His reaction surprised me. He spoke with sudden, bitter anger. ‘My parents! My inheritance! I told you, sir, why it was I came to London. My father – and my mother – would have had me marry someone I did not love. You know I refused – ’
‘Yes, and so were sent to London to learn the law. I am sure when your studies are finished your parents will have got over their anger, perhaps even come to respect you for what you have done.’
‘That they never will,’ he said bitterly. ‘My father told me if I would not marry according to his wishes he would disinherit me. He sent me to learn law to get me out of his sight. My mother, too; she is even fiercer on the matter than he. She told me that in refusing to marry whom they chose I was no proper man, and not her son. So I have no inheritance.’ He looked at me fiercely.
‘That is very hard. But things said in anger – ’
He shook his head. ‘They meant it. I could see it in their faces when they spoke. I remember well the sinking feeling when I realized they did not love me.’ There was a choking sound in his throat for a moment; he coughed. ‘They have already hired lawyers to see what can be done about barring the estate to me. They would transfer it to a cousin of mine, a young popinjay who would marry a one-legged dwarf if she would bring enough money. No, Master Shardlake, they mean business.’ He looked down, and smoothed the sheet on his unmade bed. ‘I am their only child. That is a burden on me, as I am on them.’
‘I, too, have no brothers and sisters. Yes, that can bring its burdens, though I never had such a hard one placed on me as you have.’
Nicholas looked around the untidy room at the law books. ‘Sometimes I find interest in the law, though at others it all seems like rats fighting in a sack. The Slanning case – ’
I smiled. ‘Fortunately, cases such as that are rare. What matters do you find interest in?’
‘Ones where one can sympathize with the client, where one sees an injustice to be righted.’ He smiled. ‘Exciting ones.’
‘Exciting ones are dangerous ones. And as for the others, one cannot just act for those of whom one approves. However, in the autumn term perhaps you could assist with my cases in the Court of Requests.’
He made a face. ‘Commoners suing the gentlemen who are their natural rulers?’
‘Should everyone not have an equal right to go to law, just as they should have to their private religious views?’
He shrugged.
‘Perhaps you would see matters differently if you were to work on the cases.’
‘I do not know. For now, an active life, in pursuit of an honourable cause, that is what I want. Even if it means being kidnapped again.’ He smiled then, his large green eyes shining.
‘Something with meaning?’
He hesitated, then said, ‘Yes. I need some – meaning.’
I realized now that Nicholas wanted a life of adventure partly to escape the memory of what his unworthy parents had done. I remembered the story I had heard of him getting into a sword fight over a prostitute. I thought, if he does not find the excitement he needs with me he may find it somewhere else, and end with a sword in the guts. And perhaps if he is with me I can guide him, check that self-destructive urge I detected in him. ‘You think the cause I serve is just?’ I asked.
He answered seriously, ‘If it will bring an end to such persecution as I have seen since coming to London, then yes.’
‘If I tell you for whom I am working, and the details of what this is about, you must first swear, on your oath as a gentleman, to tell nobody, nobody at all.’
‘I have no bible here– ’
‘Your word will do.’
‘Then I swear.’
‘My employer is that honourable lady, her majesty Queen Catherine.’
His eyes widened. ‘Skelly told me you used to do legal work for her.’
‘I have known her since before she was Queen. She is a good lady.’
‘Many say she has been in trouble.’
‘She has. She is now. But she is no persecutor of anyone.’
‘Then I will help you.’
‘Thank you. And Nicholas, do as I tell you, with care; no heroics.’
He blushed under his bruises. ‘I will.’
I took his hand. ‘Then thank you.’
Chapter Thirty-one
I WALKED FROM NICHOLAS’S lodgings back to Needlepin Lane. In daylight it looked even more dingy, the plasterwork crumbling on the old houses, the lane a narrow track with a stinking piss-channel in the middle. Though it was Sunday, men were standing outside the Flag Tavern, quaffing beer from wooden mugs in the sunshine. Among them I saw a couple of girls in bright make-up and low-cut dresses. The King had ordered the Southwark brothels closed that spring, but although prostitution was already illegal in the city and conviction could bring a whipping, many whores had come north of the river. One girl, well in her cups, caught my glance and shouted out, ‘Don’t glower at me like that, crookback, I’m a respectable lady!’ People stared at me, and some laughed. I ignored them and knocked on the door of the house with the green shutters. Stice opened it immediately.