build what amounts to a mausoleum in the Inn chapel. With a marble image of himself, decorated and gilded and heaven knows what. He paid the Inn a good deal of money to agree to have it done.’
‘So he told me. I saw him the day he died.’
Rowland raised his white eyebrows. ‘Did you, by Mary?’
‘He asked me to visit him.’
‘A deathbed repentance?’ Rowland’s eyes narrowed with malicious curiosity.
‘No.’ I sighed. ‘Not really.’
‘You remember all the rumours that he had a great chest of gold in his chambers? Well, it was my duty to go and look for it. That chest did indeed exist, and contained several hundred sovereigns. But it wasn’t at his chambers. Bealknap had had the sense to deposit it with one of the goldsmiths, for security. According to this goldsmith, Bealknap used to go there and sit with it of an evening.’
‘He was a strange man.’
‘There was certainly enough in the chest to pay for this mausoleum. However, many of the benchers have objected. Bealknap was not, after all, a great credit to the Inn, and this thing is hardly in the chapel style. They are refusing point-blank to sanction it. As I suspected they would, at the time I made the bargain with Bealknap. He can lie under a marble slab in the chapel like a reasonable man.’ Rowland gave that cynical smile of his, world-weary but also cruel; proud of his outwitting of a dying man.
I said, ‘But if it is in his Will – ’
Rowland spread his arms, black silk robe rustling. ‘If the benchers will not agree, the legacy becomes impossible of execution.’
‘Who is his executor?’
‘Sir Richard Rich.’ I looked at him sharply. ‘It is an old Will. I know for a fact he hasn’t worked cases for Rich for over a year. Rich stopped using him when he began to get ill.’ I wondered, was that why Bealknap had come cosying up to me at the end of last year, in the hope that I could get him some work? I remember him saying he was not getting as much work from one of his clients. It must have been Rich. Rowland inclined his head. ‘I keep an eye on which of the great ones of the realm give work to Lincoln’s Inn barristers. As the Queen used to do with you. I have been in touch with Rich’s secretary, and he said Sir Richard couldn’t care less about the mausoleum.’ He shrugged. ‘And the Will specifically excludes members of his family from having a say. So, this thing will not be built, and all Bealknap’s gold will be bona vacantia. So in the absence of anyone else, his fortune will go to – ?’ He paused on a questioning note, as though I were a law student.
‘The Crown,’ I said.
‘Exactly!’ He gave his creaky laugh. ‘Rich will be able to boast that he has garnered another few hundred pounds for the King to spend.’ Now I really could not help feeling sorry for Bealknap. ‘Talking of the King and spending,’ Rowland continued cheerfully, ‘you remember you promised to undertake more duties for the Inn? Well, there is another big occasion coming up next month.’ My face must have fallen, for he continued hurriedly, ‘It is nothing like the burning. On the contrary, it will be the grandest celebration in London for years, some say since Anne Boleyn’s coronation.’
‘A celebration of what?’ I asked, puzzled.
‘The peace with France. A great chivalric display. I have had another letter from Secretary Paget. Apparently the very admiral who led the invasion fleet last year will bring a retinue of French ships up the Thames, including some that sailed against us. There will be a whole round of celebrations at the Tower and also at Hampton Court. Thousands will be present, royalty and nobility and representatives of the City Guilds and Inns of Court. They want a serjeant from Lincoln’s Inn made available for the celebrations and I thought of you. As a sort of reward for that – less enjoyable occasion last week.’
I looked at him levelly. Rowland knew, of course, that I disliked ceremonial; again he was asserting his power. ‘The King and Queen will be at many of the ceremonies,’ he added, ‘and I believe little Prince Edward is to be involved for the first time.’
I spoke quietly. ‘There was a time, Master Treasurer, when the King was displeased with me. Perhaps it would be impolitic for me to attend.’
‘Oh, the York business.’ Rowland waved a dismissive hand. ‘That was years ago. And all you’ll be required to do is stand among many others in your best clothes and cheer when you’re told to.’
I thought, cheer Admiral d’Annebault, who led the invasion fleet in the very battle during which the Mary Rose foundered. Chivalry, I thought, is a strange thing.
‘I do not know the exact dates you will be required,’ Rowland continued. ‘But it will be during the last ten day
s in August, a month from now. I will keep you informed.’
There was no point in arguing. And I had other things to worry about. ‘Very well, Treasurer,’ I said quietly.
‘The Lord alone knows how much it will all cost.’ He laughed. ‘Well, the King will have Bealknap’s money to put towards it now.’
