Lamentation

‘He didn’t know. But he said old Mrs Cotterstoke was a strong, determined woman. He was surprised she sold the business; he would have expected her to run it herself, as some widows do. But no, she just lived on in that house, alone. Edward started work at the Guildhall soon after, and Isabel married, while she was still very young, I believe.’

I considered. ‘So some quarrel divided all three of them. And old Mrs Cotterstoke — we agreed that the wording of the Will looks as though she wished to set her children against each other, taking revenge from beyond the grave.’

‘But for what?’

I shook my head. ‘These family disputes can start from something small and last till everyone involved dies.’

‘Perhaps this one will end now, after today’s inspection?’ he said hesitantly.

I raised my eyebrows. Knowing Isabel, I doubted that. Coleswyn nodded agreement.

‘Did you notice their servant?’ I asked. ‘The one left to look after the place.’

‘He had a sad look,’ Coleswyn said. ‘And it was strange how he leapt in when Edward and Isabel began shouting of what each could tell about the other. He could probably tell some stories himself. But of course neither of us could question him without our client’s authority.’

‘Personally, I just want to be done with it. This is one mystery I do not need to solve.’

Coleswyn played with a piece of bread. ‘By the way, I have told my wife nothing of what happened today. Those wild accusations of heresy would upset her. What Isabel Slanning said about our vicar being under investigation earlier this year was quite true.’ His face darkened. ‘My wife comes from Ipswich. She has a family connection to Roger Clarke.’

‘I do not know the name.’

‘He was burned in Ipswich a few months ago, for denying the Mass. My wife’s brother was an associate of his. He was interrogated there but recanted, said he accepted the presence of Christ’s body and blood in the Mass.’ He gave a grimace of a smile. ‘Turn rather than burn, as they say.’ I remembered an old friend of mine from years ago: Godfrey, a barrister who had become a radical Protestant and left the law to go and preach on the streets. I had never heard from him again; if he had been prosecuted for heresy it would have been all round Lincoln’s Inn, so he must have died on the road, or gone to Europe. But Godfrey had had no wife or children.

‘Since then I know there have been eyes on me at Gray’s Inn; Bishop Gardiner has his informers among the lawyers. And Ethelreda thinks this house is sometimes watched. But I am a lawyer. I know how to be careful. I have said nothing against the Mass, and will not.’

I was silent a moment. Then I said, ‘The persecutions seem to be over. No one has been taken in recently.’

‘It started out of the blue,’ he said, the skin round one eye twitching. ‘And it may start again. That is why I dismissed our two servants. I was not sure I trusted them. But we must get another. Someone in my congregation has recommended a man. Not having servants is something that is noticed, too, among people of our class. And we thought it politic to make our daughter, who was christened Fear-God, use her second name, Laura.’

I shook my head. If the truth be told I did not know whether or not Christ’s body and blood were present in the Mass, and now did not much care. But to bring ordinary people to such a state of fear was evil.

He continued quietly, ‘When Parliament passed the act dissolving the chantries at the end of last year, our vicar thought the tide was turning his way and said some — well, I suppose, some careless things.’ He looked at me with his clear blue eyes. ‘He was questioned, and members of the congregation watched.’ He took a deep breath. ‘Has anyone asked you about me?’

‘Nobody. I have heard nothing, apart from Isabel Slanning’s rantings.’

He nodded. ‘I am sorry to ask, but my wife is anxious. Ah — ’ His voice became suddenly cheerful. ‘Here she is. Now you will learn what a fine cook Ethelreda is.’

I had eaten better meals; the capon was a little overdone, the vegetables mushy, but I made sure to praise the food to Ethelreda. Coleswyn and I tried to keep the conversation light, but his wife was preoccupied, smiling bravely at our jests about life at the Inns of Court, only picking at her food.

Coleswyn said, ‘You have been a Serjeant at Law for some time. Perhaps you will be awarded a judgeship soon. It is the next step.’

‘I have made too many enemies along the way for that, I think. And I have never been sufficiently conformist — in religion or aught else.’

‘Would you like to be a judge? I think you would be a fair one.’

‘No. I would either let people off or sentence them too severely. And seriously, I would not welcome having to waste time on all the flummery and ceremonial.’

‘Some would give their right hands for a judgeship.’

I smiled. ‘What is it the psalm says? “Vanity of vanities, saith the preacher. All is vanity.”’

‘And so it is,’ Ethelreda said quietly.