by C. J. Sansom
‘One of the pages always cleans the bedchamber first?’
‘Yes.’
‘Are the pages obedient? Boys are prone to mischief.’
‘Once or twice I have caught them playing cards in the Queen’s Gallery and reported them to the gentleman usher, but they would not dare to make any real trouble in the Queen’s quarters. The boys on duty that evening had done a good enough job. One of the guards told me her majesty was with the King that evening. Sometimes when she returns she likes to talk with me, so as I went back to my lodgings I told the guard I would be there if she wanted me. I have to say, Serjeant Shardlake, it seemed a very ordinary evening. Nothing unusual, nothing out of place. Only – ’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘There was a slightly unpleasant smell in the bedchamber. So slight you could barely catch it.’
‘What sort of smell?’
‘Begging your pardon, of ordure. I thought perhaps it had come from the river, and closed the window. I looked round the room closely with my lamp as well, but could see nothing amiss. As I said, the smell was very faint.’
‘And did you notice anything about the Queen’s private chest? Where the ring was kept?’
‘The page had laid the linen on top of it as usual. There was nothing untoward.’ She paused. ‘I wish I could help you more with this, sir, given the Queen’s distress.’ She spoke now with feeling. ‘But there was nothing.’
‘You will have seen inside the chest?’
‘A few times. The Queen has sometimes taken out her jewels, or a half-finished letter in front of me; she always kept the key round her neck.’ Her voice grew sad. ‘But not these last few months. Recently her majesty has seemed reluctant to let me see inside it.’
I had to deflect her from this path, even if it meant lying. ‘Sometimes when a person has been under strain for a while, as I know the Queen has, some final event, such as the loss of a ring from a loved one, can unbalance their humours.’
She nodded. ‘True.’ But she looked at me keenly.
‘You are quite sure, then, there was nothing unusual that night.’
She thought hard, then something seemed to occur to her. ‘Apart from the smell, which soon vanished, there was only one thing, something so small I hesitate to mention it.’
‘What?’ I leaned forward over Lord Parr’s desk. ‘Anything might help.’
‘I told you I came over from my lodgings. You will have discovered how many guarded doors one must pass through in this place – at the entrance to the King’s Guard Chamber, the Presence Chambers, the Privy Chamber, the privy lodgings . . . When I am on duty I am always on the list of people to be admitted. Sometimes a guard new to his duties will ask who I am, check that I am on the list and make a prick against my name with his pin. I do not complain, it is their duty. But in the Queen’s apartments nearly all the guards know me; they just mark my name as I pass. That night the guard on the door to the privy lodgings was a man who has often been on duty there, named Zachary Gawger. To my surprise he stopped me and made a fuss about being unable to find my name on his list. I told him not to be foolish, but he insisted on checking the list twice before he finally found it and let me through. And he spoke in a loud, bullying tone, not fit for addressing a lady of my station.’ She bridled slightly. ‘I wondered if he might be drunk, but the guard captain always checks the guards are sober, and their equipment in order, before he allows them on duty.’
‘It certainly sounds strange,’ I agreed. ‘I shall discuss it with Lord Parr.’ I stood and bowed. ‘I thank you for your time.’
Mistress Odell got up. ‘I am asked to take you to the Queen’s private prayer closet now. The Queen will meet you there. I understand you are to speak to Jane Fool.’
‘’Tis so.’
That touch of a humorous smile again, like Queen Catherine’s. ‘I wish you good luck with her, sir.’
She opened the door, and I followed her out.
WE WALKED DOWN the hallway. A rich perfume of roses and lavender filled the air, the scent coming from petals laid alongside the wainscotting. Through an open door at the end of the hall I had a glimpse of an immensely long, brightly painted gallery with tall windows, and of caged songbirds within that made a pretty trilling. The Queen’s Gallery, I surmised.
Mary Odell knocked on a side door and, receiving no reply, bade me enter. I found myself in a private closet, a room for prayer. The design was impeccably orthodox; richly painted like everywhere in the palace, with an altar covered with embroidered white linen and candles burning in niches. The Queen would make sure her private chapel presented no visible sign of reformism for her enemies to use against her.
