Tombland

Isabella answered the door. She wore a green dress with a high collar, of good quality but not ostentatious, just right for the trial, her blonde hair under a matching hood. Her pretty face looked strained, but set. She smiled with relief at the sight of us. ‘Thank you for coming, Master Shardlake. We got here half an hour ago. People are looking at us.’

‘I’m afraid that will continue until after the trial.’

‘Have you seen my husband today?’ she asked eagerly. ‘Is there any new evidence?’

‘I fear not.’ Her face fell. I told her about what had happened to Snockstobe.

‘Dear God,’ she said. ‘Someone else dead. Was he pushed off the bridge?’

‘I suspect so, but cannot prove it.’ I told her of my visit to her husband earlier that day, and that he had money secreted away for her in a hiding place, which he would tell her about. I watched for her reaction, but it seemed one of genuine surprise and delight. ‘Thank God John was so careful,’ she said. Finally, I told her of the request for a pardon from Elizabeth, because I was sure Boleyn would do so anyway, and stressed it was important to keep it quiet until after the trial. At that she sat down, her whole body shuddering with relief, tears pricking her eyes. ‘Thank God,’ she said. ‘Thank God.’

‘I told your husband, the outcome is not a certainty.’

She wiped her eyes with a handkerchief. ‘But it gives him hope, even if he is found guilty. Forgive me, I am a weak woman, and thus ever prone to tears.’

Nicholas said, ‘I think you have shown rare courage and strength given your terrible trials, madam.’

She smiled at him gratefully. ‘Indeed you have,’ I agreed. I took a deep breath, then added, ‘There is one matter where I have been unable to move your husband. I think he went out on the night of Edith’s murder. Have you any idea where he might have gone?’

Nicholas added, ‘If you do, you must say so now, or it will be too late.’

She met my gaze. ‘I know nothing. If John went out of the house, he left silently, without telling me.’ A note of exasperation entered her voice. ‘Given what is at stake, do you not think I would tell you if I knew?’

‘Very well. Now, before you visit your husband, I must go through what will happen tomorrow. I want to call Goodman Chawry as a witness. Your husband says he would speak in his favour, say he was a good master.’

‘Yes, I am sure. Daniel and my husband like each other, he is a good man, the only servant who has stayed loyal to us. I had to travel with him today, as I have no maid to accompany me. He has taken the room next door. No doubt people will gossip about that,’ she added bitterly.

‘Can you call him in? There is something I wish to ask him.’

Isabella went out, returning a couple of minutes later with Daniel Chawry, also dressed well and soberly in a black doublet, his red hair and beard recently cut. I thought, He would answer the apprentice Walter’s description of the man who had come to see Snockstobe, but then, as I had said before, so would half the men in Norwich.

‘God give you good evening, Goodman Chawry,’ I said.

‘Master Shardlake,’ he answered in a quiet, respectful voice. ‘I am glad you and Master Nicholas are here to help us.’

‘We have no new evidence, I fear. Save on one matter. I wonder if you remember being at an inn near the cockpit in Coslany, shortly before Edith Boleyn was murdered, where Gerald and Barnabas were present, and there was a ruffle about Gerald losing his purse.’

‘I remember that well enough. They were telling everybody that they had a plan that would cause some fun and games at Brikewell.’

‘Those were their words?’

‘Indeed. Their friends were laughing.’

I thought, Whatever those fun and games were, they did not mean murder, for that they would have kept a tight secret.

‘Do you visit that inn often?’ I asked.

‘Yes. I attend the cockfights at least once a week. Then I go for a drink afterwards.’

Personally, I could not stomach the baiting of animals, the cruel shouts from the crowd as they bled and died: most people saw it as an eccentric weakness, which perhaps it was. I said, ‘I have discovered that in the purse was a key to Midnight’s stable, which the twins had stolen from Simon Scambler.’

Chawry shook his head. ‘Young Sooty, always getting into trouble.’

‘This was not his fault,’ I said sharply. ‘There is a question as to whether someone may have taken the key to make an impression of it. Did you see anything?’

‘I remember the twins saying something about a purse, and then rushing over to a bench. I was watching because I hoped someone had stolen it, but it was still there. That’s all I remember. I’m sorry. How does it affect the case?’

I told him the story of the locksmith, and our encounter with the twins. ‘So far as the locksmith and the apprentice are concerned it is hearsay evidence, but I shall try to raise it tomorrow.’

Chawry nodded, then looked at Isabella, forcing a smile. ‘Perhaps in a few days Master Boleyn will be back, riding Midnight.’