Heartstone ms-5

by C. J. Sansom

  'What will you do, your majesty?' Warner asked anxiously. 'The King—'

  The Queen shook her head. 'I will deal with this.' She stood. 'Sir Richard Rich, I think, is here at Portchester. Have him fetched.'

  'But your majesty—'

  'Have him fetched,' she repeated, steel in her voice. She turned to the ladies. 'Leave us, this is a privy matter.'

  Warner hesitated, then bowed and left, the maids-in-waiting following. The Queen and I were alone. The anger in her brown eyes had changed to concern. I felt tears come to my eyes again.

  'The Mary Rose—it must have been terrible. The King saw her go down—he was stricken by it. Lady Carew was with him, he comforted her.'

  'The soldiers on the aftercastle, it was because of me they were brought there. Barak says if it had not been them it would have been another company, and he is right, but—I keep seeing them, thinking I caused their deaths.'

  'That is natural, if wrong.' She smiled again, sadly. 'But words do not help, do they? Only time and prayer can do that.'

  'Prayer, your majesty?' I repeated hollowly.

  'Yes, prayer.'

  'I have lost the art.'

  She reached out her hand and laid it on mine. A soft, shapely hand, scented. Then she lifted it abruptly as a knock sounded on the door. She called, 'Enter,' and Warner ushered in Richard Rich, his sharp little head buried in the thick fur collar of his grey robe, gold chain of office round his neck. His hard little eyes swept the room. Then he saw me, his eyes widened and he stepped back. I thought, so Barak was right, you thought me dead. Rich staggered and might have fallen had Warner not grasped his thin little shoulders. Rich looked at the Queen, remembered where he was, and bowed deeply. The Queen stared at him with eyes as hard as his own.

  'Sir Richard,' she said grimly, 'I see you believed Master Shard-lake dead.'

  Rich brought himself under control. 'I heard he was on the Mary Rose, your majesty. They said only a few sailors and soldiers survived.'

  The Queen spoke quietly, her eyes never leaving Rich's face. 'I know you sent him on board the Mary Rose, to be killed by the man West, who is dead now, and who for all his grievous faults at least tried to protect the life of the woman whose life you helped him ravage.'

  Rich gave me a wolfish look. 'I do not know what this man has told you, your majesty, but he is my enemy. He will say aught—'

  'I believe what he has said, Sir Richard. It makes sense, given the things I know you are capable of. The killing of the clerk Mylling—'

  'He shut himself in that chamber—'

  She continued as though he had not spoken. 'Your conspiracy with West to murder Master Shardlake, your allowing Emma Curteys to go on the Mary Rose, knowing who she was, I know everything, all the way back to the time you stole the King's letter to Anne Boleyn and took it to Catherine of Aragon—'

  Rich licked his thin lips. He pointed at me. 'Nothing of this can be proved. West is dead—'

  'His mother lives. She could testify that letter was stolen; there are not many left who were at court nineteen years ago, but there may be some who will remember you going with West. I could soon start an enquiry. And the King will certainly remember that letter—'

  Rich's eye began twitching. 'Bring me a bible, your majesty. I will swear on it before you—'

  'When did you sell your soul to the devil?' the Queen asked quietly.

  Rich reddened, opened his mouth, then closed it hard, his pointed little chin jutting but the tic under his eye twitching again. The Queen said, 'Listen to me, Richard Rich. The woman Ellen Fettiplace, and Master West's mother, are now under my personal protection. As West is dead, I shall pay Ellen's fees at the Bedlam myself so long as she chooses to stay there. If anything happens to her, or to Matthew, I promise you on my oath—and my oath is not made lightly—I shall tell the King all you have done, starting with your theft of that letter, which gave Catherine of Aragon notice he intended to divorce her.'

  Rich said nothing. The Queen's face flushed with anger.

  'Do you understand? Answer your Queen, churl!'

  He said, very quietly, 'I understand, your majesty.'

  'One thing more,' I added. My voice sounded thick from the hatred I felt for Rich. 'There is a will, that he tricked me into making. He has a copy. It must be destroyed.'

  The Queen turned to Warner. 'Robert, Master Rich will bring the copy to you within the hour. You will personally destroy it.'

