by C. J. Sansom
Guy said, 'Do you wish to? You could still follow him.'
'But I am nobody, nothing.'
'We do not think so, or we would not have asked you to stay.'
Josephine jumped violently as a loud knocking sounded at the front door. She grabbed Guy's hand. 'He has come back! Sir, he will be angry, help me please—'
I strode out and opened the door. Simon and Timothy were still standing beside it, their faces gleeful. I threw it open. Coldiron stood on the step. He quailed for a moment at my expression, then said, 'My things, sir. The money in my chest, my clothes, my little mementos—you can't keep them!' His voice rose to a shout. 'It's not legal! And I'm due wages! Keep Jojo, keep her, but I want my wages!'
I turned to the boys. 'Go to Coldiron's room, put everything in his chest, bring it down and put it outside. No need to be too careful in packing it.' Coldiron had stepped forward, he was trying to get back in, but I slammed the door in his face once more.
'Yes, sir!' Timothy ran quickly away up the stairs. I thought, I am setting a bad example to these boys. As Simon turned to follow I put a hand on his shoulder. 'Wait,' I said.
'Yes, sir?'
I looked into the thin face beneath the untidy blond hair. He was as tall as me now. I asked quietly, 'Do you still want to be a soldier?'
He hesitated, then said, 'After you left, sir, I came to realize—Master Coldiron told many lies, didn't he?'
'Yes, he did. But Simon, if you still think of going for a soldier, come to me first, and I will see if I can find some men who have done real fighting for you to talk to. Then if you still want to do it I will not stand in your way.'
'Sir, I was thinking. Before you left, you spoke of helping me to an apprenticeship—'
I smiled. 'Yes. I will, if that is what you want.'
He looked round. Guy and Josephine were standing in the parlour doorway. Josephine was trembling and her face was streaked with tears. She had heard Coldiron saying we could keep her. Simon looked at her, then back at me, a blush coming to his face. 'Is Josephine staying?' he asked.
'Well, Josephine?' I asked quietly.
She answered, tremblingly, 'Yes, Simon. I am staying.'
Shortly after the boys bumped and banged Coldiron's little chest down the stairs. I opened the door. He was sitting morosely on the steps. I watched him drag the chest out through my gate and off down Chancery Lane. My last sight of him was when he turned and shook a skinny fist at me.
* * *
EVENING WAS drawing on. I stood in the parlour, looking out at the garden. Guy had been with Josephine in the kitchen, easing her back into her life, getting her to prepare dinner with the boys. He came back looking thoughtful. I smiled. 'I will need a new steward now. How would you like the job?'
He raised his eyebrows. 'I think going back to medicine may be easier.' He hesitated, then said with unexpected diffidence, 'I thought of returning to my house next week.'
'I will get the boys to clean it out first. They and Josephine.' I looked at him seriously. 'Will she be able to manage without Coldiron?'
'It will not be easy. If you could get some kindly decent old fellow to take Coldiron's place, that might help, give her a sense of order. She will need that, for a time at least. And you need a man in charge of the household, otherwise there may be gossip about you and her.'
I nodded, smiling. 'I think young Simon is the one with an interest there.'
'I have noticed that. I think you should tell him she needs help, but peace and quiet too. He is a good lad, I think he will understand.'
I sat down. I was silent a minute, then said, 'Well, I have seen to Coldiron. But there is something else I have to deal with.'
'Ellen?'
'While I was away I discovered what happened to her. She was raped. One of the men involved is dead, the other now in a position where he can do her no harm. And the Queen is taking over payment of her fees.'
He gave me a long, steady look. 'What happened in Hampshire, Matthew?'
'It is a long story. I may have a new patient for you if you want him, by the way, a sad unhappy boy, badly injured by an arrow.' I looked at Guy. 'He did a terrible thing, it preys much on him. He is—well, he is very sick in his mind. But he was injured trying to save my life, and Barak's.'
'Is it Hugh Curteys?'
'No. His name is David Hobbey. Guy, I will tell you everything, but first I must go to the Bedlam, tell Ellen she is safe. And free.'
