Tombland

He shrugged, though his look was still intent, as though weighing up the effect of his words on me. ‘Edith said it was just something inside her, she didn’t understand herself. She told Grace once she wondered if she was under a curse. I never met Master Boleyn, but Grace said he was a decent enough man except when he was in a temper. I think maybe Edith was mad, Grace said sometimes she wouldn’t eat and would go down from a buxom woman to skin and bone.’

‘And she confided in Grace?’

‘Ay, Grace allus had a good soft heart.’ He looked at us, hard. ‘But in the end it got too much for her. Mistress Edith discovered John Boleyn was rutting with a local barmaid, and even though she couldn’t bear him, it upset her mightily. And those twins were getting worse, throwing tutors down the stairs and suchlike, and Master Boleyn losing his temper with everyone more and more. She could see a storm coming, and one day she decided she’d had enough, and left and came back here.’

I looked at him closely. ‘Edith Boleyn herself disappeared shortly afterwards.’

‘Ay, I know.’

‘Grace was sought out, as a witness.’

Peter looked at me steadily. ‘They never found us, they never knew where I lived, for Mercy and I had moved house a little time before. We talked about it, the three of us, and decided we didn’t want any more to do with that family.’ He smiled narrowly. ‘People of our class stick together; we made sure nobody told the justice our new address, and after a while they got tired of looking and gave up.’

‘Grace could have thrown some light on the mystery, at least about her mistress’s character,’ Nicholas said sternly.

Bone answered, with a sudden sharp anger, ‘Don’t you read me a morality tale, you boy in your fine lawyer’s robe. We didn’t want any more to do with that crazed family, especially after Edith disappeared.’ He turned on me. ‘Are you going to report us now, nine years later, for avoiding the searchers? Well, you’ve got me, but to get Grace and Mercy they’ll have to dig them up.’

Toby raised his hands placatingly. ‘Nobody’s going to report anyone. It’s just my master needs to find anything that might throw light on the case, as Nicholas here said, and time is desperately short. Forgive Master Nicholas there, he’s prone to antrums.’

Nicholas blushed. I said quietly, ‘I thank you for seeing us. We shall trouble you no longer.’

He nodded. ‘I would help if I could, but I know nothing of how Edith Boleyn died.’

I stood, putting five shillings from my purse on the table. ‘For your time.’

He looked at the coins, then clutched them in his hand, though he did not look up at us. He picked up the spindle. ‘I’d better keep a’doing,’ he said.

We left the house. Looking back I saw, through the wide window, that Peter was standing, looking out at us, the spindle moving rapidly up and down in his hand. There was that same narrow, intent look in his eyes.

Chapter Twenty-six

Toby left us to return to the Maid’s Head, assuring us his arm was well enough to ride to his parents’ farm. I said to Nicholas, ‘I want to see Boleyn alone. I’d like you to go to the coroner’s office, find out if they’ve examined Snockstobe’s body yet.’

‘I’m sure they have, he’ll be starting to stink.’ Nicholas’s tone was sharp. I looked at him. ‘What ails you?’ I asked.

‘It’s that Lockswood, always ready with some remark against me.’

I smiled. ‘Your antrums. Well, he had a point. Laying down morality to a man in poor Bone’s circumstances was not – sensitive.’

‘All right, maybe I was wrong. But Lockswood’s the one with antrums, he’s no more than a clerk, but talks to us more and more as though he were our equal.’

‘Barak is a clerk, too.’

‘But you’ve known him years. Latitude is allowed. And he’s not a resentful complainer like Toby.’

I shook my head. ‘I hoped you two might get on better, particularly after the experience we shared last night. Nick, you and Toby Lockswood may not like each other, but you’re going to have to try and rub along. With luck, we should be away from Norwich in a few days.’

‘I’ll try. But he doesn’t make it easy. You should see the looks he gives me sometimes.’

‘A few days,’ I repeated. ‘Now go to the coroner. I’ll meet you outside the main castle entrance later.’

I was sore tired, and feeling last night’s lack of sleep by the time I had traversed the steep streets of Norwich and reached the marketplace. The market was in full swing and the huge square was crowded; colourful awnings were everywhere and all the different trades – vegetable-sellers, fishmongers, butchers, ironmongers, wool merchants – were in their different sections, calling their wares. At the lower end of the market was an open space for poor folk bringing in goods from the countryside, their wares set out on cloths – cheese and butter, last season’s wrinkled apples and pears. Peddlers displayed a miscellany of small goods – pins, wooden mugs, chapbooks, coloured ribbons. I passed Scambler’s former employer at his stall, reminding me that I must visit the boy later.