‘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.
Outside, the light began to fade. The noises from the street lessened as curfew approached; through the open shutters I heard the lost dog whine as it wandered up and down the street.
‘This is the finest summer in some years,’ I observed. ‘Warm, but not too hot.’
‘And just enough rain to keep the crops from drying out,’ Coleswyn agreed. ‘Remember the hailstorms last year? And all the men taken from work in the fields when we thought the French about to invade?’
‘All too well.’
‘Do you think this peace will last?’
‘They are making much of it.’
‘Peace,’ Ethelreda said with a sort of flat despair. ‘Peace with the French, perhaps. But what of peace at home?’ She rubbed her hand across her brow. ‘Philip says you are a man to be trusted, Serjeant Shardlake. Look at this realm. Last Christmas the King spoke in Parliament about how people call each other papist and traitor, how the word of God is jangled in alehouses. But from him there has been no constancy on religion these last dozen years. However the King’s mind turns, we have to follow him. One year Lord Cromwell is bringing about true reform, the next he is executed. One month the King dissolves the chantries for the empty papist ceremonial they are, the next Bishop Gardiner is set to find sacramentarians in every corner, including, some say, in the Queen’s circle. Nowadays it is unsafe to hold any settled conviction. You cannot trust your neighbours, your servants – ’ She broke off. ‘Forgive me, you are our guest– ’
Her husband reached across and put his hand on her arm.
‘No, madam,’ I said quietly. ‘You speak true.’
She made her tone light. ‘I have strawberries and sugared cream to come. Let me fetch them. A woman’s place is to work, not lecture.’
When she had left Philip turned to me apologetically. ‘I am sorry. When it is unsafe to discuss certain things in general company, and one finds someone trustworthy, one talks of little else. It relieves the strain, perhaps. But we should not impose on you.’
‘That is all right. I do not like these dinners where one fears to discuss aught but trivia.’ I hesitated. ‘By the way, do you think there are any Anabaptists in London these days?’