'Be careful with her, Matthew. And I am not sure she can ever be free.'
'Before I had only questions for her, now I have answers. It must be me who does this.'
'You know she has been in love with you.'
'Then I owe it to her to make clear, at last, that there is no hope for us there.'
* * *
I FETCHED Genesis from the stables and rode across to the Bedlam. Hob Gebons opened the door to me. His heavy face fell. 'You're back.'
'Yes. And I would like to talk to Keeper Shawms.' I lowered my voice. 'I know everything about Ellen now, Hob.'
The keeper was in his office. I sat down without asking. Shawms stared at me, a calculating look on his fat, stubbly face. He had on the same stained jerkin he was wearing when I had left. I wondered, where does he spend all the money he gets?
He grunted. 'Metwys has been to see me.'
'Let me guess what he said. Ellen is now under the protection of the Queen, who will meet her fees from now on.'
He nodded. 'That's right. How d'you swing that?'
'By finding the truth about who raped Ellen nineteen years ago. It was the one who paid her fees, Philip West. He is dead. Another man was involved, but he can do her no harm now she has the protection of Queen Catherine. Did Metwys tell you who he is?'
'No. And I don't want to know. Will Ellen leave now?' he asked. 'I don't mind, she can go when she likes if the Queen wishes. There's no—'
'No order of lunacy, nor ever was. I know that too. Beatrice West must have paid the warden well to take her in, all those years ago. Arranged by Sir Quintin Priddis I have no doubt. You would like her out of your hair now, I dare say. Well, I would like her to leave too, but I doubt she will.' I leaned forward. 'Make sure that she is well treated, and pay her, too, for the work she does, or I will ensure the Queen hears about it.'
He looked at me, shook his head. 'You're a persistent devil, aren't you?'
'Yes.' I stood. 'And now, where is she?'
'In her room. Look, I don't want you upsetting her again. That doesn't do anyone any good.'
'She needs to know where she stands. Goodbye, Master Shawms.'
* * *
I LOOKED THROUGH the bars of Ellen's door. She was sitting on her bed, quietly sewing. Her expression was sad, but composed. I remembered the terror in her face the last time I had seen her. I would not bring her to that again, I swore.
I knocked and went in. She looked up. Her face went hard and cold.
'Good day, Ellen,' I said.
'You have returned,' she answered evenly.
'Yes. This morning. Have you been well treated while I was away?'
'Yes. Gebons has been unusually friendly. I wondered if you had paid him to be.'
'I wanted to see you were not mistreated while I was away.' She did not reply. I asked, 'Has Master Shawms said anything to you?'
'No.' She looked apprehensive. 'About what?'
I drew a deep breath. 'Ellen,' I said gently, 'I do not want to rake over the past again.' A tense watchfulness came into her face. I continued, 'But I have been to Sussex. You are safe now from those men.' I had decided to say nothing of the discovery of her father's body. 'The Queen herself has taken responsibility for your fees. And if you ever want to leave here, you can. You are free, Ellen.'
She looked at me, intently, fearfully. 'What has happened to him? To—Philip?'
I hesitated again. She said, 'Tell me!'
'He is dead, Ellen. He went down on the Mary Rose.'
She sat very still, staring
into space. Then she said, quietly, with cold, whispered anger, 'He deserved it.' It was the same phrase Emma had used standing over Abigail's body, and David about what had happened to him.
'He did a terrible thing to you.'
She looked at me, her expression utterly weary. 'And the man who was with him that day? What of him?'
I hesitated. 'Do you know who he was?'
'I only remember a skinny little fellow.' She shuddered, her whole body trembling. I realized the depth of emotion she had been holding in, all these wasted years.
'He is now a high official of state. It is better you do not know his name. But he can do you no harm now.'
'Because you told the Queen what was done to me?' I heard anger in her voice now.
'It was the only way to protect you.'
She stared into space, hands trembling above her sewing. Then she put her work down, turned and looked me full in the face. 'I was content here,' she said, 'content as ever I could be. You should not have interfered.'
