LATER THAT MORNING I crossed the sunlit Gatehouse Court to visit Treasurer Rowland. The old man was as usual seated behind his desk, his office shutters half-closed, and he greeted me with a curt nod.
‘I looked for you at Bealknap’s funeral on Saturday. I wondered if you would come.’
‘Actually, I forgot about it.’
‘So did everyone else. There were only me and the preacher there. Well, Brother Bealknap lies in the chapel now, under a flagstone like any other, with his name and dates of birth and death inscribed upon it. He merited no mausoleum.’
‘Poor Bealknap,’ I said.
‘Oh no,’ Rowland said. ‘Rich Bealknap. Much good it did him in the end.’ I did not reply, and he turned to the pile of papers on his desk. ‘Secretary Paget’s people have sent me more details about the French admiral’s visit next month. It is going to be an even bigger event than I thought. I’ll show you the correspondence. But first,’ his voice deepened, ‘I’ve got to waste my time on this nonsense.’ He pulled a letter from the pile on his desk and threw it across to me: Isabel’s complaint, two pages covered in her neat, tiny writing. As expected, it accused me, along with Philip Coleswyn, her brother and the expert Master Adam, of collusion to defeat her case, ‘out of wicked spite’, as she was of honest religion while we were all heretics.
‘It’s all nonsense,’ I said. ‘She chose that architect herself.’
‘Is he a radical?’
‘No. The accusations of heresy she sent flying around at the inspection scared him out of his wits. As I said, it’s all nonsense.’
Rowland gave his laugh, a sound as though rusty hinges were opening and closing in his throat. ‘I believe you, Brother Shardlake. It is years since you associated with the radicals; we spoke not long ago of how you have been careful. Though you did not attend Mass yesterday.’
‘Urgent business. I will be there next weekend.’
He leaned back in his chair and regarded me closely, stroking his long white beard with fingers stained black from a lifetime’s working with ink, as mine were. ‘You seem to attract trouble, Serjeant Shardlake, despite yourself. How did you end up working for this madwoman?’
‘Ill luck. Every barrister has such clients.’
‘True. I am glad I am out of such nonsense. What of this Coleswyn, is he a radical?’
‘He has a reputation as a reformer.’
Rowland looked at me sharply. ‘Mistress Slanning says you went to dinner at his house.’
‘Once. We became friendly because we were both frustrated by our clients’ behaviour. Mistress Slanning’s brother is as much a vexatious litigant as she is. And Mistress Slanning found out about my visit because she sometimes passes the evening spying on Coleswyn’s house. That gives you a flavour of the woman.’
‘She says her brother met Coleswyn because they both attend the same radical church.’
‘It is a common enough way for lawyers to meet clients.’
He nodded agreement, then made a steeple of his fingers. ‘Who represents her now? Do we know?’
‘Vincent Dyrick of Gray’s Inn. He called to get the papers last week.’
Rowland frowned. ‘He has a vicious reputation. He’ll make something of this conspiracy theory in court. Probably instigated the complaint.’
‘He said he did not, it was all Isabel’s idea. Actually, I believe him there. But he won’t be able to stop her from making her allegations in court.’
‘Do you think she might complain to Gray’s Inn about Coleswyn?’
‘She’d have no right. He is not acting for her.’
Rowland considered. ‘Very well. I will try to make this go away. I will write to Mistress Slanning saying she has no evidence to back her complaints, and to warn her about the laws of defamation. That should frighten her off.’ He spoke complacently, though I feared such a letter would only anger Isabel further. ‘And you, Master Shardlake,’ Rowland continued, his voice full of angry irritation, ‘stay out of this case from now on. I don’t want you mixed up in any religious quarrels when you are to represent the Inn at the celebrations next month.’
‘I will step down from attending the ceremonies if you wish,’ I answered mildly.