Heartstone

by C. J. Sansom

  ‘I did not know you were married. I took you for a roistering fellow.’

  ‘That’s all done now – ah, good morning,’ he said as I came in. Feaveryear stood, bowing briefly.

  ‘You’ve let me sleep in,’ I said, joining them at table.

  ‘They only woke me half an hour ago,’ Barak answered cheerfully. ‘And the old need their sleep.’

  ‘Less of the old, churl.’ Feaveryear looked shocked at our familiarity.

  From the kitchen we had a better view through an open window of the boys practising. David was shooting now, leaning back then bending his strong square body forward and loosing his arrow. He too hit the target, though off-centre.

  ‘This is a beautiful place,’ Feaveryear said. ‘I have never seen the country before.’

  ‘Never left London?’ I asked.

  ‘This is my first journey. I wanted to see it. The smells are so different, so clean.’

  ‘Ay,’ Barak agreed. ‘No rotten meat or sewage stink.’

  ‘And so quiet. Hard to think that only a few miles away the army is gathering at Portsmouth.’

  ‘Yes,’ I agreed, ‘it is.’

  ‘Master Hobbey has made a marvellous house. And a good thing this estate is no longer used to support those nuns mumbling prayers to idolatrous statues,’ Feaveryear added sententiously. The old woman turned and gave him a vicious look.

  ‘Those lads know what they’re doing,’ Barak said, looking through the window at Hugh and David. David shot again, and I followed the arcing trajectory of the arrow to the target. ‘There,’ I heard him shout, ‘I win! Sixpence you owe me!’

  ‘No!’ Hugh called back. ‘I shot nearer the centre!’

  Feaveryear was looking at the boys too, his face sad. ‘Do you pull the bow at all?’ I asked him.

  ‘No, sir. God gave me but little strength. I envy those strong lads.’

  ‘A cosy scene,’ a sneering voice said. We turned to find Dyrick in the doorway, Hobbey beside him. Dyrick too had donned his lawyer’s robe.

  ‘Who has been feeding that dog?’ Hobbey asked sharply.

  ‘Me, sir,’ Feaveryear answered nervously. ‘He is such a merry little fellow.’

  ‘You will be no merry fellow if my wife finds out. Only she feeds him – she thinks he has a delicate stomach. Lamkin, go find Mistress.’ The dog turned and waddled obediently out of the kitchen. Hobbey turned to Ursula. ‘You should not have allowed him to feed Lamkin,’ he snapped.

  ‘I am sorry sir. I could not see through the steam.’

  ‘I think you saw well enough. Be careful, goodwife.’ Hobbey turned to me, his voice smooth again. ‘Well, Brother Shardlake, perhaps you could say how you wish to proceed. As you see, Hugh is available now.’

  I had decided to interview the others before Hugh, to try and get some sense of this strange family. ‘I thought we might take your deposition first, sir. Then Fulstowe’s and your wife’s.’

  Hobbey looked at Dyrick. ‘Is that agreeable to you?’

  Dyrick inclined his head. ‘Very well.’

  ‘Then I will tell the boys they may go hawking this morning; they asked if they might.’ Hobbey took a deep breath. ‘Let us begin. We can use my study.’

  ‘I wish Barak to be with me, to take notes,’ I said.

  ‘I have brought some paper and a quill, Master Hobbey,’ Barak said cheerfully. ‘If you could let me have some ink.’

  ‘We do not need clerks,’ Dyrick snapped.

  ‘Clerks usually attend when taking depositions, do they not?’ I looked at him levelly. ‘It makes for greater accuracy.’

  ‘If we must,’ Dyrick said with a sigh. ‘Come, Feaveryear,’ he continued, ‘if Barak is attending you must too. More unnecessary costs for Master Shardlake’s client to pay.’

  HOBBEY’S STUDY WAS a large ground-floor room, lavishly decorated. There was a wide desk with many drawers, pigeonholes on the wall above, and several beautifully decorated wooden chests. Chairs had been set in a semicircle facing the window. On one wall I saw a portrait of a Benedictine nun, her neck and head swathed in starched white folds and a black veil.

  ‘The second to last abbess of Wherwell,’ Hobbey said.

  ‘An interesting face,’ I replied. ‘Watchful yet contemplative.’

  ‘You appreciate painting, Master Shardlake.’ His face relaxed and he gave me an oddly shy smile.