  Rich looked at the Queen with hunted, twitching eyes. She stared him down. 'I will bring it,' he said.

  'Good. Then get out of my sight. And stay out of it.'

  Rich bowed, then began walking backwards out of the room. From the doorway he gave me a look. It told me plainly that if ever I found myself at his mercy again, I would die, slowly and painfully, while he watched.

  As the door closed behind him I drew a deep breath. Warner, too, visibly relaxed. The Queen alone still stared angrily at the closed door.

  * * *

  WARNER TOOK Barak and me to the gate of Portchester Castle. He had not spoken, but as we parted he said quietly, 'Regarding Sir Quintin Priddis and his son, the Queen may want to act against them, but I shall argue against it. It would make these matters public and do no good to the Court of Wards. The King much values the profits it brings, and I do not want the Queen arguing with him.'

  'I understand,' I said.

  He took a deep breath. 'And after this I feel it might be safer if the Queen did not instruct you in any more cases.'

  I nodded. 'Given where this one led?'

  He spoke quietly. 'If you love her, as I do, you will leave her in peace now.'

  'I agree, Master Warner. And I am sorry again that I accused you.'

  He nodded, then reached out a hand. 'Goodbye, Matthew,' he said.

  'Goodbye, Robert, and thank you.' I hesitated, 'Beware of Richard Rich. I fear I have made him into the Queen's enemy.'

  'I will.'

  Barak and I rode across the bridge over the moat. My eyes turned to the sea, then flickered away. I drew a deep breath.

  'To Hoyland,' I said. 'Then home.'

  We turned and rode away from Portchester Castle, away from the sea.

  Chapter Fifty

  TWO HOURS LATER we rode again down the narrow lane to Hoyland Priory. We passed through the gate and faced the house. Poor Abigail's flowers had mostly died and the grass on the once neat lawns was starting to grow high. The windows were shuttered. I saw the butts by the nuns' graveyard had gone.

  I had been relieved to turn inland, but now, as we rode towards the porch, the gentle motion of the horse seemed all at once like a heaving deck. I grasped the reins, pulled Oddleg to a halt, and closed my eyes, breathing heavily.

  'All right?' Barak asked anxiously.

  'Yes. Just give me a moment.'

  'There's Dyrick.'

  I opened my eyes. Dyrick had come out onto the steps. He stood there in his black robe, frowning at us. The sight restored me; I would not let that man see my weakness. Dyrick called over his shoulder into the hall, and a boy ran out to take the horses.

  'You're back at last,' Dyrick said in his grating voice as we approached. 'It's been four days. Master Hobbey has been out of his mind with worry. Where is Emma? Did you find her?'

  I had to smile at how, even now, he had to be argumentative. Yet I could see he had been mightily worried; fearing no doubt that what the Hobbeys had done to Emma might have been discovered.

  'I found her, Dyrick. But she would not return with me. She ran away again, I do not know where she is.'

  'We heard of the Mary Rose sinking, the attack on the Isle of Wight.'

  'The French failed to take it. Though they are still in the Solent.' I had already agreed with Barak to say nothing about being on the Mary Rose. There was no point. 'The lawn is starting to look unkempt,' I said.

  Dyrick grunted. 'Half the servants have left. Even that old crone Ursula has gone, saying the household's cursed. They've all run back to th
e village, to try and ingratiate themselves with Ettis. He has been released, by the way. Master Hobbey kept his word.'

  'Where is he?'

  'In his study. He never leaves it now, save to go to his son.'

  'How is David?'

  'Recovering, but they think he will never walk properly again. And Jesu knows what is happening in his mind. I fear he may spill out the whole story,' Dyrick added in a pettish tone. 'He needs to be kept somewhere where he can be watched.'

  I stared at him. His words reminded me of how West and Rich had protected themselves after Ellen's rape. Nothing like that, I would make sure, would happen to David.

  * * *

  NICHOLAS HOBBEY sat at his desk. When we came in I saw the sad blankness that had been on his face since Abigail's death, then a kind of desperate eagerness. He had, I saw, lost weight.

  'Emma! Have you news of her? We have been waiting.' There was an old man's querulousness in his voice now.

