The coroner frowned. ‘It was investigated, sir, by my predecessor, as I told you, but nothing was found. Possibly Grace Bone knew that Edith planned to leave her husband, and left herself before trouble blew up.’
‘That could be. But where did she go?’ I looked at Williams. ‘There may be two murders here.’
Williams shook his head. ‘There is no evidence. And without evidence there is nothing to be done. But as for Edith’s death last month, there is clear evidence, and it points to John Boleyn.’
I said quietly, ‘I see there is a very brief deposition from Edith’s father, Gawen Reynolds, saying only that he never saw his daughter again after 1540 until he was called to identify her last month.’
Williams shrugged. ‘That was all he had to say.’
‘And no deposition has been taken from Simon Scambler, the former stable boy.’
Williams laughed suddenly. ‘I remember now, mad Sooty Scambler. He wouldn’t have the balls or brains to murder a chicken.’
‘Nonetheless,’ I said, ‘I shall be speaking to him. And also to Master Gawen Reynolds.’
Williams looked me in the eye. ‘Be careful with that old man, he is not to be trifled with.’
WE LEFT THE Guildhall. ‘What thoughts on the meeting with the coroner?’ I asked.
Nicholas replied, ‘He told a slightly different story than John Boleyn about the maid’s departure.’
‘Though with the state of the marriage, Boleyn may have assumed that when Grace left it was because she was tired of Edith’s ways. We must question him again. And press him about where he was that night.’
WE WALKED UP to Tombland. The sun had passed its zenith, and the tall houses in the prosperous central areas of the city provided welcome shade. We noticed a great Italianate mansion, the doors closed and secured with wooden bars. ‘The Duke of Norfolk’s former palace in the city,’ Toby observed.
‘The King’s property now,’ I replied. ‘Or has it been sold to the Lady Mary like the Duke’s other lands?’
‘I think it is still in the King’s hands.’
‘And managed now by his escheator.’
THE REYNOLDS HOUSE in Tombland looked lifeless, the shutters on the upper windows closed and the courtyard gates firmly locked. Toby knocked loudly on the door and we heard footsteps slowly approaching. The door was opened by a handsome, strongly built man in his thirties, with brown hair, a short beard and sharp green eyes. He wore a madder-red doublet and green cap. When he saw Nicholas and me in our lawyers’ robes his eyes narrowed.
‘Is this the house of Master Gawen Reynolds?’ I asked.
‘Alderman Reynolds, yes,’ the man answered cautiously. ‘I am his steward. He and his wife are seeing no visitors at present, they have suffered a bereavement.’
‘It is about that we have come.’ I introduced myself and the others. ‘We are investigating the tragic death of your master’s daughter.’
The steward did not move. He glanced across the courtyard to the house, then said, ‘For whom are you acting, sir?’
‘That is something for me to discuss with your master. Is he at home?’
A man’s angry voice called from the interior of the house, loud enough to reach us. ‘God’s death, Vowell, who is it? Get rid of them!’
The steward hesitated. ‘Wait here, please.’ He closed the door.
‘Doesn’t want to see us,’ Nicholas observed.
‘He’ll be curious,’ I replied. ‘A serjeant’s robes can sometimes be useful.’ Though hot, too, I thought, even my silken summer robe.
A minute later the steward returned. ‘You may come in. Please wait in the hallway a moment.’ He led us inside. The house was well furnished, a large vase of flowers on an expensive Venetian table. He left us and went through an inner door. I caught a faint murmur of voices. At the end of the hallway a door opened and a maid looked out. Seeing us, she quickly closed it again.
Looking round, I started slightly. A thin elderly woman was descending the staircase, moving so quietly we had not heard her. The three of us doffed our caps and bowed. She stood on the bottom step, examining us with cold, still blue eyes, her hands clasped together on her black dress. I saw that she wore white bandages on them. Under a black hood her hair was silvery. Her face was pale as parchment.
‘Why have you come?’ The old woman’s voice was little more than a whisper.
