Jane Fool was red-faced now. Like a child, she pouted and stuck a finger in her mouth.
‘Jane – ’ A stern note had crept into the Lady Mary’s voice.
‘It’s rude, it’s naughty,’ Jane blurted out.
‘What is, Jane?’
There was a long moment of silence. Then she said, ‘When I went into the bedchamber to see whether the Queen was there – ’
I leaned forward. The Lady Mary said encouragingly, ‘Yes – ?’
‘I had Ducky with me, and – ’
‘Yes – ?’
‘He shat on the floor.’
Whatever I had expected, it was not that. So that explained the smell. ‘A little trail of shit on the matting,’ Jane continued. ‘I was afraid the gentleman ushers might have Ducky sent away. I took a cloth and cleaned it up, using water from the Queen’s rosewater bowl. The scent of herbs in the room was so strong, I thought the smell might not be noticed. I went away at once, and told no one.’ Suddenly she yanked the duck’s leash, pulling it towards her with almost enough force to break its neck, then bent down and hugged it to her. It looked startled, as well it might. ‘Don’t let the hunchback tell, my Lady, I beg you. I love Ducky.’
‘No one will tell, Jane,’ the Lady Mary said. She looked at me then, her mouth twitching slightly, and I discerned she had a quality I had not guessed at before: a sense of humour.
‘Does that satisfy you, master lawyer?’ she asked.
‘Of course, my Lady.’
‘I will allow you to report the duck’s misdemeanour to Lord Parr,’ she said gravely. ‘But only on condition Jane is not parted from it. I think the Queen would agree.’
‘Of course, my Lady.’
‘Then we will leave you to your business.’
One of the ladies-in-waiting helped Jane to her feet; the other opened the door for the Lady Mary. I bowed low again. They went out, the duck waddling after the group on its webbed yellow feet. As I rose, the Lady Mary turned, looked at me, and gave a sardonic little smile. The door closed. I stood there, shaken by the unexpected and ridiculous turn of events. Ridiculous? I could not help but wonder whether I had just been made the victim of an elaborate charade, and whether Jane Fool knew more than she had said. But if so, she was an accomplished actress. And I had no evidence, none at all. I thought of her childlike demeanour. Perhaps that was what had attracted the Queen and the Lady Mary to her, two mature women who were childless and likely to remain so. Perhaps she was a substitute child for them and nothing more. But there was something about Mary Tudor that made me afraid to think of the Lamentation ending in her hands.
I STAYED IN the prayer closet, with the candles and incense. Half an hour passed, the light outside beginning to fade, before the door opened again and Lord Parr entered. He was frowning. ‘I am told the Lady Mary accompanied Jane Fool to see you. You gave her no hint about the book?’ He looked at me anxiously.
‘None, my Lord.’ I told him the absurd story about the duck, what I had gleaned from Garet Lynley about the man with half an ear missing, and Mary Odell’s story of the guard.
He nodded. ‘I will make discreet enquiries. A man with half an ear serving a great man of the realm . . .’
‘The page said one of the great personages of the realm.’
He studied me closely. ‘You mean the Lady Mary? That she might have sent Jane Fool to steal the book that evening after all?’
‘We must make absolutely sure the Queen dropped no hint about the book to Jane.’
Lord Parr shook his head. ‘Jane has always appeared a natural idiot.’
‘Perhaps. Yet her speech, even though childish, is fluent. And sometimes one can be – indiscreet – before fools.’
He nodded, taking the point, but said, ‘The Queen would not be. Not on this. And as I said before, the Lady Mary has stayed strictly orthodox for a decade. Nonetheless, I will speak to the Queen about Jane. Though even that theory begs the question of how someone managed to get the coffer open yet leave no signs of forced entry.’ He sighed. ‘Thank you, Master Shardlake, we may be starting to make progress. Now, the Queen is still with the King. A good time for us to take a look at the coffer. Come.’
THE QUEEN’S BEDCHAMBER overlooked the river. It was a large, feminine room, richly scented, with flowers in vases and large embroidered cushions scattered on the floor where one might lie and read. A huge four-poster bed dominated the room. There was a desk, bare save for an ornate inkwell: here, at this desk, the Queen had written Lamentation of a Sinner. Next to the desk stood a solid wooden chest, two and a half feet high, a red-and-gold turkey carpet fixed to the top. On the front two carved nymphs flanked a Tudor rose. There was no bed linen on the chest; tonight’s page had not arrived yet.
Lord Parr knelt down, with surprising suppleness for a man of his age, and I followed more slowly. He banged the side of the coffer, bringing forth a hollow echo.