by C. J. Sansom
The Queen turned to Warner. ‘I wonder if there even was a letter.’
‘I do not know, your majesty. I never heard anything, but I was not greatly in Catherine of Aragon’s confidence. She knew or guessed by then that I was beginning to have reformist sympathies.’
I said, ‘Either way, West lied about this man Jackson.’
He nodded stiffly in agreement. I looked back at the Queen. ‘And there is still the question of Rich’s involvement in the Curteys affair. There is a common link between the Curteys case and the Sussex matter – the feodary Sir Quintin Priddis, who was once a Sussex coroner. He is an old friend of Rich.’
The Queen considered. ‘The death of poor Mistress Hobbey – you told Robert a man had been accused?’
‘A local yeoman. He had been contesting attempts by Master Hobbey to enclose Hoyland village.’
‘You believe him innocent?’
‘Yes. There is no real evidence.’
‘Is there any evidence against anyone else?’
I hesitated. ‘No.’
‘Then he will stand trial. The truth will be investigated there.’
‘He is in prison now. I have offered to take up the villagers’ case at the Court of Requests.’
‘You have been busy,’ Warner said sarcastically.
The Queen said, ‘And the man found dead at Rolfswood, the father of your – friend – in Bedlam. What will happen there?’
‘There will be an inquest. I do not know when.’
The Queen looked at me. ‘Then that will be the time to ferret out the truth. As for Hugh Curteys, whatever corruption there may have been in the administration of his lands, if he does not wish to pursue the case, there is nothing to be done. Matthew, I know you never like to let a matter rest once you have taken it up, but sometimes in this life you must. These matters will have to await due process. And you should not be here. The French are coming, there could be mortal danger.’ She raised a hand and pinched the bridge of her nose.
‘Are you all right, your majesty?’ I asked.
‘Tired, that is all. The King slept badly last night and called me to talk with him. Often now he cannot sleep from the pain from his leg.’
‘You do not know how difficult life is for the Queen just now,’ Warner said angrily. ‘Why do you think the King has left her here today? I will tell you,’ he went on. ‘Because if, which God forbid, he should be killed or captured in these next few days, the Queen will be Regent for Prince Edward as she was when the King went to France last year, and she will have to deal with all of them. Gardiner, Norfolk, the Seymours, Cranmer. And Rich.’ He moved a step closer to his mistress, protectively. ‘These last two years she has kept her patronage of you as unobtrusive as she can, lest the King remember your past encounter and be annoyed. And now you stay in Hampshire against her wishes, you come swaggering in here, making ridiculous accusations against me – ’
The Queen looked up and now she was smiling faintly. She put her hand on Warner’s sleeve. ‘Come, Robert. Swaggering is something Matthew does not do. Leave us to talk, just for a few moments, then take Matthew out and he can make haste straight back to London.’
Warner bowed deeply to the Queen, then walked stiffly away without another look at me. The Queen nodded to the maids-in-waiting and they stepped to the shade of the doorway. She looked at me, the half-smile still on her face.
‘I know you meant well, Matthew. But never forget that, as the Gospels tell us, the road to Hell is paved with good intentions.’
‘I am sorry. Sorry that I accused Master Warner, and sorrier that you have cause to be angry with me.’
She looked at me intently. ‘Do you see that I have cause? After you disobeyed me?’
‘Yes. Yes, I do.’
She nodded in acknowledgement, then looked down at her dog. ‘Do you remember that day at Hampton Court?’ she said in a lighter tone. ‘The Lady Elizabeth was with us. She liked your answers to her questions, she told me later. I think you made a friend there. She does not like everyone, I can tell you.’
‘I have remembered it too, these last weeks. You told me she was reading Roger Ascham’s Toxophilus. It is a great favourite of Hugh Curteys’ too. He lent it to me. I confess I found it a little – self-satisfied.’