‘We are helping to investigate the murder of Edith Boleyn.’
‘My daughter is dead and gone.’ She spoke in a voice of utter weariness. ‘In a few days her husband will be tried. What is there to investigate?’
The steward reappeared. ‘Alderman Reynolds will see you, sirs, but I warn you he is much distressed since his daughter’s death.’ We approached the room. The steward raised a hand to bar Toby’s progress. ‘I am sorry, Goodman, he will see the lawyers only. You must wait here.’ Toby shrugged. Mistress Reynolds still stood at the foot of the staircase, one hand grasping the banister.
Nicholas and I were shown into a large reception room. With the shutters drawn it was dim, candles alight on a large table. A tall, stringy man stood there, dressed in a long black robe. He, too, was elderly, about seventy. His white hair was worn long, almost to his shoulders, in an old-fashioned style. The lined face was long-nosed, square-chinned, the severe mouth turned down at the corners, the eyes dark and fierce. I guessed that Gawen Reynolds would be a hard man to deal with in business. His wife had come to stand in the doorway, looking apprehensive. The steward stood behind her.
Reynolds waved a hand at them. He said, his voice angry from the start, ‘My wife, Jane, and my steward, Goodman Michael Vowell. They can stay there, we will not be long. What have you come for?’ He stepped forward and I saw that he carried a gold-topped walking stick. Even with its aid he limped badly.
I said, ‘We wondered if you might help us with a little information. We are investigating the death of your daughter—’
Reynolds’s voice cut in sharply, ‘That investigation is done. Who are you working for?’
‘My instructions come from Master Thomas Parry—’
‘Who the fuck is he?’
I took a deep breath. ‘Cofferer to the Lady Elizabeth.’
Reynolds’s lips tightened. ‘Elizabeth. Of course, trying to save a Boleyn from the gallows. But it is too late, Master Hunchback Serjeant, John Boleyn is guilty, and in a few days will be dangling from the Norwich gallows.’ He spoke this last sentence with satisfaction.
‘We have been asked only to review the matter,’ I answered quietly. ‘Will you be giving evidence, sir?’
‘I do not know,’ Reynolds said, in a tone of quiet, fierce anger. ‘I can hardly bear even to go out, to see all the nosy glances. As for my hopes of the mayoralty next year, those are finished.’
I thought, Was that all his daughter’s death meant to him, but Nicholas said sympathetically, ‘What happened must have been a great shock to you, sir.’
‘A great shock?’ Reynolds’s voice rose in anger. ‘Nine years ago my only child left her husband and disappeared without trace. She did not come to me, or anyone else, just – vanished.’ He waved a hand angrily. ‘Then last month that terrible discovery at Brikewell. Do you wonder we are shocked?’
‘No, sir,’ I answered, ‘it must have been all the worse after hearing nothing for nine years.’
‘Yes. Nine years,’ he repeated, angry still.
I turned to Jane, hoping she might be more cooperative. ‘Did she have any other relatives in Norwich? Or elsewhere? Or friends that she might have gone to?’
Her husband answered. ‘Relatives, friends? You may as well know, Master Serjeant. My daughter was never normal, right from when she was a child. She did not like mixing with other people – she did not like other people. The trouble we had getting her even to play with other children, let alone attend social functions when she grew up, pretty girl though she was then. I hoped marriage might tame her, but she treated her own poor children badly, and probably Boleyn too.’ He laughed suddenly. ‘We were glad when John Boleyn showed an interest in her, for Anne Boleyn was on the rise then and we all hoped this could bring a link to the Royal Court. But John Boleyn had no real go in him, he was all at sea when he went to London and failed even to get to meet Anne Boleyn. As for Edith, she refused point-blank to go.’ His voice rose again. ‘And then Boleyn murdered her! Set up a damned common barmaid in her place! I shall see that bitch out on the road once this is over!’ His eyes were almost wild with rage. Glancing at his wife I saw fear in her eyes.