I said nothing, for the moment lost for words. Nicholas stared in astonishment at the Privy Councillor who had suddenly appeared in our midst. Rich’s two men watched us closely. Then there was a knock at the door, making everyone jump except Rich, whose expression changed to a more characteristic, sly smile. ‘Answer it, Gower,’ he said. ‘Our party is not yet quite complete.’
Gower opened the door. Outside stood the constable with his assistant. Between them, looking furious, was Barak. I saw the dagger was gone from his belt. They pushed him in. Rich nodded at Barak and addressed Stice and Gower. ‘Watch that one, he’s trouble. Master Barak, let me tell you that violence will not help you or your master.’ Rich then walked over to the constable, who bowed deeply. ‘There’s no one else?’ Rich asked.
‘No, sir, only this one.’
‘Good. You and your man will be rewarded. And remember, keep your mouths shut.’
‘Yes, Sir Richard.’
The constable bowed again, and waved his assistant back outside. Rich shut the door on them and turned back to us. He shook his head, the sardonic smile on his face showing his straight little teeth. ‘Barak, I would have expected better from you. Did you not consider that if I used a house I would bribe the local constable first? They can be bought, as you know, and I pay well.’
Barak did not answer. Rich shrugged. ‘Sit at the table. You too, boy. I want a word with your master, and if it concludes well I will let you all go. Understood?’
Barak and Nicholas did not reply, but at a nod from me they allowed Stice and Gower to lead them to the table. They all sat. ‘Watch Barak carefully,’ Rich said. ‘He’s as full of tricks as a monkey.’ He crossed to the staircase, crooking an imperious finger to indicate I should follow. ‘Come up, Master Shardlake.’
I had no alternative. Once upstairs, Rich led me to a room which was as sparsely furnished as the rest of the house, containing only a desk with a sconce of lit candles, and a couple of chairs. He motioned me to sit, then regarded me silently, his expression serious again. In the candlelight it seemed to me his thin face had more lines and hollows now. His grey eyes were little points of light. I said nothing, waiting. He had said we might be of use to each other; let him say how. I wondered, did he know of the missing Lamentation? At all costs I must not be the first to mention that.
He said, ‘You are working for the Queen again.’ It was a statement, not a question. But it had been clear from his note that he knew that.
I said, ‘Yes. And there will be more trouble for you if I disappear. Remember the things her majesty knows about you.’ The ‘more trouble’ had been a guess, but Rich’s eyes narrowed. ‘She will not be pleased, for example, to learn that your man Stice once tried to suborn one of her pages – as I know for a fact.’ Rich frowned at that. Then I asked, ‘Is it really true, as you said in your note, that you have a spy in her household?’
Rich shrugged. ‘No. But I spotted you at Whitehall a few days ago, in the Guard Chamber.’
‘I did not think you saw me,’ I replied, truly alarmed now.
He leaned forward. ‘There is very little that I miss.’ His tone was both threatening and vain. ‘You would hardly be coming to see the King. I thought then, so he is working for her once more, after all this time; I wonder why. And then right afterwards you began your enquiries into the murder of a certain Armistead Greening, printer.’
‘On behalf of his parents only.’
‘Do not take me for a fool, Shardlake,’ Rich said impatiently. ‘You are acting for the Queen on this.’ I did not reply. He thought for a moment, then said, ‘Let me guess what you have found. Greening was part of a little group of religious fanatics, probably Anabaptists. One of their members, Vandersteyn, is a Dutch merchant, and we know that Anabaptism still festers over there. And another is Curdy, a merchant from an old Lollard family – and we know how many of them have been seduced by the Anabaptists in the past.’ He raised a slim hand and ticked off a series of names on the fingers of the other – ‘Vandersteyn, Curdy, Elias Rooke, apprentice, McKendrick, a Scotch soldier turned preacher, and – ’ he leaned forward – ‘Leeman, a member of the Queen’s guard, no less. And finally – ’ he took a deep breath – ‘it seems, a gaoler from the Tower, called Myldmore. Six of them, all vanished into thin air.’
I took a deep breath. He knew much, then, but not that Elias had been murdered or that Lord Parr had Myldmore in custody. There were four missing men, not six. I said, ‘So you, too, are seeking Greening’s murderer?’
He leaned forward, linking his hands. ‘No,’ he said firmly. ‘I am looking for a book. An important book to me, and perhaps to her majesty the Queen.’
A book. One book. But I had learned from Myldmore there were two – the Lamentation and the Examinations of Anne Askew. And the Examinations spoke of Rich’s torture of her. What if he did not know about the Lamentation? ‘A book by Anne Askew,’ I ventured. ‘About her time in the Tower?’