‘I have met Master Ascham. He – he is one who does swagger.’ She laughed. ‘But he is a learned man. The Lady Elizabeth has expressed a wish to correspond with him. She is such a remarkable child. Master Grindal is teaching her well, he is one of those who believes a woman may learn anything as well as a man. That is good. I often wish I had had a better education.’ She smiled again, and a little merriment came to her eyes. ‘Though I wish Elizabeth would not swear like a boy. I tell her it is not ladylike.’ The Queen looked round the little garden; sunlight came through the trees, making patterns on the ground as the breeze shifted the branches. Birds sang softly. ‘This is a peaceful little place,’ she said wistfully. ‘Tell me, what is Hugh Curteys like?’
‘He is somehow – unreadable. But he still mourns his sister.’
Her face clouded again. ‘Many in England may be in mourning before long. I wish the King had never – ’ she cut herself short, biting her lip, then reached out and touched my hand. ‘I am sorry I was vexed, Matthew. I am tired.’
‘Should I leave you, your majesty?’
‘Yes. I may go to my chamber and rest. But I pray God we may meet again, safe, in London.’
I bowed and stepped to the door. I was full of gratitude for her forgiveness, and deeply sorry now for my accusations against Warner. I might have gained a friend in little Lady Elizabeth, but I had lost one, too. Then I frowned. Something was nagging at my mind. Something the Queen had said about Elizabeth. The maids-in-waiting moved aside to let me pass, dresses rustling. Inside, Warner waited, his manner still cold and hostile.
‘Robert,’ I said, ‘I apologize again—’
‘Come, you should leave, now.’
We went back up the stairs I had descended in such fear. ‘Master Warner,’ I said when we reached the top. ‘There is one last question I would ask, if you will?’
‘Well?’ he asked roughly.
‘Something you said to me at Hampton Court. You said the Queen was like Catherine of Aragon, utterly loyal to her servants.’
‘Do not worry,’ he said contemptuously, ‘the Queen will stay loyal to you.’
‘I did not mean that. It was something else you said, that Catherine of Aragon had her faults. What did you mean by that?’
‘It is simple enough. She was another like you, sir, who would not let go when sense and even decency indicated she ought. When the King first said he wished to divorce her, the Pope sent her a message. That I did know of, as her lawyer. The Pope, to whom Catherine of Aragon’s ultimate loyalty lay as a Catholic, suggested that in order to resolve the problems that were beginning to tear England apart, she should retire to a nunnery, which in canon law would allow the King to marry again without a divorce.’
‘That would have been a neat answer.’
‘It would have been the best answer. She was past childbearing age; the King would not bed with her anyway. She could have kept her status and honours, lived an easy life. And her daughter Mary that she loved would have kept her place in the succession rather than being threatened, as she was later, with execution. So much blood and trouble would have been spared. And the irony is Catherine of Aragon’s obstinacy meant that England split from Rome; the last thing she wanted.’
‘Of course. I see.’
Warner smiled tightly. ‘But she believed God desired her to stay married to the King. And as often happens, God’s will and her own chimed nicely. So there you are, that is where obstinacy may lead. Fortunately, our present Queen has a strong sense of realism. Stronger than some men, for all that she is a weak woman.’
He turned on his heel, and led me away. And with his last words it came to me, like a click in the brain. I understood now what had happened at Hoyland, w
hat the secret was that everyone had known and concealed. Warner turned and looked at me in surprise as I released a sound that started as a sigh but ended as a groan.
AN HOUR LATER Barak and I were riding north along the London road. When I arrived at the inn I had been moved by the relief on his face. I told him Warner was innocent and that I had received a deserved rebuke from the Queen.
‘Well,’ he said, ‘I did warn you.’
‘Yes. You did.’
As we rode on I was silent; Barak probably thought I was in a chastened mood, but I was thinking hard, turning everything over since that flash of revelation as I left the Queen, afraid I might be building another castle in the air. But this time everything fitted tightly. And it would be easy to find out, very easy.
I said quietly, ‘I want to call in at Hoyland on the way. Just briefly.’
For a second I thought he would fall from his saddle. ‘Hoyland? Have you gone stark mad? What sort of welcome do you think you’ll get?’
‘I know now what it was that the Hobbeys were keeping quiet. What caused poor Michael Calfhill such distress when he came, and why Feaveryear left.’