'I have freed you from a great threat.'
She laughed bitterly. 'To do that you should have been at Rolfswood nineteen years ago. You talk as though I cared one whit what happens to me now. I am past that. I did care for a while, when I thought you loved me. I see now that is impossible. Do you know who made me understand that?'
'No.'
'Your friend Guy. Oh, he said nothing directly, but somehow he made me realize. He is clever,' she said bitterly. 'But you let me go on believing there might be hope for two years. You did not have the courage to tell me the truth. You are a coward, Matthew.'
'I could have been killed trying to find out the truth about you!' I burst out.
'I never asked you to!' She took a couple of long, deep breaths, then said in tones of bitter contempt, 'Have you ever loved anyone, I wonder? Can you?'
'We do not choose who we love. I love—' I checked myself.
'I do not care now,' she answered. She looked away. 'Leave me. I do not want to see you again. I hate you now.' The anger had gone from her voice, only the weariness was left.
'Is that what you really want?' I asked. 'For me never to come back?'
'Yes.' Still she looked away. 'And that is what you want too, in your heart. I see that now. When mad folks are brought to see things they see them very clearly.'
'You are not mad.'
'I said, go.'
She did not meet my gaze as I walked through the door, closed it behind me, and looked at her for the last time through the bars before turning away.
* * *
I RODE HOME. My mind was a blank, I could not think, even the sight of a foreign-looking man being chased down Cheapside by a group of whooping corner boys barely registered. I stabled Genesis and walked round to the front of the house. Simon was looking out from an upstairs window. When I opened the door he was running down the stairs towards me.
'Master Shardlake—'
'What has happened? Is Josephine—'
'She is all right, sir. But Mistress Tamasin—her woman came round to fetch Master Guy. Her baby's coming early, she thinks something's wrong—'
I turned away and started running down Chancery Lane, past lawyers who stopped and stared, to Barak's house.
* * *
HE OPENED the door. He was dishevelled, wild-eyed, a mug of beer in his hand. From the closed door of the bedroom across the hall I heard screams of pain.
Barak pulled me in. He sank down on the little wooden settle in the hall. I said, 'Is Guy—'
'In there with her. I'd not been back half an hour when her waters broke. It shouldn't have come for near two weeks. The last time the baby came when it was due.'
'Where is Goodwife Marris?'
'In with Guy. They shut the door on me.'
'Here—' I took the cup of beer from his hand, he was gesticulating so wildly I feared he might spill it. 'What did Guy say?'
'He says it's just early. Goodwife Marris was frightened, she ran for him—'
'Well, second babies can come early, you know that.'
He gave an anguished look at the closed door, from behind which screams still came.
'It only means the baby's coming—'
He said wildly, 'If anything happens to her, I couldn't bear it, I'd take to drink again—she's everything—'
'I know. I know.'
'I don't care if it's a girl—' He broke off. The screaming had stopped. There was a long, terrifying moment of silence. Then, faintly, we heard another sound, the grizzling cry of a baby. Barak's mouth fell open. The door opened and Guy came out, wiping his hands on a towel. He smiled.
'Jack, you have a fine, healthy son.'
He jumped up, ran over and pumped Guy's hand. 'Thank you! Thank you!' He was panting with relief.
'Thank Tamasin. She did the work. It was easy enough in the end—' But Barak had rushed past him into the room. I followed more slowly.
Goodwife Marris stood by the bed, holding a tiny form wrapped in swaddling clothes. Barak threw himself on Tamasin.
'Take care, fool,' she said softly. She smiled, stroked his head. 'Go and see your son.'
He went over to the child. Guy and I looked over Goodwife Marris's shoulder. 'He's—he's wonderful,' Barak said. Gently he took one of the baby's tiny hands in his own.
'He is,' I said, though in truth all babies look the same to me, like little old men. But he seemed healthy, screaming at the top of his lungs. I saw he had a fuzz of blond hair like Tamasin's.
Barak turned to Guy, his face momentarily anxious. 'He is healthy?'