  ‘We should begin, sir,’ Dyrick said a little sharply. He took two inkpots from the desk, passing them to Barak and Feaveryear.

  Hobbey invited us to sit and took a chair by his desk. There was a large hourglass on it, a beautiful greenstone one with clear glass, full of white sand. He turned it so the sand began to fall.

  ‘To begin, sir,’ I said. ‘Would you tell me a little of your background? You said last night you had lived in Germany?’

  Hobbey glanced at his hourglass, then folded his slim, well-manicured hands in his lap. ‘As a boy I got a job as a messenger, running between the wool merchants and the German traders at the Steelyard. Then I went to Germany to learn the trade myself, came back and in time became a member of the Mercers’ Company.’

  ‘When did you meet the Curteys family?’

  ‘It was seven years past,’ Hobbey continued in the same quiet, even tone. ‘The monasteries were going down like bowling pins, everyone was looking for bargains at the Court of Augmentations. And I wanted to retire from my business.’

  ‘An early retirement, was it not?’ I would not ask whether he had been in debt; not yet.

  ‘I had been in the trade since I was ten, I was bored with it. I learned the lands of this priory were for sale and came down here. I met John Curteys at a local inn, God rest him. He was interested in buying some of the priory woodland. I could not afford to buy it all as well as the nunnery, so we agreed he would take the larger portion. We were both wool merchants and we became friends. But then John and his wife died suddenly, as you will know.’

  ‘And you applied for Hugh and Emma’s wardship.’

  Hobbey spread his hands. ‘That is no mystery. I knew the children. And as the lands they inherited marched with mine it made commercial sense for everyone for Hoyland to be managed as a unit. I paid a good price, and every penny went into Hugh and Emma’s account at Wards.’

  I looked at Dyrick, who was nodding slowly. I guessed they had rehearsed all this last night. I had been in practice long enough to tell.

  ‘So taking the children’s wardship was a commercial venture?’

  ‘Certainly not.’ Hobbey looked angry for a moment. ‘I felt sorry for them, left orphaned with no one to care for them. Who better to look after them than Abigail and I? We had always wanted more children, but after David was born we had two babies who died.’ A shadow crossed his face. ‘And Hugh and Emma had no other relatives, save an ancient aunt in the north whom John and Ruth’s vicar wished to involve. But that proved rather difficult,’ he added scornfully, ‘as she turned out to be dead.’ I thought, that is the tone Reverend Broughton heard when he protested. And Abigail shrieking, which I could imagine.

  I paused a moment to let Barak catch up. His and Feaveryear’s pens scratched away.

  ‘To turn to Michael Calfhill,’ I continued, ‘you kept him as tutor. He had been with the children some years then. Yet when you moved to Hampshire you dismissed him. Why was that?’

  Hobbey leaned forward and made a steeple of his hands. ‘First of all, sir, the children had no real attachment to Calfhill. After their parents died they withdrew into each other’s company. And within the year Emma, too, was dead.’ He gave a sigh which seemed full of genuine emotion. ‘And when we moved, yes, I dismissed Michael Calfhill because Hugh was now alone, and I feared Michael’s influence was becoming unhealthy. Frankly I feared what paths he might lead the boy down. Impropriety,’ he added slowly.

  ‘What evidence did you have for that?’

  ‘Remember, Brother Shardlake,’ Dyrick said, ‘Master Hobbey’s answer could be read out in court, in f
ront of Michael Calfhill’s mother.’

  ‘I know.’ I looked fixedly at Hobbey; Dyrick would not blackmail me thus.

  ‘It was a matter of looks and gestures. Once I saw him touch Hugh’s bottom.’

  ‘I see. Speaking of impropriety, Michael told his mother David said something improper to Emma, and Hugh fought him over it.’

  ‘I believe Hugh once objected to something David said. My son – well, he has no good control of his tongue. They had a boyish tussle. But David and Hugh are fast friends now.’

  ‘Did you hope David might marry Emma? If that happened Emma would have brought her portion of her lands to her husband.’

  ‘Of course we considered that, but it would have been up to the children.’

  ‘Did you find another tutor for Hugh and David?’

  ‘We had a succession of tutors till last year.’ He smiled wryly. ‘They all had to be good archers. Hugh had begun his craze for the bow by then, and David followed.’