‘Jesus Christ, another theory.’
‘It is easy to test. It should only take half an hour. And if I am wrong no harm will be done, and we can be on our way.’
‘Do you think you know who killed Abigail?’ he asked sharply.
‘I am not sure yet. But if I am right, the killer came from within the household not the village.’ I gave him a pleading look. ‘Maybe I am wrong, but if I am right Ettis may be proved innocent. Half an hour. But if you want, ride on and find a bed in Petersfield.’
He looked down the dusty, tree-shaded road, then at me, and to my relief he shook his head and laughed. ‘I give up,’ he said. ‘I’ll come. After all, it’s only the Hobbeys we have to face this time.’
Chapter Forty-one
I KNEW THAT if we rode up to the front door of Hoyland Priory, Fulstowe might see us and order us off. Accordingly we turned onto the path along the edge of the hunting park that led to the rear gate. Overhanging branches brushed us as we rode quietly along. I remembered the day of the hunt, the great stag turning at bay. And the day we had ridden into Hugh’s woodland and that arrow had plunged into the tree beside us.
We dismounted beside the gate. ‘Let’s tie the horses to a tree,’ I said.
‘I hope it’s unlocked.’
‘It’s flimsy. If need be we can smash it open.’
‘Breaking and entering?’ Barak looked at me seriously. ‘That’s not like you.’
But it was unlocked, and we stepped quietly through into the familiar grounds. Ahead was the lawn dotted with its trees; to our left the kennels and other outhouses. Barak looked down to the little sheds where he and Dyrick’s clerk had lodged. He suddenly asked, ‘Feaveryear hasn’t been harmed, has he?’
‘No, he was sent packing back to London because he discovered something.’
‘In God’s name, what?’
‘I want you to see for yourself.’
I looked at the great hall, the sun glinting on the windows. No one was about; it was very quiet. We started a little as a pair of wood pigeons flapped noisily from one tree to another. It was hot, the sun almost directly above. My coif chafed against my brow and I wiped away sweat. I realized I was hungry; it was well past lunchtime. I looked at the old nuns’ cemetery, the practice butts, remembered Hobbey saying he wondered if he might be under a curse for taking over the old convent.
One of the servants, a young man from the village, came out of the buttery. He stared at us in astonishment, as though we were ghosts. All the servants would know how I had upset the family at the inquest. I walked across, smiling. ‘Good afternoon, fellow. Do you know if Master Hobbey is at home?’
‘I – I don’t know, sir. He is going to the village today, with Master Fulstowe and Master Dyrick.’
‘Dyrick is still here?’
‘Yes, sir. I don’t know if they’ve gone out yet. You have come back?’
‘Just briefly. Something I need to speak with Master Hobbey about. I will go round to the house.’ We walked away, leaving him gazing after us.
‘I wonder what they’re up to in the village,’ Barak said.
‘Trying to bully them over the woodlands, probably.’
We went down the side of the great hall and round to the front of the house. In Abigail’s garden the flowers were dying unwatered in the heat. I said, ‘Remember when that greyhound killed Abigail’s dog? Remember her saying I was a fool who did not see what was in front of me? If I had, then, she might not have died. But they were so clever, all of them. Come,’ I said savagely, ‘let’s get this over.’
We walked round to the front porch. Hugh was sitting on the steps, oiling his bow. He wore a grey smock and a broad-brimmed hat to shade his face. When he saw us he jumped to his feet. He looked shocked.
‘Good afternoon, Hugh,’ I said quietly.
‘What do you want?’ His voice trembled. ‘You are not welcome here.’
‘I need to talk to Master Hobbey. Do you know where he is?’
‘I think he’s gone to the village.’
‘I will go in and see.’
‘Fulstowe will throw you out.’
I met Hugh’s gaze, this time letting my eyes rove openly over his long, tanned face, staring straight at the smallpox scars. He looked away. ‘Come, Jack,’ I said. We walked past Hugh, up the steps.
