Heartstone

by C. J. Sansom

  ‘See, Sam,’ Dyrick said to Feaveryear, ‘Brother Shardlake’s words stick in his throat.’

  I glared at Dyrick, cursing myself for my weakness. Then I saw the anger in his eyes, fierce as mine. It was no act.

  ‘I see you have scant answer, Serjeant Shardlake,’ Dyrick continued. ‘I thank you for these depositions, though they are out of time and I shall argue so on Monday—’

  ‘I see Master Curteys’ estate consists of a considerable acreage of woodland.’

  ‘All dealt with properly. You have seen the papers.’

  ‘But no accounts.’

  ‘Those are kept by the feodary in Hampshire. You may not be familiar with the Court of Wards, Brother, but that is the procedure.’

  ‘Tell me, Brother Dyrick, is any marriage contemplated for Hugh Curteys?’

  ‘None.’ He inclined his head and smiled. ‘There is really nothing to investigate, Brother Shardlake.’

  ‘These accusations must be looked into, and I think the court will agree.’ My voice came scratchy, high-pitched.

  Dyrick stood up. ‘I hope your throat is recovered by Monday.’

  ‘It will be, Brother.’

  I got up and turned to leave. Dyrick’s face was cold, stony. I glanced at Feaveryear. For the first time I saw him smile, not at me but at his master. A smile of pure admiration.

  Chapter Nine

  THE FOLLOWING MORNING I crossed the central yard of Hampton Court again. It was Sunday, a bright, cool day, the day before the hearing. The courtyard was quiet, only a few clerks around; no skulking courtiers today.

  A letter from Warner had been waiting when I returned home from my encounter with Dyrick. Coldiron had been standing in the hallway, turning the thick white paper over in his hands, staring at the beautifully written superscription on one side, the Queen’s seal on the other. He handed it to me with new respect in his eye, as well as aching curiosity. I dismissed him curtly and opened it; it asked me to attend the Queen again on the morrow.

  I had been instructed to come to Warner’s office, and once more I climbed the spiral steps. I wore my coif to hide my bruises. Warner’s room had been freshly laid with new rushes, their sweetness overcoming the smell of dust and paper. ‘Ah, Brother Shardlake,’ he said. ‘It is cold again. What a summer.’

  ‘I saw, on my way here, that hailstorm has flattened much of the wheat.’

  ‘It’s worse in the north. And great winds in the Channel. By Christ’s mercy the Great Harry and the Mary Rose have arrived safely in Portsmouth Haven.’ He looked at me keenly. ‘I showed your message to the Queen. She was disturbed, as I was, by the attack on you. You are recovering?’

  ‘I am, thank you.’

  ‘The Queen wishes to see you now.’ Warner opened a side door and called in a young clerk. ‘Serjeant Shardlake is here. Go, inform the Queen. She will just be leaving the chapel.’

  The clerk bowed and ran from the room. His footsteps clattered on the steps, then from the window I saw him run across the courtyard. I envied his speed and grace. Warner invited me to sit. He stroked his beard. ‘These are lawless times. Tell me what happened.’

  I told him the story, concluding with my visit to Dyrick. ‘He will fight hard for his client,’ I said. ‘And, to be frank, his arguments are strong.’

  Warner nodded slowly. ‘Do you think he is involved in what happened to you?’

  ‘There is no evidence at all. When I first saw him I thought he was acting the part of the outraged lawyer. But then I sensed an anger behind the legal dancing, some personal feeling.’ I hesitated. ‘Talking of that, Mistress Calfhill told me the Queen was very fond of Michael.’

  ‘That is my impression too.’

  Warner frowned. I could see he wished himself, and the Queen, rid of this.

  ‘One thing, Master Warner. There is a rumour that Master Hobbey was in debt at the time of his move to Hampshire. I spoke to Alderman Carver of the Mercers’ Guild, but he was reluctant to talk about another member. Is there any way you could make discreet enquiry?’

  ‘I will see what I can do.’ He stood up, nodding at me to do likewise, as light footsteps sounded on the stairs. We both bowed deeply as the door opened. A maid-in-waiting stepped in and held it open for the Queen.

