Kenzy took me to her. ‘My wife, Laura. My dear, this is Serjeant Matthew Shardlake, Nicholas’s employer.’
Her expression as she listened to her daughter’s conversation had been sharp, but it softened into a smile as she curtsied. ‘Serjeant Shardlake, I have heard much about you,’ she said in gushing tones. ‘How you used to work for the late Queen Catherine, God save her soul, and now for the household of the Lady Elizabeth.’
‘Yes, though I used to work at the Court of Requests as well.’
‘Such connections must bring you good work.’ She glanced at Nicholas and Beatrice. ‘And of course, working for you, young Nicholas must be making good connections too.’ Her blue eyes were calculating, and I now began to understand something that had puzzled me – why a successful, prosperous barrister would encourage a penniless young man like Nicholas to court his only daughter. Mistress Kenzy, who I realized was probably the prime mover, had been dazzled by the names of my patrons, and hoped Nicholas would soon be mixing with the highest in the land. I looked at Beatrice, still listening with rapt interest to Nicholas’s account of his visit to Hatfield Palace, and wondered if that was her motivation, too.
A steward appeared in the doorway, and Philip clapped his hands. ‘Come everyone, let us eat.’ We passed through to the dining room, where the table was set with plates, fine glassware and napkins. We seated ourselves and placed our napkins over our shoulders. I was next to Laura Kenzy, while on my other side Philip sat at the head of the table. Opposite me old Mistress Coleswyn settled herself down with the aid of a servant. Grace was said, and Philip offered a toast to the health of ‘The King, our little shepherd’. Servants brought in a first course of salads, eggs and cheese, with plates of good manchet bread and butter.
Philip said, ‘This is the first supper this year where we shall not need candles.’ And indeed the light from the windows giving on to the pretty garden outside was quite sufficient to dine by. ‘The weather has been dreadful this spring,’ he continued, ‘I fear a bad harvest, and much suffering for the poor later in the year.’
‘The poor are always with us,’ Edward Kenzy said. ‘It was always so, and always will be.’
‘They have seldom suffered so much as now,’ Philip replied. ‘A penny loaf is but half the size it was two years ago.’ Philip was a strong Commonwealth man, as ardent for reform in society as in religion, believing like me that the State owed a duty to rectify the abuses that had caused such a rise in poverty. He turned to me for support.
‘’Tis true,’ I agreed. ‘Prices go up faster than ever, but the wages of the poor remain the same.’
‘Prices have gone up for everyone,’ Laura Kenzy said, righteously. ‘It is no easy thing for those like me who have to run a household. Or my brother, who owns houses at Bishopsgate. His costs go up, but the tenants’ rents were set years ago. Is that fair?’ She turned to me, flushing slightly. ‘Begging your pardon, Serjeant Shardlake.’
‘No need, madam. You have the right to an opinion like everyone else.’
Ethelreda said, to change the subject, ‘Is anyone going to St Paul’s Cathedral tomorrow, to hear Archbishop Cranmer preach from the new Prayer Book?’
‘My wife and daughter will be going to the Lincoln’s Inn Chapel, but I shall go to St Paul’s,’ Edward Kenzy answered neutrally. ‘I suppose it will be, at least, a historic occasion.’ I looked at him, remembering his reputation as a religious traditionalist. He met my eye. ‘What of you, Brother Shardlake?’
‘I shall go. As you say, a historic occasion.’
‘I believe you have worked for the archbishop, too, in the past,’ Laura Kenzy said, any traditionalist reservations of her own overcome by snobbery.
‘Yes,’ I agreed. ‘In the old king’s time. Whatever else, Archbishop Cranmer is a man of sincerity.’
Ethelreda, her face alight with enthusiasm, joined in. ‘Last week our family went to hear Master Latimer preach at the Cathedral Cross. He spoke of the sickness in the body of the State, and the need to ensure the bodily welfare of all within the Commonwealth.’
‘You speak wrongly, Ethelreda, sometimes I think you have not the brains of a flea.’ Old Margaret Coleswyn’s voice rasped with contempt. ‘Yes, Master Latimer spoke of reform that is needed in the Commonwealth, but that was for ten minutes in a speech of two hours. He spoke far more of what is truly wrong in England, its devotion to the sins of the flesh, gaming and whoring, its failure truly to root out the remnants of papistry. And he condemned those who rose up against their landlords last month.’ The old woman glared around the table, inviting challenge.
Ethelreda went red. ‘Mother –’ Philip said, warningly.
Edward Kenzy chuckled. ‘The Commonwealth men and pamphleteers will have noted down only what he said about land reform, I’m sure, and distributed it far and wide. I hope Master Latimer did not condemn fine dining, or we are all condemned to hellfire. Though I think he believes most of us are doomed to it anyway, and is quite cheerful about it. This egg sauce is delicious, Coleswyn.’ An uneasy titter went round the table, though old Mistress Coleswyn sat stony-faced.
‘Latimer was right at least in condemning those peasants who rose up against enclosures last month,’ Kenzy continued, more seriously. ‘There was a bad business in Wiltshire, too, where they tried to take down the fences round Sir William Herbert’s new park, and he had to gather two hundred men to rout them, not without bloodshed, I hear.’ He looked at me. ‘Herbert’s wife is sister to the late Queen Catherine. Did you hear any news of the affair?’
‘No, I met the Herberts only once,’ I said carefully. ‘One can surely understand the anger of Herbert’s tenantry against huge amounts of good agricultural land being fenced off so the great lords may go a-hunting. This passion for parkland has its consequences for the poor of the Commonwealth.’
Kenzy looked at me levelly. ‘What is your definition of the Commonwealth?’
‘The whole nation, held in economic balance, the rules ensuring that none are too poor to live.’
Philip added, ‘The Protector issued a strong proclamation against illegal enclosures in April, and I believe he has asked John Hales to organize a whole new series of commissions to go around all England this summer, and reverse all illegal enclosures of land since 1485. Many old injustices may thus be remedied.’
I considered, then said, ‘Many old injustices there are, and new ones too with the enclosure of common land for sheep.’ I thought of the Brikewell manors. ‘But to disentangle all enclosures since 1485 –’ I shook my head sadly – ‘that is a job that could occupy a hundred lawyers for years. Any return of lands to the common people will be challenged in the courts by the landlords, even if they are not seized back as soon as the commissioners move on – the magistrates and gentlemen will be united against them. I do not think the Protector has thought this through. He may indeed wish serious reform, but careful planning is needed.’
Kenzy said, ‘Yes. How are the commissioners supposed to know what was common land fifty years ago, if documentary evidence is lacking, which, probably, it is?’
Coleswyn said, ‘Then evidence will be taken from aged persons who were alive at the time –’
‘Anyone who was an adult in 1485 would be eighty now, if still alive,’ Kenzy replied scoffingly.
‘They may have told their children, who could give evidence.’
‘Come, Philip,’ Kenzy said impatiently. ‘You know that would be mere hearsay, inadmissible in court. And who are these people the commissioners will be asking to testify? Tenants, leaseholders, squatters; are they to be the ones who decide who is to own what land in England? Against the will of the local landholders? Does Protector Somerset wish the foot of the body politic to rule the head against all natural and biblical precedent?’