Tombland

He shook his head in genuine puzzlement. ‘Nobody. I investigated that matter both recently and two years ago when John Boleyn applied to have his wife declared dead. And my predecessor investigated it thoroughly in 1540 after she vanished. But nobody could tell us anything.’

‘Not her parents?’

‘No. She never contacted them. It is as though she hid in a hole for nine years.’ He considered a moment, then added, ‘I remember when I took over from my predecessor – dead now, God save his soul – he told me about the case. There was one person then whom he wanted to interview, but could not trace.’

‘Who was that?’

‘Edith Boleyn’s maid, Grace Bone.’

‘Yes, Master Boleyn mentioned her earlier. He said that before her disappearance Edith was the terror of her servants, even her loyal maid left her employ.’

Williams shook his head. ‘That is not the full story, according to what my predecessor told me. When Edith’s disappearance was investigated back in 1540 – with the marriage in trouble and Boleyn having a mistress, there was naturally fear of foul play – the story he got from the servants was different. Apparently, Edith and Grace had been very close, as is sometimes the way with women and their maids, and when she learned of her husband’s adultery, Edith could often be heard weeping in her room, with Grace Bone trying to comfort her. If anything during those last months they became closer than ever. So when she left with only a week’s notice, the servants were puzzled. Edith seemed more distraught than ever, and herself disappeared shortly after.’ Williams looked at me seriously. ‘My predecessor even wondered whether the maid had secretly been done away with, like her mistress.’

‘By John Boleyn?’

Williams shrugged. ‘I know only that she was never traced. She vanished as completely as her mistress. She had a brother in Norwich, it was said, but he could not be traced. Of course, it is too late to raise that matter now.’

I said incredulously, ‘You mean a second woman disappeared at the same time as Edith, and the matter was never investigated?’

The coroner frowned. ‘It was investigated, sir, by my predecessor, as I told you, but nothing was found. Possibly Grace Bone knew that Edith planned to leave her husband, and left herself before trouble blew up.’

‘That could be. But where did she go?’ I looked at Williams. ‘There may be two murders here.’

Williams shook his head. ‘There is no evidence. And without evidence there is nothing to be done. But as for Edith’s death last month, there is clear evidence, and it points to John Boleyn.’

I said quietly, ‘I see there is a very brief deposition from Edith’s father, Gawen Reynolds, saying only that he never saw his daughter again after 1540 until he was called to identify her last month.’

Williams shrugged. ‘That was all he had to say.’

‘And no deposition has been taken from Simon Scambler, the former stable boy.’

Williams laughed suddenly. ‘I remember now, mad Sooty Scambler. He wouldn’t have the balls or brains to murder a chicken.’

‘Nonetheless,’ I said, ‘I shall be speaking to him. And also to Master Gawen Reynolds.’

Williams looked me in the eye. ‘Be careful with that old man, he is not to be trifled with.’

* * *

WE LEFT THE Guildhall. ‘What thoughts on the meeting with the coroner?’ I asked.

Nicholas replied, ‘He told a slightly different story than John Boleyn about the maid’s departure.’

‘Though with the state of the marriage, Boleyn may have assumed that when Grace left it was because she was tired of Edith’s ways. We must question him again. And press him about where he was that night.’

* * *

WE WALKED UP to Tombland. The sun had passed its zenith, and the tall houses in the prosperous central areas of the city provided welcome shade. We noticed a great Italianate mansion, the doors closed and secured with wooden bars. ‘The Duke of Norfolk’s former palace in the city,’ Toby observed.

‘The King’s property now,’ I replied. ‘Or has it been sold to the Lady Mary like the Duke’s other lands?’

‘I think it is still in the King’s hands.’

‘And managed now by his escheator.’

* * *

THE REYNOLDS HOUSE in Tombland looked lifeless, the shutters on the upper windows closed and the courtyard gates firmly locked. Toby knocked loudly on the door and we heard footsteps slowly approaching. The door was opened by a handsome, strongly built man in his thirties, with brown hair, a short beard and sharp green eyes. He wore a madder-red doublet and green cap. When he saw Nicholas and me in our lawyers’ robes his eyes narrowed.

‘Is this the house of Master Gawen Reynolds?’ I asked.

‘Alderman Reynolds, yes,’ the man answered cautiously. ‘I am his steward. He and his wife are seeing no visitors at present, they have suffered a bereavement.’

‘It is about that we have come.’ I introduced myself and the others. ‘We are investigating the tragic death of your master’s daughter.’

The steward did not move. He glanced across the courtyard to the house, then said, ‘For whom are you acting, sir?’