  QUEEN CATHERINE was dressed soberly for Sunday, in a plain dress of grey silk and a hood without jewellery. I thought they suited her less well than the bright colours she favoured, though they showed her auburn hair to advantage. She indicated that Warner and I should sit. The maid-in-waiting took a stool by the window, folding her hands in her lap.

  ‘Matthew,’ she began, ‘Robert tells me you have been attacked. Are you safe?’

  ‘Quite safe, your majesty.’

  ‘I thank God for it. And what of the case? I understand there is little new evidence.’ Her eyes were full of sorrow. Bess was right. She had cared deeply for Michael.

  I told her that apart from Broughton’s confirming his and Michael’s opposition to the wardship, I had discovered little. She sat, considering, then said quietly, ‘One thing I know about Michael, have known since he was a child. He was a good man, full of the kindness and charity that our Lord wished us all to have, though few enough do. He would never have made up a story to harm Hobbey. Never, even if his mind was disturbed.’

  ‘That is my impression.’

  ‘If something bad has been done to that boy,’ Warner said, ‘this case could make a stir. To say nothing of inflaming opinion further against the Court of Wards. The King might not wish that.’

  ‘No, Master Warner!’ The Queen spoke with sudden fierceness. ‘His majesty would not wish wrongdoing to go unpunished. Michael wished to protect the boy Hugh, the only survivor of that poor family, and so do I. For his sake, and his good mother’s, and the sake of justice!’

  I glanced at Warner. I thought his estimate of the King’s likely response more accurate than the Queen’s. She continued, ‘Matthew, if the gathering of depositions is ordered tomorrow, do not feel you must take on this burden. Another barrister can be appointed to act from then on and travel south.’

  ‘He would need to know everything about the case to deal with the matter properly.’

  She nodded. ‘That would only be fair to him.’

  ‘Someone else might take it on for a good purse,’ Warner said, ‘but would he have Serjeant Shardlake’s commitment?’ I realized Warner wanted me to stay with the case. He trusted me, and the fewer who knew the Queen had got herself involved with such a jar of worms the better. He looked at me. I could almost feel him willing me not to withdraw.

  ‘I will follow this through, your majesty.’

  The Queen smiled again, a warm open smile. ‘I knew you would.’ Her mobile face grew serious again. ‘But I remember all that happened the last time you plunged into dark waters when your friend Master Elliard was murdered. Before I was Queen.’

  ‘That I do not regret.’

  ‘But Hugh Curteys is not a friend; you have never met him.’

  ‘I would like to help him if I can. I would ask, though, for someone to accompany me. My clerk cannot come and my steward is – unsuitable.’

  She nodded. ‘A good clerk, and some strong fellow to be at your side. Warner, you can arrange that?’

  ‘I will do all I can.’

  She smiled at him. ‘I know you are uneasy, my good servant. But I wish this matter properly investigated. Because it affects me in my heart, and because it is right that it should be.’ She turned back to me. ‘Thank you, Matthew. And now, I must go. I am due for lunch with the King. Matthew – ’ she held out her hand for me to kiss – ‘keep me informed of what happens at the hearing.’

  My lips brushed a soft hand, there was a whiff of musky scent, and then Queen Catherine was gone, the maid-in-waiting following and closing the door behind them. Warner sat down again, and looked at me quizzically.

  ‘The die is cast then, Matthew.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Let me know what happens
immediately the hearing is over, and if you have to go, I can select good men to accompany you.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  Warner hesitated, then said, ‘I believe you have acted for wronged children before.’

  I smiled. ‘Did not our Lord say we should suffer the little children?’

  Warner inclined his head. I could see he was wondering why I was doing this. I was unsure myself, except that children in peril, and judicial wrong, were two things that touched me closely. As did the wishes of the Queen, for whom I realized I felt more than friendship. Though there was no point in dwelling on that. As I took my leave, I felt a new surge of determination, what Barak sometimes called my obstinacy.

  A FEW HOURS later I crossed the Bedlam yard once again. It had turned misty, deadening the clamour of the city, and warmer.

  I had decided to visit Ellen that morning. The thought that she did not even have the formal protection of an order of lunacy had tightened my sense of responsibility even further. Two people had to know the truth: Warden Metwys and the keeper, Edwin Shawms. Metwys I had encountered during the case of my incarcerated client two years before; he was a typical courtier, who made no secret of the fact that the wardenship was for him nothing more than an office of profit. The sums that a man of his status would require to give up secrets were beyond my means. And Keeper Shawms was a tool of Metwys’s. So I had decided, perhaps rashly, to see Ellen again, and try once more to find out what I could.