Mary Odell turned in the doorway. ‘The Queen and Jane should be here soon.’
‘Thank you, Mistress Odell.’
She gave me a sudden winning smile. ‘I know you will do all you can to help the Queen. God speed your efforts, Serjeant Shardlake.’
‘You are kind.’
She went out with a rustle of silken skirts, leaving me alone. In the distance I could hear faint voices: the daily hubbub of the palace. At last, I thought, I gain a little ground. The man with half an ear who had been at the first attack on Greening was linked to someone at the top; Mary Odell’s strange episode with the guard should be investigated, too. Even that odd smell should be considered further. And now I was about to see the Queen again. I looked at one of the red candles burning in the chapel, and for a moment felt an odd sense of contentment.
So thick was the rush matting that I did not hear approaching footsteps, and started as the door opened. Four women entered, but Queen Catherine was not among them. Two were young, dressed sumptuously in long-sleeved dresses. The two others, I realized with a shock, were familiar to me from the great portrait of the King and his family. One was the little round-faced woman who had been standing behind the Lady Mary in the doorway; the other was the Lady Mary herself. The little woman, who I realized must be Jane Fool, had with her, of all creatures, a fat white duck, which waddled beside her, a leathern collar and leash round its neck.
Jane was conspicuous in the comparative plainness of her dress, though her grey high-collared gown and white coif were of the best material. Her blue eyes darted around the chapel then fixed on me with a blank, frightened look. Beside her, scarcely taller, but magnificently dressed and with a bearing of regal authority, the Lady Mary studied me. I bowed almost to the floor, my heart thumping hard.
‘Rise, master lawyer.’ The voice was rich, surprisingly deep.
I looked at the King’s eldest child. I knew Catherine of Aragon’s daughter was much older than the Lady Elizabeth and Prince Edward; well into her twenties and, with her thin, narrow features, looking older still. She had auburn hair under a round French hood studded with diamonds, and a green gown decorated with pomegranates; a popular design but also the emblem of her long-dead, rejected mother. Small, shapely hands played with a golden pomander which she wore at her waist.
‘Forgive me, my Lady,’ I said. ‘I did not know – ’
She nodded and smiled pleasantly, though her dark eyes were coldly watchful. She struck me as someone who had been watchful all her life, despite her poised manner. She waved a hand. ‘You were expecting the Queen, I know. But my father called on her to sit with him a little. Jane was with me when Mary Odell came to fetch her, and I said I would accompany her instead.’ She looked at me quizzically. ‘I believe you have been asked to investigate the Queen’s stolen ring.’
‘That is correct, my lady. By Lord Parr.’
Mary made a movement of her thin shoulders, a hint of a shrug. ‘I had heard vaguely of it. But I have been much engaged these last few days observing the building of my new lodgings.’ A touch of pride entered her voice. ‘I have brought two of my ladies along, as you see, for propriety’s sake.’ She did not introduce them, but continued to address me. ‘I am surprised poor Jane is to be questioned.’
She looked fondly at the little woman, who stared back at her appealingly and
spoke, in a high voice. ‘I haven’t done aught amiss, my lady.’
I wondered, was Jane genuinely slow-witted and anxious, or was she acting? I could not tell; there was something oddly inscrutable about her moon face, either because her mind worked strangely or because she was a skilled actress. Perhaps it was both.
I said, ‘The Queen wished it, because Jane – ’ it seemed the custom to refer to her by her Christian name – ‘was one of only four people who entered her majesty’s bedchamber on the evening the ring was stolen.’ I turned to Jane. ‘You are not suspected of anything. It is rather a matter of whether you might have seen or noticed anything amiss—’
The Lady Mary’s voice, suddenly sharp, interrupted me. ‘I require that you address any questions to Jane through me, sir, as I am sure the Queen herself would wish, were she able to attend. I will not have her frightened.’ She gave a slight frown, which the two ladies-in-waiting instantly copied. The duck pulled at its leash, keen to investigate a scattering of herbs lying in a corner of the prayer closet.
