He looked up at me tremulously, his eyes red. ‘What’s wrong with it, sir?’
‘The ink is watery.’ His miserable stare made me suddenly angry. ‘Look, can’t you see? This will fade in a year. A legal document is no good unless it be written in thick black ink.’
‘I’m sorry, sir.’
My irritation spilled over. ‘It’ll have to be done again. That’s more good paper you’ve cost me, Skelly. The cost will come from your wages.’ I frowned at his anxious face. ‘Oh, just start again.’
Godfrey’s door opened. ‘What’s afoot? I thought I heard raised voices.’
‘John Skelly would make an angel in the heavenly spheres raise its voice. I didn’t think you’d be in, Godfrey. You’re not going to the lunch with Norfolk surely?’
He grunted. ‘I thought I should see what the papist rogue looked like in the flesh.’
‘Now that we are met, may I ask a favour? Come into my room.’
‘Certainly.’
I closed the door on Skelly, and bade my friend sit down. ‘Godfrey, I have a - a new matter. Something urgent. Together with the Wentworth case it will take much of my time this next fortnight. Can you deal with some of my work? For a share of the fee, of course.’
‘I would be happy to. Including the Bealknap hearing?’
‘No, I had better keep that. But everything else.’
He studied me carefully. ‘You look troubled, Matthew.’
‘I hate losing my temper. But between Skelly and this new affair—’
‘Something interesting?’
‘I can’t speak of it. Now—’ I lifted a heap of papers from a table - ‘I will show you what cases I have.’ I spent half an hour going through my matters with him, relieved that, apart from the Bealknap case next week, I should not have to appear in court for a fortnight.
‘I am in your debt again,’ I said when we were done. ‘Any news of your friend Robert Barnes?’
He sighed heavily. ‘Still in the Tower.’
‘Barnes is a friend of Archbishop Cranmer’s. Surely he’ll protect him.’
‘I hope so.’ He brightened. ‘The archbishop is to give the sermons at St Paul’s Cross next week now Bishop Sampson is in the Tower.’ He clenched his fist, reminding me that for all his mild ways he was fierce in his religion. ‘With God’s help we will prevail over the papist troop.’
‘Listen, Godfrey, I’ll try to get into chambers when I can. Keep an eye on Skelly, try and get him to produce work that’s at least presentable. I have another appointment now, but I will see you at the lunch. Thank you, my friend.’
I went out again, crossing the courtyard to Marchamount’s rooms. Over by the Great Hall servants were bustling in and out, getting everything ready for the dinner. The four Inns of Court vied for the patronage of those near to the king and Norfolk’s presence was something of a coup, for all that his politics would be unpopular with many members of Lincoln’s Inn.
I knocked and entered Marchamount’s outer office. It was impresssive, books and documents lining the shelves and, even on Sunday, a clerk labouring busily over papers. He looked up enquiringly.
‘Is the serjeant in?’
‘He’s very busy, sir. Has a big case starting in Common Pleas tomorrow.’
‘Tell him it is Brother Shardlake, on Lord Cromwell’s business.’ His eyes widened at that and he disappeared through a door. A moment later he was back and bowed me through.
Gabriel Marchamount, like many barristers, lived as well as worked in Lincoln’s Inn. His receiving room was as opulent as any I had seen. Expensive wallpaper in bright reds and greens lined the walls. Marchamount sat in a high-backed chair that would not have shamed a bishop, behind a wide desk strewn with papers. His broad figure was encased in an expensive yellow doublet with a pea-green belly that emphasized his choleric colour; his thin reddish hair was combed carefully over his pate. A robe edged with fur lay on a cushion nearby together with his white serjeant’s coif, the mark of his rank: the highest position a barrister can reach short of a judgeship. A silver goblet of wine stood at his elbow.
Marchamount was known as a man who lived and breathed the law and loved the status it brought him; since his admission to the Order of the Coif three years before his patrician manner and habits had expanded to the extent that they were the subject of mocking jokes about the Inn. It was said he hoped to rise further, to a judgeship. Though the gossips said his advancement owed much to his cultivation of contacts among the anti-reform party at the king’s court, I knew his intelligence was not to be underrated.
He rose and greeted me with a smile and a small bow. I saw his dark eyes were sharp and wary.
‘Brother Shardlake. Are you here for my lunch with the duke?’ He smiled with false modesty. I had not realized he had arranged the meal. ‘My lunch’ was typical of him.
‘I might look in.’
‘How goes business?’
‘Well enough, thank you, Serjeant.’
‘Wine, Brother?’