  I knocked at the door. It was answered by one of the junior keepers, a heavy-set, slack-jawed young man called Palin. He nodded at me dully. ‘I have come to see Ellen Fettiplace,’ I said.

  ‘Ah.’ He nodded. Then he was pushed aside and Hob stood in the doorway. ‘Master Shardlake,’ he said in a mock-cheerful tone. ‘I had not expected to see you again so soon.’

  ‘I may be going away, I wished to tell Ellen.’

  He stood aside to let me enter. The door of the office was open and I saw Shawms sitting behind the desk, writing. A fat, middle-aged man, he always seemed to wear the same slightly stained black jerkin. He looked up as I appeared, his expression stony. We were old adversaries.

  ‘Come to see Ellen, Master Shardlake?’ he asked in his growl of a voice.

  ‘I have, sir.’

  ‘Looks like someone’s been at your neck,’ he said. ‘Some poor defendant had enough of being dragged through the courts?’

  ‘No, just some common thieves, after money like all rogues. Thank you for your welcome, Master Shawms. It is always warm greetings at the Bedlam.’

  ‘It’s hard work for those who have to labour here. Eh, Hob?’ He glanced sharply at Gebons.

  ‘That it is, sir.’

  ‘She is in the parlour. And you can tell her either to get old Emanuel to sign a receipt for his clothes, or sign it on his behalf. Tell her to bring it to me, and my inkpot.’

  IN THE PARLOUR Ellen was doing what she did best, talking reassuringly to a patient, her voice calm and encouraging. It was the tall, thin man I had seen in the courtyard on my previous visit. They sat at the large, scarred old table, a quill and inkpot between them. Ellen was studying a paper, while the new patient clutched a bundle close to his chest and looked across at her apprehensively. As I entered, they both looked up. Ellen’s face was transfigured by a delighted smile. The patient, though, dropped his bundle onto the table, stood and waved a frantic hand at me. ‘A lawyer!’ he shouted. ‘They’ve sent a lawyer, they’re going to put me in the Marshalsea prison!’

  ‘No, Emanuel,’ Ellen said, grasping his shoulder. ‘This man is my friend, Master Shardlake. He has come to see me.’ She spoke with pride.

  ‘I’ve paid all I can, sir,’ Emanuel told me, wringing his hands. He backed away, becoming more agitated. ‘My business is gone, all I have are the clothes I stand in and those in this bundle. The court allowed me those, they sent them—’

  I raised a hand soothingly. ‘I have come to see Ellen, sir. I know nothing of you—’

  ‘You deceive me. Even the King deceives me, his silver is not real. I have seen it. All my true silver is taken.’

  ‘Palin,’ Ellen called, as Emanuel dodged her grasp and made for the door. The young man entered and caught him firmly. ‘Come on, matey,’ he said. ‘Come and lie down. No one’s after you.’ He strong-armed a weeping Emanuel away. I turned to Ellen. She was staring at my neck with a horrified look.

  ‘Matthew, what happened?’

  ‘An attempt at robbery. I am quite safe,’ I added, making light of it.

  ‘Thank you for coming again. It has scarce been four days.’ She smiled once more.

  ‘There was something I wished to speak to you about. But Shawms said something about signing a paper for him.’

  ‘Yes, it is this, a receipt for Master Emanuel’s poor belongings. He will not sign it, so I must.’ She did so, signing her name with an elegant round hand, proof she had had some education.

  She returned the paper and inkpot to Shawms’s office, and then I followed her down the long corridor to her chamber. She wore the same light-blue dress as on Wednesday, and I noticed it was threadbare in several places. We passed the chamber of the fat old gentleman who had a delusion that he was the King. His door was half-open, and one of the keepers was replacing the rushes on the stone floor, a rag over his face against the smell, for the old ones, heaped in a corner, stank mightily. The old man sat on a commode, a tattered curtain for a robe and his paper crown on his head. He stared stonily ahead, ignoring the common mortals who passed.