‘Then may I request, my Lady, that you ask Jane where she went, and what she might have seen, from the time she entered the privy lodgings on the sixth of July?’
‘Well, Jane?’ the Lady Mary asked encouragingly. ‘Do you remember anything?’
Jane Fool gave me a quick look before addressing her mistress. ‘I wanted to show the Queen a new trick I have taught Ducky, to seek out herbs which I have hidden. But the ladies would not let me past the Privy Chamber, they said she was not in.’ To my surprise Jane then stamped her foot like a child, and raised her voice. ‘Often they try to keep me from the Queen, though I alone can divert her when she is sad. She has often been sad of late—’
Mary raised a hand, and Jane was instantly silent. ‘Yes,’ Mary said dryly. ‘She has. And now such a fuss over a missing ring.’ However hard the Queen might have tried to bring the King’s children into amity with her and each other, it seemed that with Mary at least her success had been limited.
‘It was of great sentimental value,’ I murmured. ‘My Lady, if Jane could say where she went – ’
Mary turned back to Jane. She spoke patiently. ‘When you went past the ladies into the privy lodgings, where did you go? Did you see anything strange?’
‘I looked in all the rooms for the Queen,’ Jane replied. ‘And when I saw she was truly not there, I came out again into the Privy Chamber. Nobody was in her quarters, the pages had gone and Mary Odell not yet come.’
‘Then all is well.’ Mary spoke in a tone of finality and Jane Fool shot me a quick, triumphant look.
I persisted. ‘Did she notice anything unusual in the Queen’s bedchamber? About her private chest, perhaps, where she kept the ring and other valuables?’
‘No. Nothing,’ Jane said – too quickly, I thought. ‘The Queen never lets me near it. My Lady, this crookback frightens me.’ I thought, you are lying. From the change in the Lady Mary’s expression I realized she saw it too.
‘Any information would be received most gratefully by the Queen,’ I dared to venture.
The Lady Mary looked at Jane. ‘Be calm, my dear. You know I can tell when you are playing games. Tell the gentleman anything you know, and I give you my word you will come to no harm.’
Jane Fool was red-faced now. Like a child, she pouted and stuck a finger in her mouth.
‘Jane – ’ A stern note had crept into the Lady Mary’s voice.
‘It’s rude, it’s naughty,’ Jane blurted out.
‘What is, Jane?’
There was a long moment of silence. Then she said, ‘When I went into the bedchamber to see whether the Queen was there – ’
I leaned forward. The Lady Mary said encouragingly, ‘Yes – ?’
‘I had Ducky with me, and – ’
‘Yes – ?’
‘He shat on the floor.’
Whatever I had expected, it was not that. So that explained the smell. ‘A little trail of shit on the matting,’ Jane continued. ‘I was afraid the gentleman ushers might have Ducky sent away. I took a cloth and cleaned it up, using water from the Queen’s rosewater bowl. The scent of herbs in the room was so strong, I thought the smell might not be noticed. I went away at once, and told no one.’ Suddenly she yanked the duck’s leash, pulling it towards her with almost enough force to break its neck, then bent down and hugged it to her. It looked startled, as well it might. ‘Don’t let the hunchback tell, my Lady, I beg you. I love Ducky.’
‘No one will tell, Jane,’ the Lady Mary said. She looked at me then, her mouth twitching slightly, and I discerned she had a quality I had not guessed at before: a sense of humour.
‘Does that satisfy you, master lawyer?’ she asked.
‘Of course, my Lady.’
‘I will allow you to report the duck’s misdemeanour to Lord Parr,’ she said gravely. ‘But only on condition Jane is not parted from it. I think the Queen would agree.’
‘Of course, my Lady.’
‘Then we will leave you to your business.’
