Lamentation

I could tell at once from his manner that Isabel had made the wrong choice. Adam was clearly no sword-for-hire expert, but an ordinary man, unaccustomed to testimony, who probably saw this whole thing as an odd diversion from the daily grind. Wulfsee, however, Edward Cotterstoke’s expert, was a tall man with a severe manner and sharp eyes. I knew of him as a man who would argue a technical point to death for his client, though he would never actually lie.

Edward Cotterstoke looked at me, frowning, his back turned to Isabel. ‘Well, master lawyer,’ he said in a dry, grating voice. ‘Shall we get this done? I have left my work at the Guildhall for this — nonsense.’ Isabel glared at his back, but did not speak.

The experts went over to the wall painting and looked it over with professional interest. The servant, Vowell, had come in and stood unobtrusively by the door, looking unhappily between Edward and Isabel. It struck me that he probably knew as much of the family history as anyone.

The two men ran their practised hands gently over the painting and the adjoining walls, talking quietly. Once, they nodded in agreement; this caused both Edward and Isabel to look anxious. Then Adam, who had been bending to examine the flooring, got up, brushed down his hose, then said, ‘May we look at the room next door?’ Coleswyn and I exchanged a glance and nodded. The two men went out. We heard the faint murmur of their voices from the next room. In the parlour there was absolute silence, Isabel and Edward still turned away from each other. Edward was looking at the wall painting now, sadness in his eyes.

A few minutes later Wulfsee and Adam returned. ‘We will prepare written reports, but I think Master Adam and I are in agreement,’ Wulfsee said, a triumphant glitter in his eye. ‘This wall painting could not come down without irreparable damage to it. One can see from the room next door that the plaster in the wall has shrunk, leaving a distinct crack in the middle of the wall. It is barely visible from this side, though you can see it if you look closely. Were an attempt to be made to remove the wooden joists, the plaster would simply collapse. You agree, Master Adam?’

Adam looked at me, hesitated, then spread his hands apologetically. ‘I do not see how anyone with knowledge of building work could think otherwise.’ I heard a sharp indrawn breath from Isabel, and a nasty smirk appeared on Edward’s face.

‘See, we will show you,’ Wulfsee said.

We all went through to the next room, where a fine crack was clearly visible on the wall. Going back to the parlour, looking very closely, we could see a faint line on this side too, under the paint. Edward smiled. ‘There,’ he said with satisfaction, ‘the matter is settled.’

I looked again at the wall. Wulfsee, so far as I could tell, was right; an expert determined to make a fight of it might have blustered and prevaricated, but Adam was not like that. Coleswyn turned to me and said, ‘It does seem so, Serjeant Shardlake. The wall painting was always intended to adorn the structure of the house, and can only exist as such. It must therefore be defined as a fixture.’

‘I would like to peruse the experts’ reports when they are prepared,’ I said, to buy time. But I knew this was decisive. By insisting on an expert of her choice, Isabel had doomed her own case. Everyone, even Edward, looked at her. She stood like stone, gazing at the wall painting — so old and beautiful and fragile, that view across the years of her parents, her brother and herself. She had gone deathly pale with the news, but as I watched the colour rose until her normally papery face became scarlet. She pointed at poor Adam. ‘What church do you attend?’ she snapped.

He frowned, puzzled. ‘I do not think that any of your business, madam.’

‘Are you afraid to say?’ Her voice was sharp as a file.

Edward intervened, throwing up a thin hand. ‘Do not answer her, sir, she is not in her right wits.’

Isabel raised herself to her full height, still glaring at Adam. ‘You do not answer, sir, but allow my brother to give you orders, though you are supposed to be acting for me. I have little doubt you are a heretic like my brother and his lawyer! You are all in league!’

Edward suddenly lost control. ‘You are mad, Isabel!’ he burst out. ‘Truly mad! You have been since we were children, since you forced me-’

Vowell stepped quickly into the room, arms waving, so that everyone turned to look at him. ‘Master! Mistress! Remember your mother and father — ’ He was almost in tears. Edward stared at him, his mouth suddenly tight shut. Isabel, too, fell silent, taking long, deep breaths, but then continued, her tone quieter but still full of anger. ‘I will find out, sir, I will discover whether you have associations with the heretics.’ She pointed at Coleswyn. ‘You and my brother are heretics; I know your priest has been under investigation by the Bishop, it is said he denied the body of Jesus Christ is present in the Mass!’