  We entered Ellen’s room. As usual, she sat on her bed and I stood. ‘Poor Master Emanuel,’ she said sadly. ‘He was a prosperous gentleman until last year, a corn merchant. He accepted payment for a large load in new coins just after the last debasement and made a great loss. He tried to hide it by borrowing and now his business has gone. His wits, too.’

  I looked at her. ‘You care about the patients, don’t you, Ellen?’

  ‘Someone has to care for those nobody else cares for.’ She smiled sadly.

  ‘At the moment I am trying to help a young man in that position.’ I hesitated. ‘And to do so I may have to go away for a short while.’

  She sat up at that, an anxious look on her face. ‘Where? For how long?’

  ‘To Hampshire, to take some depositions. A week, perhaps a little more.’

  ‘So far? I will be alone.’ Her voice became agitated.

  ‘I have a case in the Court of Wards. Representatives often have to travel to where the ward lives.’

  ‘I have heard Wards is an evil place.’

  I hesitated, then said quietly, ‘It is where orders of lunacy are kept as well.’ I drew a deep breath. ‘I had to go there on Thursday. About this case. I also – I also asked the clerk if your records were filed there.’

  For the first time since I met her Ellen looked at me with anger. Her face seemed to change, somehow flatten and harden. ‘How could you?’ she asked. ‘You had no right to look at papers about me. No right to see those things.’ She shrank back, curling her hands into fists in her lap.

  ‘Ellen, I only wished to ensure there was a proper record for you.’ A lie.

  Her voice rose, cracking and breaking with rage. ‘Did you laugh? Did you laugh at what you read?’

  ‘Ellen!’ I raised my own voice. ‘There was nothing to read! There is no record of you there.’

  ‘What?’ she asked, her voice suddenly dropping.

  ‘You are not registered as a lunatic.’

  ‘But I must be.’

  I shook my head. ‘You are not. You should never have been sent here at all.’

  ‘Will you tell Shawms?’ Now her voice was small, frightened. In an instant all her long trust in me seemed to have gone. I raised a hand soothingly.

  ‘Of course not. But, Ellen, they must know already. I would like to protect you, Ellen, help you. But to do that I have to find out how you came here, what happened. Please tell me.’

  She did not reply, just loo
ked at me with terrible fear and distrust. Then I said something which showed how little, even then, I understood her. ‘Ellen, the way to Portsmouth passes near the Sussex border, near the town of Rolfswood, where I know you come from. Is there anyone I could visit there who might help you?’

  At the mention of Rolfswood Ellen’s bosom heaved as though she were fighting for breath. Then she began not to shout but to scream hoarsely. ‘No! No!’ Her face reddened. ‘They were so strong!’ she shouted. ‘I could not move! The sky above – it was so wide – so wide it could swallow me!’ The last words were a shriek of pure terror.

  ‘Ellen.’ I took a step towards her, but she shrank away, pressing herself into the wall.

  ‘He burned! The poor man, he was all on fire—’

  ‘What?’

  Her eyes were glassy now, I realized she was not seeing me, nor the room, but something terrible in the past.

  ‘I saw his skin melt, turn black and crack!’ she howled. ‘He tried to get up but he fell!’

  There was a crash and the door flew open. Shawms entered, furious looking. Behind him were Palin and Hob Gebons. Palin held a coil of rope in one hand.

  ‘God’s nails!’ Shawms shouted. ‘What the hell’s going on here?’ Ellen stared at them and instantly became quiet, quaking against the wall like a poor mouse trapped in a corner by a cat. Shawms grasped my arm in a meaty hand and pulled me away.

  ‘It’s all right,’ I said. ‘She’s only frightened – ’ And then, when it was far too late, I stretched out a hand to her, but she did not even see me as she shrank away from Hob and Palin. Hob looked at me over his shoulder, fiercely, and shook his head. Shawms jerked my arm again, pulling me to the door. I resisted, and he bent close, speaking quietly and savagely. ‘Listen to me, master hunchback. I’m in charge here. You come out of this room, or I’ll have Hob and young Palin put you out, none too gently. Want Fettiplace to see that, do you?’

  There was nothing I could do. I let him lead me outside, leaving Hob and Palin to stand guard over Ellen as though she were a dangerous animal rather than a desperate, helpless woman. Then Shawms slammed the door on them, pulled the little square viewing window shut, and turned to face me. He was breathing hard.