  'We were detained in Portsmouth. There has been fighting—'

  'Yes. They brought the news the Mary Rose was lost. But, sir, Emma—'

  I took a deep breath. 'I found her, but she ran away again. She has left Portsmouth. I do not know where she is now.'

  His face fell. 'Is she still—pretending to be her brother?'

  'I think she will continue to do so. That identity is all she has known for years.'

  Dyrick said, 'She can't last for long on the road. She took no money.'

  'It is possible she may try to join a company somewhere.'

  Hobbey groaned. 'Sleeping in hedges, stealing food from gardens—'

  Dyrick added angrily, 'And any day she could be caught and exposed for who she really is.'

  I said, 'Emma is intelligent. She will realize she cannot support herself, that she risks discovery. I think there is a chance at least that she may seek me out.'

  'In London?' Hobbey asked.

  'I told her I was taking her wardship, that I would leave her to decide what to make of her life.'

  'Then pray God she does come to you.' Hobbey sighed, then added, 'I plan to go back to London myself, sell this wretched place and buy a small house, somewhere quiet. It will be easier for David, and I can find better help for his afflictions there.'

  'Afflicted he is,' Dyrick said emphatically.

  'Do you think I, of all people, do not know that?' Hobbey snapped. He turned back to me. 'I will get a good price for this house and all these woods. Sir Luke Corembeck has expressed an interest.' He turned to Dyrick, with another touch of his old sharpness. 'Make sure of the price, Vincent. I leave the negotiation to you. Whatever we make will be all David and I have to live on in the future, once—once my old debts are paid off. Master Shardlake, will you hold Emma's share if she has not returned by the time Hoyland is sold?'

  'I will.'

  'We'd get more if we had the village woodlands,' Dyrick grumbled.

  'Well, we don't,' Hobbey said. 'Leave tomorrow, Vincent, get the negotiations moving from London. I am sick of the sight of you,' he added. Dyrick's face darkened. Hobbey turned to me. 'Master Shardlake, I want you, if you will, to see David. To reassure him you plan to say nothing of what happened to his mother.'

  I nodded agreement. I still felt the responsibility of keeping that secret; I needed to see how David was.

  * * *

  HOBBEY AND I ascended the stairs. He walked slowly, clinging to the banister. 'Before we see David, Master Shardlake, there is something I wanted to ask you.'

  'Yes?'

  'I hope you are right and that Emma may come to you in London. But if she is exposed, do you think she will tell—' he winced, gripping the banister—'that David killed his mother? I believe she guessed it was him.' He stared at me intently. His first concern was still his son.

  'I doubt it. From what she said in Portsmouth she feels a deep guilt for what she did to David.'

  Hobbey took another step, then stopped again and looked me in the face. 'What was I doing?' he asked. 'What were we thinking of, all those years?'

  'I do not believe any of you were thinking clearly, not for a long time. You were all too afraid. Except for Fulstowe, who was out to get what he could from the situation.'

  Hobbey looked around the great hall, the culmination of all his ambition. 'And I was blind to how my son was becoming—deranged. I blame myself for what he did.' He sighed. 'Well, it is all over now. Dyrick tries to talk me out of leaving, but my mind is made up.'

  He led me into David's room. It had a good four-poster bed, chairs and cushions, and an old tapestry on the wall showing a battle from Roman times. No books, unlike Hugh's room. David lay in the bed; he had been looking up at the ceiling, but when we came in he struggled to rise. Hobbey raised a hand.

  'No, no. You will pull at your bandages.'

  David fixed me with a frightened gaze. Lying there he looked like a trapped, terrified little boy, the stubble on his cheeks making him seem all the more pathetic.

  'How do you fare, David?' I asked gently.

  'It hurts,' he said. 'The doctor stitched me up.'

  Hobbey said, 'David was brave. He did not cry out once, did you, my son?' He took a deep breath. 'Master Shardlake has come to tell you he will say nothing of what happened to your mother.'

  Tears welled up in David's eyes. 'I think I was mad, sir. I shot at you and then I killed my poor mother. I seemed able to think of nothing else but shooting at people, all the time. I had to keep our secret, keep Emma with us. Even if I had to kill—' He had been talking fast, almost gabbling, but suddenly he paused, looked at me, and asked in a passionate voice, 'Sir, can God ever forgive such a sin as I have committed?'

