I put the letter down. The Lady Elizabeth obviously had the bit firmly between her teeth. She would be making Parry’s life difficult – hence perhaps the tone of his letter. Her final sentence also seemed to carry a veiled warning, that if I was wrong about John Boleyn, the blame might be shifted onto me. Elizabeth, I thought, is becoming a politician. I ran my hand vigorously through my white hair, until a spasm from my back made me gasp and lean helplessly back in my chair.
NICHOLAS VISITED ME early in the afternoon. I was again hobbling around the room, pleased to find I could do so now without the stick. ‘Come to help me walk downstairs?’ I asked. Then I saw his face was troubled. ‘What is it?’
‘I have just come back from visiting Simon Scambler’s aunt, Goodwife Marling.’
‘How is Scambler?’
‘Gone,’ he answered flatly. ‘The old crone has thrown him out of her house.’
I sat down carefully. ‘Why?’
‘Apparently Simon was upset when he heard what had happened at the hanging. Someone from their church told them all the gory details. So far as they knew, you were very badly hurt. Apparently, Simon started shouting that God was cruel to allow such things. It shocked his aunt. She got their vicar to visit and put the fear of God in him, but she told me Scambler gave him the same treatment, telling him how God allowed wickedness and injustice, even said he thought God was cruel himself. So she threw him out, saying she would allow no blasphemy in her own house. She fears her nephew is possessed.’
‘Does anyone know where he has gone?’
‘No. She said she has washed her hands of him. Went on about how she had only taken him in out of Christian charity when his father died, because he was her dead sister’s boy.’
‘The old bitch,’ I said, gripping the handle of my stick.
‘I told her about the statement you had lodged with the court, and she said she was glad at least he was safe from those young Boleyn devils. It was strange, she was sour-faced and sanctimonious as ever, blamed you for indulging him and his ways, yet looking in her eyes I think she felt some shame, too.’
‘I wonder what has happened to him.’ I sighed. ‘Another unemployed beggar in Norwich, probably. Look out for him, and ask Barak to do the same.’
Nicholas was silent a moment, then added, ‘I have made some enquiries at the locksmiths’ guild too. Gave the clerk some money. He checked the records. Walter’s last name was Padbury, and he did come from a district called the Sandlings, on the coast down in Suffolk. He was an orphan, but his father had Norwich connections. And Walter had no problems with his vision that anyone knew of. They wouldn’t have taken him as an apprentice if he had.’
‘We must send Toby over there. I hope he gets back in touch soon.’
‘I could go.’
‘No, it should be someone familiar with the country.’ I reached for my stick. ‘Come, I am going outside. Stay by me.’
Slowly and carefully, I manoeuvred my way down the inn stairs. It was a relief to reach the stone-flagged hallway. A servant opened the main door with a bow and I stepped out into Magdalen Lane. It was good to feel fresh air on my face once more; the sky was blue, the weather warmer again.
‘Accompany me down to the Tombland corner,’ I told Nicholas. I kept close to the wall, passing the place where the dead beggar had lain. I realized I had not thought of him in days.
I asked Nicholas, ‘What did Beatrice say?’
‘It was a most gentle letter. She hopes to see me back soon, and at dinner with her parents.’
‘Nothing more of this young barrister?’
