Tombland

‘Who wants to know?’ The response down the ages of a man with something to hide. I repeated what I had told Walter. Snockstobe crossed his arms aggressively. ‘Why should I tell you about my customers?’

I decided on a direct approach. ‘Because if you don’t answer my questions, I will have a subpoena served on you to attend Master Boleyn’s trial on Thursday, and you can answer the judge.’

That shook Snockstobe visibly. He said, ‘I’ve worked for John Boleyn for years. Been to Brikewell many times. You know what a farm’s like, animals always breaking out, smashing locks.’

‘Did you make keys for the stables where he kept his horse, Midnight?’

Snockstobe laughed. ‘That creature. Kick you a hefty culp soon as look at you. Ay, I did a lock for the stable a few years back.’

‘And other work since, I hear.’

His eyes narrowed. ‘Who from?’

‘People tell us things,’ Toby answered with a smile.

I said, ‘I hear you got on well with Master Boleyn’s sons. Few do, by all accounts.’

‘They’re not so bad. They can be a laugh. I go to the bear-baiting when there is one, I’ve often seen them there, and at the cockfights.’

I remembered them hunting the small boy at their father’s house in London. I asked, ‘Did they bring you a key to copy, last month perhaps?’

‘No, they didn’t,’ Snockstobe answered flatly. ‘Walter!’ he shouted. The apprentice scuttled back in. Snockstobe glared at him. ‘On your oath, boy, have either of the Boleyn boys been in the shop this last year?’

Walter looked relieved. ‘No, sir, I can swear to that. On a Testament, if you wish.’

Snockstobe inclined his head at the apprentice. ‘There you are. And Walter’s a Bible lad; if he’s not on his knees praying, he’s off to Preacher Watson’s church to hear his endless sermons.’

I looked at him. I felt certain both he and the boy were hiding something. I said, ‘We will have the full truth of this, sir. We shall go now, but will be back later. With a subpoena. Perhaps two.’ Walter’s mouth fell open, while Snockstobe’s set in a hard line. I added, ‘Though, of course, it would go easier for you if you volunteered any information you have now.’

Snockstobe folded his arms again. ‘Nothing to say.’

‘Very well. We shall see you later.’ I motioned Nicholas and Toby to follow me out.

Outside, Toby said, ‘Couldn’t you have pressed them further? They’re hiding something, even if the twins didn’t visit themselves.’

‘I know. But under what authority? No, I need a subpoena. Nicholas, go now to the Assize offices, find Barak, and arrange it. A subpoena for Snockstobe to attend the trial, and to provide money to guarantee his attendance. This could be crucial. Toby, would you start looking for Grace Bone’s family?’

‘I will.’ He bowed quickly and walked away. As Nicholas took the road back to the castle, I stood in the middle of Tombland, conscious that we were clutching at frail reeds. But they were something, and one way or the other I would have the full story of the keys.

Chapter Twenty-one

Standing there, I saw that one of the stone gates to the cathedral precinct was open, and I walked towards it. Perhaps if I sat and reflected inside, some new inspiration would come. And all morning the dead beggar had kept coming into my mind, tweaking at my conscience. His body, I saw, had been removed.

Within the courtyard was a scene both of magnificence and destruction. Ahead of me was the great cathedral, built of white stone like the castle, its high narrow windows vaulting to the sky; an enormous tower topped with its great pointed spire. But to the right, where the former cathedral monastery had stood, the long cloister wall was ruined. More carts of stone were being brought through a gate leading to the interior of the former precinct. Outside, men in sleeveless leather jackets were working through piles of stone, sorting them by shape and size. I looked for Josephine’s Edward among them, but could not see him.

The main door to the cathedral was open, and I entered one of the most extraordinary spaces I had ever seen. Westminster Abbey, even York Minster, paled beside the vast arched space within, the relative narrowness and enormously high vaulting of the nave somehow adding to its magnificence. Looking up, I saw, far above, decorations of extraordinary beauty. Yet here, too, work of destruction was going on. Workmen were dismantling a chantry in a side chapel, while in another, men were attacking a richly painted shrine with hammers, the noise echoing around the cathedral. At the far end of the nave an ancient rood screen still stood, and stained glass remained in the windows, though, I imagined, not for long. At the far end of the nave an enormous wall painting was being whitewashed over, men standing on a rickety arrangement of scaffolding and boards. I remembered the man removing the wall painting at Whetstone. Only twelve days ago; it seemed much longer.