I WALKED BACK TO the Maid’s Head. It was midday, the summer sun hot. I had walked rather than ridden in Norwich; riding around the city would have been difficult in the crowded, narrow streets, and walking was easier on my back, though as I entered Tombland the muscle between my shoulder blades was hurting again. I wondered how Barak was faring; I felt deeply that I had let him down again.
I went to my room, and there prepared letters to the Lady Elizabeth and Parry, writing several drafts. In the end I decided on short, near-identical missives where I explained that Boleyn had been found guilty despite our best efforts, but my application for a pardon had been approved and a stay of execution granted. In the letter to Parry I added that I much regretted the verdict, and the adverse publicity that must follow, but the pardon application was my only option given my instructions. I advised him to get in touch with Cecil. I shook my head as I sanded the letters before going down to order a fast post-rider to Hatfield. Elizabeth would be angry at the verdict, and Parry furious about publicity in the country, and at the royal court, when the pardon request was presented. I had little doubt that both of them would make their displeasure known.
I WAS TIRED – I seemed to tire easily these days – and slept for a couple of hours until a servant arrived to tell me that Nicholas was back, with the two ‘goodmen’ who assisted us. It was still early for dinner, so I asked him to send them up.
Nicholas looked quite fresh, his pale skin a little sunburned, and he told me he and Barak had taken a walk up on Mousehold Heath after lunch – ‘a healthful place, the winds fresh’. I guessed he had taken Barak there to ensure that he did not get drunk. ‘Full of tussocky grass that snags your legs though,’ Barak added. He looked quite cheerful, but there was still that hard, too-bright look in his eyes. Toby looked tired. I told him the pardon request had gone in. He said quietly, ‘Master Shardlake, after dinner I would like to go back to my parents’ farm to stay. I am sorry the case was lost, but with the pardon lodged, there is little more I can do. If there is anything you or Master Copuldyke need, perhaps you could write to me.’ Given all the work we had done together, his manner remained unemotional, a little distant. But he would be preoccupied with the farm, and his mother’s illness.
‘Of course, Toby. Thank you for all the help you have given.’
‘Stay for dinner, though,’ Barak said. He looked at me. ‘Meanwhile, I wouldn’t mind going over the case again, now it’s over.’
Nicholas spoke seriously. ‘After all, we still do not know who murdered Edith Boleyn.’
I said, ‘A good idea. Will you stay, Toby?’
‘I do not think we can penetrate the mystery now. But yes, I will stay.’
I pulled out the table which stood by the window, we brought up chairs, and I fetched out paper and ink to take notes. A spasm went through my back as I sat.
‘All right?’ Barak asked.
‘Yes,’ I answered impatiently.
‘Well,’ Nicholas began, ‘it seems pretty much established that the deed was done by two men. Both probably strong, and with knowledge of Brikewell.’
Toby said, ‘If only you could find that boy Walter, and identify who came into Snockstobe’s shop. I’ve little doubt he can see as well as any of us. But he is in the wind.’ I noticed how ‘we’ had become ‘you’. It saddened me a little.
‘Well,’ Barak said, ‘at least we know who stole the key. The twins. Two strong young men.’ He looked at me. ‘Are you really sure it isn’t them? They’re as mad as two rabid dogs.’
‘Are they?’ Nicholas asked. ‘Mad, or just malign?’
‘Good point,’ I agreed. ‘I’ve seen a fair amount of them now, and I just don’t think they’d murder their mother, though of course it can’t be ruled out. And think, their relations with their father may have been very bad, but he still got them to lead the resistance to Witherington’s attempt to occupy the disputed lands earlier this year. Now they want him dead. I think that means they believe he killed her.’
Toby shook his head. ‘Remember the story of how Barnabas got that scar. The twins as children, drawing lots to see who would scar whose face, so that their mother would stop complaining that she could not tell them apart. They’re mad.’
‘Does that not show they wanted her love?’ I answered.
Barak looked at me. ‘When they did not get it, love could have turned to hate. And they gain from their father’s death. If Southwell agrees to make them wards of their grandfather, and the Protector agrees to return their lands to them, as often happens, they would get the estate. They’ll get rid of Isabella, and sell the estate. To Southwell, perhaps, in exchange for his cooperation over the wardship.’
‘Reynolds could pay Southwell for the wardship, and though the money goes to the King, he will cream off a good profit. And from what I hear, he is a man who much likes profit.’
Toby said, ‘He’s already been pardoned for a murder once, and he’s a powerful man.’
