Tombland

Parry looked at me hard. ‘I persuaded the Lady Elizabeth that Mistress Edith, a most distant relation, was no concern of ours, and the last thing she needed, after the Seymour business, was direct association with a scandal involving murder. Mistress Blanche supported me. Thank God, the Lady Elizabeth is a realist at heart, and eventually agreed we would say nothing and let justice take its course.’ He leaned forward, speaking slowly and deliberately. ‘Outside this room, Edith Boleyn’s visit to this house never happened. Do not forget that.’

‘Very well.’ I was glad that as lawyers in Elizabeth’s employ, Nicholas and I were protected by legal privilege from revealing anything Parry told us.

‘However –’ Parry shook his head – ‘the Lady Elizabeth has set two conditions. First, a legal representative of hers should be sent to Norfolk to enquire – delicately – about events. That would be no more than showing legitimate concern that justice was done to John Boleyn. Her wish is that the representative, given your – experience – in such investigations, should be you.’

I considered. ‘As it is a criminal trial, Boleyn cannot have representation by counsel because, the burden of proof being guilt beyond a reasonable doubt, the law considers the facts should be so plain that counsel is not needed. Nonsense, of course, but there it is.’

‘Complete nonsense,’ Nicholas agreed. ‘I was shocked when I began studying law and learned that.’

Parry looked at us. ‘Personally, I thank God for it, or the Lady Elizabeth would have you arguing John Boleyn’s case in court. But we agreed you will only make enquiries about the case, and present any relevant evidence you may find to the authorities. I told her Copuldyke and his man could do that, but she insisted on you.’

‘What if I were to find evidence confirming John Boleyn’s guilt?’

‘Then the law must take its course.’ Parry narrowed his eyes. ‘It would be convenient for all, Master Shardlake, if you were to find nothing of significance either way. We do not wish to be seen to rock the boat.’

I did not answer directly. ‘You said the Lady set another condition.’

‘Yes, and I am still trying to dissuade her from it. I hope’ – he shook his head, wearily – ‘it does not arise. But here it is. If you find evidence to support Boleyn’s innocence, but a jury convicts him nonetheless, she says she will fund an application for a royal pardon.’

I took a deep breath. The King had the power to grant a pardon nullifying even a verdict of murder. When very wealthy people were convicted of capital offences, there often followed a greasing of palms in the royal household, all the way up to the King. But nowadays, given Edward’s youth, in practice that meant a pardon from Protector Somerset, with whom Elizabeth was already in bad odour.

‘I can see why you would dislike that course, Master Parry.’

‘She thinks that if the request for a pardon comes from her, the King himself will intervene. But Edward won’t lift a finger. He is mildly fond of his sister, but no more. He doesn’t see her from one season’s end to the next, and he is completely in the power of the Seymours. The family, you will remember, who displaced the Boleyns.’ He looked at me hard again. ‘I said the Lady Elizabeth was a realist, and she is cautious, but where anything to do with her mother is concerned, her heart begins to rule her head. She is still only fifteen, remember. Help me bury this business, Matthew. For her sake. Let Boleyn be found guilty or not, as the evidence and local politics dictate. I want no application for a pardon.’

‘I see,’ I said slowly. ‘You said your man Copuldyke and his assistant will help me with local information?’

‘Yes. Both are now in London, you can speak to them when you return. You will act as Copuldyke’s agent, and his man will go to Norfolk with you. Take the lad’ – he nodded at Nicholas – ‘but use careful judgement if you talk to your friend Barak. Base yourself in Norwich. The Boleyn property is only about a dozen miles from there.’

I did a quick calculation. Today was June the sixth. I would have to get back to London, talk to Copuldyke and Lockswood, and make speedy arrangements to go to Norfolk, a three or four days’ journey. It was irritating that I had to return to London, for Hatfield was on the way to Norfolk. I said to Parry, ‘It will be a week before I get there. That leaves only a few days to investigate before the Assizes start.’

Parry inclined his head. ‘One can only do what one can in the time,’ he said, an evasive note in his voice. I wondered whether he had deliberately delayed telling Elizabeth of Edith’s murder, to make it less likely that I would have time to find anything that might prove troublesome.

I asked, ‘May I have copies of all the documents you have? It will save me having to get them from the court in Norwich.’