He laughed uneasily. ‘Just about. I know that at heart I want to save life, not destroy it. Yours was a life I am glad to have saved,’ he added, his face reddening.
‘Thank you, Nicholas.’ Now I was embarrassed, too. Such words from pupil to barrister could have been sycophantic, but Nicholas had none of that sort of guile in him. I said gruffly, ‘Let’s see if these villains are at home.’
STICE OPENED THE DOOR. He wore a bandage round his forehead. ‘You.’ He looked at us with displeasure. ‘Come to discuss the mess you made last night?’
‘We all failed.’
‘My master’s here.’ He lowered his voice. ‘He’s not pleased.’
‘How is Gower?’
‘Like to die.’
‘I am sorry.’
‘My shitten arse you are.’
He led the way upstairs. Sir Richard Rich was sitting behind his desk. The shutters were drawn, making the room stifling. No doubt he did not want people in the street to see him here. He glowered at us. ‘Bowels of Judas! You made a fine butcher’s shambles of last night’s business!’
‘They were good fighters. We could not stop Vandersteyn getting away.’
‘We did our best, sir,’ Stice added. ‘Everyone did.’
‘Shut your mouth, mangehound! You were all as much use as a rabble of women! And the physician says I will have to deal with Gower’s poxy corpse soon!’ He glared at Stice. ‘God’s death, it would have been better if you had lost your whole head in that duel, rather than half an ear.’ He pointed at Stice’s disfigurement. ‘A fine ornament for a gentleman.’ Stice’s mouth set hard, but he did not reply.
Rich turned his baleful gaze on me. ‘I expect you’ve been to Whitehall, to tell the Queen’s minions that Askew’s book is gone. Halfway across the North Sea by now, I imagine.’ His little grey eyes bored into mine. ‘Well, I can expect the lies Askew told about me to surface in due course.’ He spoke with self-pity, though he could hardly imagine I would care.
‘The Scotchman remains out there,’ I said.
‘That canting Anabaptist madman. I hope he gets caught and burned.’ Rich gave a long, angry sigh. ‘Our alliance is over, Shardlake. How could I have ever thought a hunchbacked scratching clerk could be of use to me?’ He waved a slim, beringed hand. ‘Begone!’
I looked at him. I had told Lord Parr that if Rich showed no interest in McKendrick it would be an indication that he had been concerned only with Anne Askew’s book. Yet there was a blustering, half-theatrical quality to his fury that made me wonder. Then again, perhaps it was just anger and fear that what he had done would soon be exposed. He could still pursue McKendrick on his own, of course. Bluff and counter-bluff, everywhere.
‘Will you keep this house on?’ I asked.
‘Mind your own business!’ His face darkened. ‘Go, or I’ll have Stice give that boy some new bruises, and you a few as well.’ He banged his fist on the desk. ‘Get out! Never let me see you again!’
Chapter Thirty-seven
LATER THAT DAY I REPORTED back to Lord Parr. Cecil was with him in his study. The young lawyer looked strained, and there were large bags under his eyes. He could not have experienced anything like that battle at the wharf before. I told them what had happened with Rich, and that while I doubted he knew of the Lamentation’s existence I could not be sure. Lord Parr told me he was arranging for people from his household to look for McKendrick around the London streets. By now he might be reduced to begging, but equally he could have fled the city entirely. Where the Bertano story was concerned, Lord Parr had learned only that members of the King’s own guard had been posted outside a house near the Charing Cross, which was kept for diplomatic visitors. An ominous sign, but there was nothing to do now but wait.