Tombland

I excused myself. The smoke from all the candles was making the house stuffy. I stepped outside for a breath of air. I looked up at the stars. Then, from nearby, I heard the sound of a woman crying. There was a gate beside the house, leading to the garden behind, and I opened it quietly. In the garden Beatrice Kenzy was sitting on a bench, her form dimly illuminated by the light from the windows.

‘Beatrice,’ I said.

She wiped her face angrily. ‘What do you want?’

‘Only to help, if I can.’

She glared at me. ‘You never liked me, did you?’

I sat beside her. ‘I felt you were dangling Nicholas on a string, at your mother’s instigation, no doubt, perhaps because of the exaggerated idea she had about my contacts in high places.’

I thought she might fly at me, but instead she gave a brittle laugh. ‘You are right. Since I was a little girl she has been training me in the womanly arts, that I might ensnare a wealthy husband. I did not love Nicholas, though I liked him much and thought he might prove a kind husband. When he told me tonight that his feelings for me had changed, although I had guessed that already, it upset me: I felt as though I had been defeated. Is that not foolish?’

‘I do not know.’

She spoke with a force and fluency I would never have expected. ‘No, men never know what it is like to be a gentlewoman, brought up to think of nothing but styles for clothes and hair, how to simper and tease, approach and retreat. I am good at it, I have been taught well. My mother thinks it all there is in the world.’

‘But you know it is not.’

‘It is all – artificial.’

I said, ‘I am sorry I misjudged you.’

She shook her head. ‘Mother will soon be planning further introductions for me. And I will go along with her plans, for you have seen how she rules this family. My father cares little, all he wants is a quiet life.’

‘You could stand up to her.’

‘She would shriek and rail at me.’

‘Perhaps you could shriek and rail back, insist on making your own choice, in your own way. Then your father would have no peace, and perhaps he might even step in on your side.’

She smiled through her tears. ‘It would not be so easy. But thank you.’

There was the sound of a window opening, and Laura Kenzy’s voice called out in fluting tones, ‘Beatrice, are you there? It is time to go!’

She rose, sighed, and walked heavily along the pathway to the rear door of the house, her shoulders sagging. She turned at the door and said to me, ‘You are adopting a little girl. I beg you, do not bring her up as I have been.’

‘I can promise you that.’

Epilogue

7 December 1549

I stood at the window of my study, watching the snow whirl down. It had begun early that afternoon, driven by a strong wind. Now it lay thick on my path, and on Chancery Lane beyond. I looked out, and thought of Robert Kett. He had been executed in Norwich that morning, his body tied in chains and then hauled from the ground up to the top of Norwich Castle, where he had been hanged. His corpse had been left dangling from the top of the castle in its chains, and would stay there till it rotted away. His brother William had been executed in the same manner from the tower of Wymondham church.

After lunch, Barak and Tamasin had brought their two children, four-year-old George and two-year-old Tilda, to visit Mousy, who, at nine months old, was turning into a lively, cheerful child, busily crawling around, investigating everything she could reach and trying to put unsuitable things into her mouth, though Liz Partlett kept a constant, careful eye on her.

Barak took me aside at one point, and said, ‘I thought it would be good for us to come round. I know what day this is.’

‘Thank you,’ I answered quietly. On the surface Barak seemed far less marked than Nicholas or me by what had happened in Norfolk, but looking into his eyes sometimes I could see a burning, intense anger.

I changed the subject. ‘Have you grubbed up any more cases for Nick and I? We have enough to keep us going – that disputed will we got through you involves a dozen family claimants, and Edward Kenzy referred a big property case to us last week. It surprised me, it was decent of him. But without the Lady Elizabeth’s work, we could do with more.’

He grinned wickedly. ‘A nice juicy murder, perhaps?’

‘That I think we can do without.’

‘How is our carrot-head doing?’

‘Still brooding. That’s why I want more work for him. But a little better since he separated from Beatrice Kenzy.’

‘I’ll see what I can do. With Warwick firmly in charge now, people talk of setting new commercial schemes afoot, and some will need lawyers.’

‘Good.’

Shortly after, as the snow began to come down thickly, they left for home. I went to my study, to brood.