  ‘A succession? How many?’

  ‘Four, I think.’

  ‘In five years? That seems a great many.’

  ‘They were not always satisfactory. And many tutors see teaching as a stopgap, rather than a career.’

  ‘Michael Calfhill did not.’

  ‘He might have had his reasons for that,’ Dyrick said, real venom in his tone.

  ‘And David is not an easy boy to teach.’ Again that sadness in Hobbey’s face. ‘The last man was good, but he left us to travel, visit the continent. That was before this war began.’

  ‘Might I have their names?’ I asked.

  ‘If you wish. Though I do not know where they would be now.’

  ‘Coming to the present, it is surely past time for the boys to consider university or a profession.’

  ‘I want David here, to learn about the estate. As for Hugh, he has the wit for a scholar and loves book learning. But he has a boyish fancy to go to the war. So I am keeping him here till it ends. Does that not sound a reasonable course, Master Shardlake?’

  ‘I think you will agree it is in Hugh’s interest,’ Dyrick interjected.

  ‘Perhaps.’ I paused. ‘Master Hobbey, you gave an account at dinner last night of Michael Calfhill’s reappearance last Easter. Could you tell me again what happened, for the record this time?’

  Hobbey repeated the story of Michael’s appearance in the old churchyard, his telling Hugh that he loved him more than anyone. I had hoped Hobbey might slip, say something inconsistent with what he had said last night. But either he spoke true, or he had been well rehearsed by Dyrick.

  ‘How far must we press this unsavoury episode?’ Dyrick asked when Hobbey had finished.

  ‘One more thing, Master Hobbey. You have been selling off wood from the land which is part of Hugh’s patrimony.’

  Hobbey spread his hands. ‘I would be a poor custodian of his interests if I did otherwise. Between the need for timber for ships and the demand for charcoal for the Sussex ironworks the price has never been so high.’ Mention of the Sussex ironworks again, I thought. ‘I am having part of my own woods felled. There is little other profit to be made here. The rents from Hoyland village and a few cottagers in the woods bring in less than seventy pounds a year, which becomes worth less and less with this great rise in prices. You have seen my accounts.’

  ‘Indeed. And I would like to take a ride through the woodland Hugh owns, before we meet Sir Quintin Priddis on Friday.’

  ‘Please do. But it is a large area, several miles deep in parts. Men are at work on the outer fringes now, felling trees, but further in it is old, wild growth, not easily penetrated.’

  Dyrick laughed. ‘Do not get lost in there, Brother, or Mistress Calfhill will have to find another lawyer.’

  ‘I won’t.’ I made my voice as smooth as Hobbey’s. ‘And thank you, sir. I think that will be all, for now.’

  Dyrick looked up sharply. ‘For now? You are not allowed innumerable depositions.’

  ‘I will only ask if something new arises.’ I smiled. ‘And now, if I may, I will see the steward, Fulstowe.’

  ‘Certainly. He is with my hounds, supervising their feeding.’ Hobbey glanced at the hourglass, where the sand was still falling.

  ‘I will go and find him,’ I said. ‘I would like a little breath of air. Barak, come with me. And I think I will ride out and see Hugh’s woodlands tomorrow.’

  WE WALKED OUT into the fresh morning. A peacock strutted on the lawn, bright feathers glistening in the sun. As we approached, it uttered its mournful cry and stalked away. We followed the sound of barking to the outhouses, and I noted again the many hiding places behind the trees dotting the lawn.

  ‘What did you think of Hobbey?’ I asked.

  ‘No fool. But I don’t trust him: his story was too smoothly told.’

  ‘I agree. But Hugh Curteys is clearly not mistreated.’

  ‘They intended to marry David to Emma.’

  ‘That is the way of wardship. But there is something hidden here, I am sure of it.’ I frowned. ‘I was thinking just now of the corner boys. If there is some roguery going on over selling the woodland, and either Sir Quintin Priddis or his son were in London, they would probably be in and out of the Court of Wards all the time. They might have learned of my involvement in this case.’

  ‘And feared corrupt dealing being exposed, and so tried to frighten you off?’

  ‘They would not then know I had the Queen behind me. Though Hobbey will have told them since, in his letter.’ I smiled. ‘I look forward to this meeting on Friday.’ I took a deep breath, and added, ‘Before that, given time, I think I may ride out to Rolfswood, see what I might find. Alone.’