One of the ladies-in-waiting helped Jane to her feet; the other opened the door for the Lady Mary. I bowed low again. They went out, the duck waddling after the group on its webbed yellow feet. As I rose, the Lady Mary turned, looked at me, and gave a sardonic little smile. The door closed. I stood there, shaken by the unexpected and ridiculous turn of events. Ridiculous? I could not help but wonder whether I had just been made the victim of an elaborate charade, and whether Jane Fool knew more than she had said. But if so, she was an accomplished actress. And I had no evidence, none at all. I thought of her childlike demeanour. Perhaps that was what had attracted the Queen and the Lady Mary to her, two mature women who were childless and likely to remain so. Perhaps she was a substitute child for them and nothing more. But there was something about Mary Tudor that made me afraid to think of the Lamentation ending in her hands.
I STAYED IN the prayer closet, with the candles and incense. Half an hour passed, the light outside beginning to fade, before the door opened again and Lord Parr entered. He was frowning. ‘I am told the Lady Mary accompanied Jane Fool to see you. You gave her no hint about the book?’ He looked at me anxiously.
‘None, my Lord.’ I told him the absurd story about the duck, what I had gleaned from Garet Lynley about the man with half an ear missing, and Mary Odell’s story of the guard.
He nodded. ‘I will make discreet enquiries. A man with half an ear serving a great man of the realm . . .’
‘The page said one of the great personages of the realm.’
He studied me closely. ‘You mean the Lady Mary? That she might have sent Jane Fool to steal the book that evening after all?’
‘We must make absolutely sure the Queen dropped no hint about the book to Jane.’
Lord Parr shook his head. ‘Jane has always appeared a natural idiot.’
‘Perhaps. Yet her speech, even though childish, is fluent. And sometimes one can be – indiscreet – before fools.’
He nodded, taking the point, but said, ‘The Queen would not be. Not on this. And as I said before, the Lady Mary has stayed strictly orthodox for a decade. Nonetheless, I will speak to the Queen about Jane. Though even that theory begs the question of how someone managed to get the coffer open yet leave no signs of forced entry.’ He sighed. ‘Thank you, Master Shardlake, we may be starting to make progress. Now, the Queen is still with the King. A good time for us to take a look at the coffer. Come.’
THE QUEEN’S BEDCHAMBER overlooked the river. It was a large, feminine room, richly scented, with flowers in vases and large embroidered cushions scattered on the floor where one might lie and read. A huge four-poster bed dominated the room. There was a desk, bare save for an ornate inkwell: here, at this desk, the Queen had written Lamentation of a Sinner. Next to the desk stood a solid wooden chest, two and a half feet high, a red-and-gold turkey carpet fixed to the top. On the front two carved nymphs flanked a Tudor rose. There was no bed linen on the chest; tonight’s page had not arrive
d yet.
Lord Parr knelt down, with surprising suppleness for a man of his age, and I followed more slowly. He banged the side of the coffer, bringing forth a hollow echo.
‘Firm, solid oak,’ he said. ‘All the Queen’s valuables have been removed and placed elsewhere.’
I studied the lock. It was small but very solid, set firmly into the wood. I ran my fingers over it. ‘No sign of scratches on the metal, nor the wood surrounding it. It was either opened with a key, or by a very skilled locksmith.’
‘I have had the Queen’s valuables taken elsewhere,’ Lord Parr said, opening the chest carefully.
I looked at the empty interior, then bent carefully to study the lock from within. My back was hurting after this long day. No sign of scratches there, either. ‘I have seen many chests and coffers for securing valuables,’ I said. ‘Mostly documents in my case. Often they have two or three locks, and complicated mechanisms inside.’
He nodded agreement. ‘Yes. But this coffer was given to the Queen by her mother. She is very attached to it.’
I looked up at him. ‘But the lock is surely new.’
‘Yes indeed. When the hunt for heretics and the questioning of those within the royal household started this spring, the Queen had the locks on all her cupboards and coffers replaced. I asked if she wanted a more complex lock for this one, too, but she said it might damage the coffer. I remember her telling me, “If I have the only key and the new lock is strong, surely it is safe.” ’ ‘Of course,’ he added, with a note of bitterness in his voice, ‘I did not know then what lay within.’