The great hall, too, was silent and empty. The saints in the old west window at the far end still raised their hands to heaven. The walls remained blank; I wondered where the tapestries were. Then a door at the upper end of the hall opened, and David came in, dressed in mourning black. Like Hugh and the servant before him, he stared at us wonderingly. Then he walked forward, his solid body settling into an aggressive posture.
‘You!’ he shouted angrily. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘There is something I need to see your father about,’ I told him.
‘He’s not here!’ David’s voice rose to a shout. ‘He’s gone to the village with Fulstowe, to sort out those serfs.’
‘Then we will wait till he returns.’
‘What’s this about?’
‘Something important.’ I looked into the boy’s wide, angry blue eyes. ‘Something I have discovered about the family.’ David’s full lips worked, and his expression turned from truculence to fear.
‘Go away! I am in charge in my father’s absence. I order you to leave!’ he shouted. ‘I order you out of this house!’ He was breathing heavily, almost panting.
‘Very well, David,’ I said quietly. ‘We will go. For now.’ I turned and walked away to the door. Barak followed, casting glances over his shoulder to where David stood staring. Then the boy turned and walked rapidly away. A door slammed.
We stepped back into the sunlight. In the distance I saw Hugh standing, shooting arrows at the butts. Barak said, ‘David looked like he’d been found out in something.’
‘He has, and realized it. He is not quite as stupid as he seems.’
‘He looked like he might have another fit.’
‘Poor creature,’ I said sorrowfully. ‘There is every reason to pity David Hobbey. More than any of them.’
‘All right,’ Barak said in a sharp voice. ‘Enough riddles. Tell me what’s going on.’
‘I said I wanted you to see. Come, walk with me.’
I led the way round the side of the house. Here we had a clear view of Hugh. He stood with feet planted firmly on the lawn. He had a bagful of arrows at his belt and was shooting them, one after another, at the target. Several were stuck there already. Hugh reached down, fitted another arrow to his bow, bent back, rose up and shot. The arrow hit the centre of the target.
‘By God,’ Barak said. ‘He gets better and better.’
I laughed then, loudly and bitterly. Barak looked at me in surprise.
‘There is what none of us saw,’ I said, ‘except Fea
veryear, who realized and ran to Dyrick. I think Dyrick did not know until Hobbey told him after Lamkin died. I remember he looked perturbed after that. He had probably demanded Hobbey tell him what it was Abigail had said I could not see.’
‘Know what?’ Barak’s voice was angry now. ‘All I see is Hugh Curteys shooting on the lawn. We saw that every day for a week.’
I said quietly, ‘That is not Hugh Curteys.’
Now Barak looked alarmed for my sanity. His voice rose. ‘Then who the hell is it?’
‘Hugh Curteys died six years ago. That is Emma, his sister.’
‘What—’
‘They both had smallpox. But I believe it was Hugh that died, not Emma. We know Hobbey was in financial difficulties. He could hold off his creditors by making a bond to pay them, over a period of years, and creaming off the money from the Curteys children’s woodlands. I think that is why he took the wardship.’
‘But that’s a boy—’
‘Let me continue.’ I went on, in tones of quiet intensity, ‘But then Hugh died. Remember how wardship works: a boy has to be twenty-one to sue out his livery and gain possession of his lands, but a girl can inherit at fourteen. Emma would have inherited Hugh’s share of the lands automatically. Hobbey no doubt had thought he would have control at least for nine years, but now he faced losing them in one. Not long enough to pay off his debts. So I think they substituted Emma for Hugh.’
‘They couldn’t – ’
‘They could. It helped that the children were so close in age and looked alike, though no one who knew them both would have been deceived. So they dismissed Michael Calfhill at once and left London quickly.’
‘But Michael said he saw Emma buried.’
‘It was Hugh in that coffin.’
‘Jesus.’
‘Michael never did anything wrong with Hugh. And when he came to visit last spring he recognized Emma.’
Barak leaned forward, watching the figure on the lawn intently as another arrow was loosed at the target. Like the last, it hit dead centre. ‘You’re wrong, that’s not a girl. And what on earth would be in it for her?’