'As healthy a child as I ever saw.'
Barak looked again at his son. 'Just think,' he said quietly. 'He could live to see a new century. Think of that, think of that.'
'Your John,' Tamasin said quietly from the bed.
Barak thought a moment, looked at me, then said, 'Tammy, do you mind if we give him another name?'
'What?' she asked, surprised.
'Let us call him George,' he answered softly. 'Like our first baby. I'd like to name him George Llewellyn Carswell.' He looked at me. 'To remember them.'
Epilogue
NOVEMBER 1545—FOUR MONTHS LATER
There was a cold wind in the churchyard. The last leaves had fallen and it sent them whirling and whispering around my feet. I pulled my coat tighter round me as I walked towards the church. Winter was come.
I stopped at Joan's grave and placed a last rose from my garden before the headstone. I stood a moment, wondering what she would have thought of the events in my household that summer. I still had no steward; I had interviewed several men, but none had the sensitivity I felt was needed to deal with Josephine. She was much better, but any mistakes she made, any little criticism, set her to dithering clumsiness. Occasionally when I came home from Lincoln's Inn I would see her looking out on the street, with a strange, intent expression. I guessed she was looking out for Coldiron, with what mixture of fear and desire for the security of his presence I did not know.
I had returned to work, grateful now for the routine. But sometimes when I was tired I still had that dreadful sensation of the ground slipping and sliding beneath my feet. I went on to my friend Roger's grave; the autumn rains had brought dirty streaks to the marble. I thought, I must send one of the boys to clean it. Simon would be leaving my house soon, as apprentice to a mercer; I had arranged it with Alderman Carver. I remembered how after Roger's death I had wanted to marry his widow. I had heard nothing from Dorothy in recent months. Nor had I heard from the Queen, nor Warner; but I had not expected to.
There was a bench outside the old church, and I cleared some leaves from it and sat down. I looked towards the churchyard wall, remembering the muster in Lincoln's Inn Fields back in June. The French had given up their plan to invade England now, their fleet had returned to France, where the siege of Boulogne dragged on; English troops inside the city, the French army outside. All a useless waste of time. Rumour said that the King had, at long last, realized his enterprise agai
nst France had failed utterly, and there would be a peace treaty in the New Year.
I looked towards the churchyard gate. This time I had not come here to ponder, but for a meeting, one best held away from the nosiness of Lincoln's Inn. As I watched, the gate opened and a tall, slim figure in a heavy coat and dark cap walked towards me. Emma Curteys still carried herself like a boy, dressed as a boy, looked like a boy. I invited her to sit beside me. She sat quietly for a moment, then turned and looked at me enquiringly. Her scarred face was pale.
'It is done,' I said.
'Were there any difficulties?'
'None, as everyone was agreed. Dyrick was there to confirm Hobbey's approval of the sale of the wardship. And Edward Priddis to approve the valuation. He is Hampshire feodary since his father died in September. Sir William Paulet raised no queries, so it is done.' I smiled uneasily. 'You are my ward now or, rather, Hugh Curteys is.'
She said quietly, 'Thank you.'
Emma had appeared in my chambers back in August. It was as well I was there, for Skelly would have refused entry to the thin, dirty boy who came asking for me. Emma told me she had not wanted to come, but a month penniless on the road, stealing from farmhouses, had worn her down and overcome her pride. I had given her money and found her a room in the city until the application to transfer the wardship could be heard.
I spoke hesitantly. 'Hobbey was there too, in case he was needed. Hoyland Priory has been sold to Sir Luke Corembeck.'
Emma looked at me. 'How is David?'
'He can walk a little now. But he has had more attacks of the falling sickness. Hobbey will not let him out of his sight; my physician friend thinks he protects him too much.' I looked at her. 'He is still sick with guilt and shame.'
'Master Hobbey always had to have people to be in charge of.' Emma paused, then looked at me and said with sudden passion, 'Yet I think constantly of David, what I did. I would put it right if I could.'
'I know.'
'And I think of the soldiers—I dream of them falling into the water, the screams of those trapped men.'
