Tombland

‘I tell you so you may understand my concern for my family. Please, do not tell Master Copuldyke this, he would use it to make a mockery of me.’

‘I shall say nothing.’

‘Thank you.’

‘In return, perhaps you may do something for me.’

‘If I can.’

‘Try to get on better with Nicholas. He is over-proud of his gentleman status, but there are reasons for that. Otherwise he is a decent young fellow, conscientious, intelligent and, as I have reason to know, brave.’

Lockswood gave a wry smile. ‘You are observant, sir.’

‘So should all lawyers be. And, finally, I want you to help me with some local information.’

‘Certainly.’

‘First, I should like to speak to the coroner who investigated Edith Boleyn’s murder. Where is he based?’

‘At the Guildhall. The coroners, like the justices, are expected to be in attendance when the Assizes begin.’

‘Good. Now, two years ago, I had a serving girl who worked for me in London. Her name is Josephine. She married a young man named Edward Brown, servant to an aged barrister named Peter Henning. Henning and his wife were retiring to Norwich, where they came from, and they took Edward and Josephine with them as servants. I was very fond of Josephine, I was able to help her once with some trouble, and gave her away at her wedding. She had no family, and nor did Edward.’ I told him of the letter I had received, the money I had sent, and my anxiety at hearing no more. Finally, I told Lockswood her address.

‘Cosny, eh? That’s how common folk pronounce Coslany here,’ he added. He looked serious. ‘Those are rough parts. I doubt a barrister would live there. Perhaps the old man died?’

‘Possibly. If Edward and Josephine are in trouble, I should like to help them.’

Lockswood nodded. ‘I can make some enquiries.’ His eyes narrowed as he spoke. I could tell what he was thinking, and said sharply, ‘Josephine was just a servant to me, nothing else.’

‘Of course,’ he answered, smiling. ‘When would you like me to return tomorrow?’

‘At six in the morning? You can breakfast with us.’

‘Then God give you good evening, sir.’ He stood, bowed, and walked out to the stables with his solid, confident tread. I sighed, took my stick, and went to find someone to guide me to my room, thinking uneasily of what he had said about Norwich being an unsafe place for gentlemen to travel alone, even on a light June evening.

* * *

ON THE RIDE I had been in more pain than I had admitted, and it was a great relief to stretch out on the feather quilt on the fine four-poster bed in my room. I lay there and looked through the window. I had a view of the church on the corner of Elm Hill, and of an elm tree with pale green leaves. I was much more comfortable lying down, but the journey had told on me. The space between my shoulder blades hurt badly.

I remembered an exercise Guy had given me when I had twisted my back some years ago. It involved lying on a rolled-up cloth placed under the affected area, and stretching my arms over my head. The bed was a little soft, so with some difficulty I lay on my back on the floor, a tightly rolled-up cloth under my shoulder blades, and gingerly raised my arms with an uncomfortable grunt.

For a moment nothing happened, then I felt a tremendous crack. I gasped with shock, then carefully rolled over and stood up. I feared I might have crippled myself, but in fact my back felt easier. ‘Kill or cure,’ I muttered, then, lying carefully on the bed, sent a mental ‘thankyou’ to my old friend. I lay dozing for some time, until the lengthening shadows cast by the elm made me realize it was time for me to go and meet Barak. I heaved myself to my feet, grasped my stick firmly, and went to find Nicholas.

Chapter Eleven

We stepped out into the warm June dusk. With my stick I could walk normally, with a little care. We went down the street and found ourselves in Tombland. On three sides stood well-appointed houses, most three-storeyed, painted in a variety of bright colours, with gated courtyards in front. On the fourth side stood the high walls fronting the cathedral, where two massive doors, each set in magnificently painted and decorated arched gateways, were closed for the evening. Over the wall we could see the high, ancient cathedral church, built like Norwich castle of white limestone, and the huge, pointed stone spire. Men in servants’ and traders’ clothes went in and out of the houses and through little clicket gates in the cathedral doors. A couple of watchmen bearing clubs stood at a corner, their coats showing the city arms of a red shield with a castle and lion underneath. A butcher’s cart rumbled by, stopping at one of the big houses. Two aproned men opened the courtyard door and helped the carter unload a bloody side of beef and several plucked geese.

‘Someone’s holding a grand dinner,’ Nicholas observed. ‘Tombland must be a fine place to live.’

‘If you have the money,’ I answered.