  ‘You should not go at all. And certainly not alone.’

  ‘It will do me good to have a night away from here.’ I was not going to tell Barak what I had heard of two deaths at the foundry. ‘And I want you here, finding out all you can. That servant Ursula, she at least has no love for the Hobbeys. You could try and talk to her.’

  He put his head to one side. ‘Are you hiding something about Ellen?’ he asked shrewdly.

  ‘God’s death, Jack,’ I snapped, reddening. ‘Leave it alone. It is for me to judge what to do. Now, later this morning I am going to reply to Warner. Do you want to write a letter to Tamasin for the post rider to collect?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Then let us get our work done.’ I strode on towards the continuing sound of barking, which came from a building near the stables. I looked through an open door into a kennels where a dozen black-and-white hunting dogs stood on thick straw, tethered to the walls by long iron chains. Also chained up were two of the largest greyhounds I had ever seen, their lean bodies a mass of muscle. A man was feeding the hunting dogs chunks of meat from a pail, watched keenly by Fulstowe. The steward looked round, surprised to see me, then bowed.

  I nodded at the greyhounds. ‘Those are big dogs.’

  ‘They are Hugh and David’s greyhounds, Ajax and Apollo. The boys will be here to collect them shortly. Master Avery, they are going hunting. Do not feed them.’ He turned back to me. ‘On the hunt the other dogs will be sent after the does.

  ‘This hunt of your master’s, I gather it is the first here?’

  Fulstowe nodded. ‘It is. We have been keeping the hounds hungry, to get them keen for the scent of meat. That is Master Avery, whom we have hired as our Master of Hunt.’

  The young man stood up and bowed. He was as thin and sinewy as the dogs, with a sharp intelligent face, his leather apron spattered with blood from the meat.

  ‘Master Shardlake is here on legal business,’ Fulstowe said.

  ‘I heard.’ Avery looked at me keenly.

  ‘Avery is working with our forester,’ Fulstowe said. He seemed to have decided to play the bluff steward. ‘They have found a large stag in our park.’

  ‘We have, sir,’ Avery agreed. ‘A fine beast. I look forward to next Monday.’

  ‘The boys must be anticipating the
hunt too,’ I said.

  ‘They are,’ Avery agreed. ‘They have come tracking deer with me. But as I said, Master Fulstowe, I would rather Master David did not come again. He makes too much noise. Though Master Hugh is a born tracker, silent as a fox. He has the makings of a fine huntsman.’ He smiled. ‘You should ask him to show you his heartstone.’

  I stared. ‘His what?’

  ‘The piece of bone a deer has next to its heart,’ Fulstowe explained. ‘Master Hugh went on a neighbour’s hunt last year and brought a hart down with his arrow.’

  Avery smiled. ‘Do you not know the old custom, sir, for the heartstone to be given to the lord who brings down the deer?’

  ‘I fear I am a townsman.’

  ‘It is said to have great healing properties.’

  ‘Hugh wears it in a little bag round his neck,’ Fulstowe said. His nose crinkled a little. I thought of Emma’s cross round my own neck. I took a deep breath.

  ‘Master Fulstowe,’ I said. ‘We would like to take your deposition now.’

  ‘Very well.’ He set his lips tight.

  THE STEWARD said not a word more as we walked back to the house. As we neared the stables, David and Hugh passed us on horseback. Each wore a leather glove on which a hooded goshawk stood balanced. The sun emphasized the scars on Hugh’s face, and I looked away. The boys looked curiously at my serjeant’s robes, and David gave a little scoffing laugh. Hugh doffed his cap as they passed, riding away to the gate.

  We entered Hobbey’s study. Fulstowe’s face showed relief as he saw Dyrick. Hobbey had left. ‘Good morning, master steward,’ Dyrick said cheerfully. ‘Do not worry, I will make sure Brother Shardlake keeps to the point.’ I saw the hourglass had been turned over again; the sand was just beginning to fall. Fulstowe sat, looking at me as steadily as his master had.

  ‘Well, Fulstowe,’ I began in a light tone, ‘tell me how you became Master Hobbey’s steward.’

  ‘I was steward at his house in London. Before Master Hobbey came here.’

  ‘To be a country gentleman.’

  ‘There is no more honourable calling in England.’ A touch of truculence entered Fulstowe’s voice.