Lamentation (The Shardlake series)

‘Was this lawyer you met involved in the inquest?’


‘No. But he met Deborah Cotterstoke once more afterwards, when he visited the house to help with formalizing the documentation for probate after the funeral. He said he remembered her as being in a piteous state of grief, which was unsurprising in a woman who had lost two husbands in little over two years, and the children also appeared shocked and stunned.’

‘Did she ever come back to see him?’

Coleswyn shook his head. ‘He wrote to her asking if she wished to make a new Will, but she did not reply. He heard a little later that she had lost the child she had been carrying at that time, again not surprising, given her sad circumstances.’ Philip sighed. ‘He remembered seeing her and the children in the streets from time to time. Then she sold the business and her son, my client Edward, decided to seek a different trade.’

‘And she never married again?’

‘No. Apparently she made a point of wearing sober clothes for the rest of her life.’

I considered. ‘Are you saying a third party may have been involved in Master Cotterstoke’s death?’ I caught my breath. ‘Or even one of the children? The coroner would only have their word that their stepfather was alive when they returned to the servants.’ I frowned. ‘Or that old Mistress Cotterstoke held them both responsible for her husband’s death? All the evidence indicates she came to dislike both her children; we have said before that the wording of the Will looks like an attempt to set them against each other.’ I looked at Philip. ‘These are horrible thoughts.’

‘They are. But given the Will their stepfather made, the children and his wife Deborah had no reason to dislike or distrust him.’ He looked at me seriously. ‘But I have been struggling with my conscience as to whether I should go and speak to the old servant, Goodman Vowell. I have no authority from my client, but . . .’

I smiled sadly. ‘You would pluck up the roots of this madness.’

‘I wonder if their stepfather’s death has something to do with this carapace of hatred between them. And each has said they could do great damage to the other.’

‘I remember how old Vowell seemed distraught at Edward and Isabel’s quarrel at the inspection,’ I said. ‘He was obviously upset by their behaviour.’

‘But I do not see that I have the right to go and question him.’

‘You looked out the coroner’s report. And if Isabel’s behaviour now involves some possible threat to us both – ’ I raised my eyebrows.

‘A madwoman’s bluster.’ He sighed heavily. ‘Let me consider this further, Matthew. Let me pray on it.’

I would rather that he had gone to the Cotterstoke house at once and taken me with him. But I was not in a position to insist. I rose from my stool.

‘When you decide, let me know. And let us keep each other informed of anything else concerning this case that may affect us – personally.’

He looked up, fixing me with his clear blue eyes. ‘Yes. I promise.’





Chapter Thirty-eight


LATER THAT DAY I called in at Treasurer Rowland’s office, only to be told he was in a meeting. On Monday I called again and this time the clerk said he was out, though passing his window on the way in I was sure I had caught sight of his long, black-robed figure leaning over his desk through the half-open shutters. When I went out again the shutters were closed. I wondered uneasily whether Rowland was avoiding me.

That day in the refectory I dined with another barrister I knew slightly; he planned to hire a wherry on the morrow and take his family on a trip down beyond Greenwich. As Rowland had told me last month, virtually all the King’s ships, fifty or so, were coming to the Thames to form a line from Gravesend to Deptford, past which the admiral’s ships would sail, and they were starting to arrive. ‘They say the Great Harry is already moored at Deptford,’ my colleague said. ‘All those ships that were at Portsmouth last year, and saw off the French.’

‘The Mary Rose will not be there.’

‘Casualty of war, Brother Shardlake,’ he said portentously. ‘Casualty of war.’





ON TUESDAY, the 10th, at the end of the working day, I invited Barak and Nicholas to take a mug of beer with me in the outer office. Skelly had gone home. Thoughts about the missing Lamentation still constantly buzzed in my head, and I thought a talk with them might give me some perspective. Barak asked if I had heard any more from the palace.

‘Not for over a week now.’

He shook his head. ‘Someone’s still holding on to that book. But who, and whyever not reveal it to the King, if they wish to harm the reformers?’

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