I STEPPED OUT INTO the quadrangle. It had turned cloudy, that low, light summer cloud that seems to trap and thicken the heat. As I walked back to chambers I noticed a man loitering hesitantly nearby; young, well dressed in a dark doublet and wide green cap. I looked at him, then stared. It was a face I had seen only the day before, by the torchlight of the Tower dungeons. The gaoler Myldmore, who had appeared to be in trouble with his superior. He saw me and walked hesitantly across. His eyes were wide and frightened, as they had been at the Tower. ‘Master Shardlake,’ he said, a tremble in his voice, ‘I must speak with you, in confidence. About – about a certain manuscript.’
Chapter Twenty-four
I TOOK MYLDMORE INTO my chambers. Barak and Skelly gave him curious looks as I led him into my room. I bade him sit. He did so, looking round uneasily. I spoke mildly, to try and put him at ease. ‘Would you like a glass of beer?’
‘No, sir, thank you.’ He hesitated, pulling at his stringy little beard. He was an unimpressive-looking fellow; but as a Tower gaoler he would have seen – perhaps even done – some dreadful things. He spoke again suddenly. ‘I believe you are investigating the murder of the printer Armistead Greening.’
‘I am.’
‘Officially?’ His eyes turned on me with anxious intensity. ‘They say it is on behalf of his parents.’
‘Who says that?’ I asked mildly.
‘Friends. They told me a man they trust, called William Cecil, had been to see them and said it was safe to cooperate with you. Cecil is trying to trace three friends of Greening’s who disappeared as well. His apprentice has vanished, too.’ I looked at Myldmore closely. His eyes shifted, would not meet mine. If he knew all this he must have connections with the religious radicals. Suddenly he looked straight at me. ‘Sir, why did you come to the Tower yesterday?’
I considered a moment, then said, ‘I will answer you. But first let me reassure you that your friends are correct. I am not acting for any foe of the reformed cause.’
He looked at me narrowly. ‘Is it believed there is a link between Greening’s death and the – the Tower?’
‘Rather that he had some connection with Anne Askew. Her name has come up.’ I could not mention Elias’s dying message; Myldmore did not even know the apprentice was dead.
A bead of sweat appeared on the young gaoler’s brow. He said, as much to himself as to me, ‘I must trust you then. I cannot understand why they have not come for me. They would give me no mercy.’ He shook his head. ‘Not if they found out about the book.’
I gripped the arms of my chair, trying not to betray my feelings. In what I hoped was a casual manner, I asked, ‘Did you know Master Greening?’
Myldmore clasped his skinny hands together. ‘Yes. I was at some of the meetings at his print-shop. With those other men.’ He took a deep breath, then said, his voice shaking, ‘What I did in the Tower, for Anne Askew – pity and conscience moved me to it. But it is fear now that moves me to come to you.’ He cast his head down.
‘I think you have important matters to tell me, Goodman Myldmore, and I would give you time. I see you are troubled. Let me tell my assistant we are not to be disturbed.’
I got up. Myldmore nodded. He actually looked a little relieved now, as people sometimes will do when they have decided to confess an important secret. I went to the outer office. Still no sign of Nicholas. I crossed to Barak’s desk and swiftly scribbled a note to Lord Parr, telling him I had Myldmore in my chambers, and asking him to send some men to ensure that he, at least, did not get away. Barak looked puzzled, but I put a finger to my lips. I whispered, ‘Can you take an urgent message to Whitehall Palace for me? To the Queen’s Chamberlain?’
‘Will they let me in?’
‘Tell them I am working for the Queen’s Learned Council, on urgent business for Lord Parr. Quick as you can.’ I sealed the note and handed it to him. He gave me a sidelong look but got up and hurried out, making no noise as he closed the door. I ordered Skelly to tell any visitors I was absent, and went back to Myldmore. I was deceiving him, for my presence at the Tower had clearly made him believe, wrongly, that I was following a trail which had led to him. But as with so many others this past week, I had no alternative. This was, after all, a matter of a double murder.
MYLDMORE WAS SLUMPED in his chair, gazing unseeingly through the window at the passing lawyers. I sat behind my desk. ‘Now,’ I said, ‘we have as much time as we need.’ I smiled and he nodded dully. I thought, start with the easy questions. ‘What is your first name?’
‘Thomas, sir.’
‘How long have you worked at the Tower, Thomas?’
