Tombland

We arrived at Hatfield on the afternoon of the sixth. There, all was quiet and peaceful, yellow leaves beginning to drift down from the trees in the gardens, peacocks calling, the red-brick mansion beautiful in the mellow autumn sunshine. When I had told Liz Partlett during the journey that I was to visit the Lady Elizabeth’s Comptroller, who was my client, her eyes had widened in surprise, as they did again at the sight of Hatfield Palace. I gave my name, and the guards at the gate sent for the big Welshman, Fowberry, who had accompanied us on our journey from London that rainy June day, which now felt like years ago. I was admitted, but Nicholas and Barak and Liz were told to stay at the gatehouse with Mousy. Fowberry looked in surprise at Liz and the baby, and Barak’s artificial hand. Barak gave him a cold stare in return. A mounting-block was fetched and I dismounted, stiffly after the long ride, brushing the dust of the road from my robe as I accompanied Fowberry to the house.

Thomas Parry was in his office. He invited me to sit and gave me some beer, then sat and stared across the desk at me for almost a minute, as though I was some strange animal arrived from the Indies. At last he said, ‘I had your letter. A remarkable story.’

‘I never expected events to turn out as they did.’

He raised his eyebrows. ‘That I can imagine.’

‘Has the Lady Elizabeth seen it?’

‘Oh, yes.’

‘I hope she is well.’

‘She is. Though vexed that she has not yet received her birthday gift from her brother, the King. I have told her it will arrive later today. It galls her all the more since she has had her present from the Lady Mary.’ He raised his bushy eyebrows again. ‘Can you imagine what Mary sent her? A book of prayers in Latin!’ He shook his head and laughed, then turned to me, eyes suddenly hard and sharp. ‘You said you were called to Mary at Kenninghall, just before the rebellions reached Norwich.’

‘I was. She tried to sound me out as to whether the rebels might be sympathetic to traditionalist religion. I knew nothing of that then, and told her so.’ I took a deep breath. ‘Sir Richard Southwell was there; there are things I should tell you about him, that I thought better not to commit to paper.’ Parry inclined his head, and I related the story of Southwell’s involvement in the murder of Edith Boleyn, the locksmith and his apprentice. I said also that I was sure he had given money to Robert Kett, I suspected in return for a promise to leave Mary’s, and his, estates alone.

Parry was silent, digesting this new information, rubbing a hand across his plump chin. He sighed, then said, looking me hard in the eye again, ‘I must discuss this with the Lady Elizabeth. Now. Whether any of this should be revealed.’

‘But surely – when he was one of those who conspired to kill her relative –’

Parry interrupted. ‘Matthew, much is happening on the Council now. We are all but thrown out of Scotland, and after these terrible rebellions and now the war with France, there are those who say the Duke of Somerset should be removed as Protector. You can imagine the main candidate to take his place.’

‘The Earl of Warwick?’

‘Yes; but Somerset still has his supporters. I do not know how this will fall out, but I suspect trouble to come. And the Lady Elizabeth’s policy is, and must always be, to stay out of high politics.’ He leaned back in his chair. ‘Remember, Southwell was nominated by the late king as an alternate member of the Council, should any member die. And do not forget that after two months in the rebel camp consorting with Robert Kett, your own continued safety is largely a matter of luck, because it is the Council’s policy to forgive gentlemen who were forced to aid the rebels under threat, not just in Norfolk but all across the country. Otherwise local government would be stripped bare.’ He eyed me narrowly. ‘Though I have a suspicion your work with Kett, however you may have sought to moderate his policy, was not wholly involuntary. No, do not answer, I do not wish to hear. But if I have suspicions, so will others. Richard Rich, for example, who is currently busy executing rebel leaders in Essex.’ He frowned slightly. ‘By the way, I am told you brought a one-armed man and a woman, both commoners from what Fowberry said, back with you from Norwich – together with, of all things, a baby. Who are they?’

‘The man is my old employee, Barak, who, I told you in June, was working at the Norwich Assizes. The baby is the daughter of an old servant who went with her husband to live in Norwich. They were both killed during the rebellion. The woman is a wet-nurse I have employed. I intend to adopt the child.’

‘Killed? Rebel supporters, then, I take it.’

‘They were murdered,’ I said, returning Parry’s hard look.

‘If you are going to adopt the child, you must invent a less incriminating story for her background.’ He rose abruptly from the table. ‘I am going to tell the Lady Elizabeth about Southwell. Stay here.’

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