  I looked into his wild eyes. 'I am no cleric, David, but if someone truly repents, they say He will forgive even the greatest sin.'

  'I pray ceaselessly, sir,' he said through his tears. 'For forgiveness and for my mother.'

  'That is all you can do, David,' his father said, going forward and taking his hand. His words reminded me of what Catherine Parr had said to me a few hours ago. I looked down at the floor.

  'What news of Emma?' David asked tremulously.

  'Master Shardlake saw her in Portsmouth. She is truly sorry for what she did to you.'

  'I deserved it,' David said. He looked at me, and I saw that even now he loved her. I shuddered to think of what had gone on in his mind these last six years, warping it utterly. 'Where is she now?' he asked.

  Hobbey hesitated. 'We are not sure. But we believe her safe.'

  'Will I see her again?'

  'I do not think so, David. If she goes to anyone it will be Master Shardlake.'

  David looked at me again. 'I loved her, you see, I loved Emma all these years.' I nodded. 'I never thought of her as Hugh. That was why, when I feared we might actually be exposed, I think—I think the devil took hold of me. But I loved her. I loved my poor mother too, I realized as soon as I had—I had killed her.' He burst out sobbing, tears streaming down his face.

  Hobbey hung his head.

  'I wonder—' I said. Hobbey looked at me. I hesitated, for I had brought enough nightmare cases to Guy. Yet he thrived on the most difficult patients, perhaps he even needed something like this now. And it would be a way for me to keep an eye on the Hobbeys. I said, 'If you come to London, I know a physician, a good man. He may be able to help David.'

  Hobbey said eagerly, 'Might he help him walk again?'

  'I cannot promise that.'

  'I do not deserve to,' David burst out passionately.

  I said, though again only to comfort the poor creature, 'Leave that to God.'

  * * *

  AN HOUR LATER Barak and I rode out of Hoyland Priory for the last time and turned on to the London road. Before I left I had done one more thing; I went into Emma's room and took the little cross from where it still lay in the drawer by the bed.

  'Home,' Barak said. 'Home at last. To see my son born.' I looked at him, noticing the paunch he had begun to carry in London was gone.
He followed my gaze. 'Soon have the weight back on,' he said cheerfully. 'Rest and some good beer, that'll do it.'

  Yet there was a delay. We passed the turning for Rolfswood, and I had looked up the road to Sussex between the steep banks. Then a couple of miles further on we found three soldiers standing across the road, blocking it. They told us that up the road a bridge had collapsed and was being repaired. It was late in the afternoon, and the soldiers told us we would have to find somewhere to stay for the night.

  Barak was angry. 'Isn't there any way we can get past? There's only two of us and my wife in London has a baby due soon.'

  'Nobody goes across till the repair's completed. There are soldiers and supplies waiting to go to Portsmouth.'

  Barak looked ready to argue, but I said, 'Let us make a virtue of necessity, Jack, and go to Rolfswood.'

  He turned away from the soldier's stare. 'Come on, then,' he muttered, waiting till we were out of their hearing to follow the comment with a string of oaths.

  * * *

  ROLFSWOOD was quiet again, peaceful in the summer evening. We passed Buttress's house. 'What will you do about that rogue?' Barak asked.

  'As with Priddis, I doubt there is anything I can do. If I try to raise the issue of whether he and Priddis got together to forge Ellen's signature, it just opens up the story of the rape. And I do not think that would be in anyone's interest now.'

  'At least Rich has had his wings clipped.'

  'A little. And we can leave West's mother to believe her son died a hero.'

  'I wonder what the inquest on poor Master Fettiplace will decide.'

  'Murder by persons unknown, I am sure. Let us leave it there.'

  We rode on to the inn, where we found a place for the night. We ate dinner, then I left Barak alone, for I had a visit to make.

  * * *

  THE VICARAGE looked as tumbledown as ever, the gnarled cherry tree in full leaf in the unkempt garden. Reverend Seckford answered my knock. He looked sober for once, though there was a beer stain on his surplice. He invited me in. I told him the whole story, about West and Ellen, and David and Emma, and the men I had seen die on the Mary Rose.