‘Two years. My father was a gaoler there before me. He got me my position at the Tower. I was a guard outside first, and when Father died last year I was offered his place.’ He looked at me directly, his eyes passionate. ‘Though I did not like the work, especially as I had found God and was beginning to tread the path to salvation. And this year – the arrests of so many poor lambs of God – it put me in great turmoil.’
So he had started work as a gaoler last year. He had probably not wanted the job, but work was hard to come by and it would have kept him from being conscripted to the war. In the Tower that would have been a quiet time. The great ones of the realm were concentrating on winning the war, and the struggles between contesting factions and religious loyalties had been temporarily set aside. But in the spring, with the war over, it had all started again.
‘I was sore troubled in conscience, sir.’ Myldmore spoke as though I would understand; he obviously took me for another reformer. It was probably what Cecil had put around. ‘It was through my church, our vicar, that I came to see that the only way to salvation is through Christ, and the only way to Him is through the Bible.’ He continued, scarce above a whisper, ‘I have doubted whether Our Lord’s body is truly present in the Mass.’ Now he did look at me anxiously, though he had not actually denied the Mass in what he had just said. I merely nodded sympathetically.
‘My vicar said I was going too far – to deny the Mass is to go against the orders of the King, who is Head of the Church, appointed by God. But then, not long after, I met Master Curdy.’
‘Greening’s friend, who has vanished. The candlemaker.’
‘Yes, sir. He knew my mother slightly. She died early this year. I spoke with him after the funeral, and he asked me to meet him for a drink. He turned the talk to religion. He is a learned man, self-taught, and a pleasant, engaging fellow; we met again and he told me he attended a discussion group of like-minded folk which I might find interesting.’
I looked at Myldmore’s face, drawn and pale. A lonely, serious, conflicted young man, probably unpopular because of his job, just the sort who might be recruited to the radical cause. It struck me, too, that all the known members of the group were single, though Vandersteyn might have a wife back in Flanders. Otherwise, no wives or children to distract attention from the cause. ‘And you went?’
‘I attended my first group in April. They always met at Master Greening’s print-shop. Only those invited could come, and we were asked not to tell anyone else about the meetings.’ He broke off suddenly, biting his lip. ‘And everyone I met there is gone now, vanished. Master Greening is dead and all the others have disappeared, I do not know whether of their own will. Elias the apprentice, Master Curdy, McKendrick the Scottish preacher, Vandersteyn the Dutchman, Michael Leeman that served the Queen at Whitehall – ’
I sat up. ‘Leeman was a member of your group?’ I had wondered whether there might be a connection, and here was confirmation.
‘He was.’ Myldmore’s eyes widened. ‘Did you not know? What has happened to him?’
> ‘I know only that he, too, has disappeared.’ I drew a deep breath. So Leeman had taken the Lamentation and given it to Greening. That was clear now. And Myldmore had mentioned ‘the manuscript’, too. But I must tread carefully.
Myldmore was looking at me anxiously again. ‘Please understand me, sir,’ he said, ‘I was never fully part of their group. They treated me with caution, asking me questions about my beliefs, always glancing at each other when I answered. It was as though – as though they were testing me.’
‘Yes, I think I understand.’ This was beginning to sound less like a group of radicals than a conspiracy.
Myldmore continued. ‘They did not seem to like it that I was still uncertain about the Mass. Though they had strong arguments – about the Mass not being in the Bible – ’ He broke off suddenly; he still did not quite trust me.
‘We need not discuss that at all,’ I said reassuringly. ‘I promise, what anyone believes about the Mass is quite irrelevant to my enquiry.’
He looked relieved, and went on, ‘Other things they said or hinted at I did not understand, or did not agree with. They were strong on the need for people to be baptized as adults, not as children, just as John the Baptist and the disciples had been. And when I said the King was appointed by God to be Head of the Church, that angered them; they said the forbidding of the Bible to poor folk was akin to plucking God’s word from the people, and thanked the Lord that John Bale and others were having works on the gospel sent from the Continent. Though they said Bale had no understanding of the need for the ruling powers to be thrown down.’
‘They said that? Used those very words?’
‘Yes, sir. And said the King’s royal blood mattered not a jot, we were all descended from Adam our common father.’ He shook his head vigorously. ‘Such words are treason. I said it was not right.’ He took a deep breath. ‘Shortly after that, they told me there stood too much between us for me to remain a member of their group. And so I left, having sworn not to reveal their existence to anyone. I confess I was glad. I felt them more and more as a weight on me.’