by C. J. Sansom
‘Did you ever meet Master Hobbey?’
‘No. I know only what Michael told me. He said originally Master Curteys had been thinking of buying the nunnery and all the land that went with it, as an investment, but decided he could not afford it. He knew Master Hobbey through the Mercer’s Hall. Master Hobbey came to dinner several times to discuss splitting the woodland between the two of them, which was what happened in the end, with Master Hobbey buying the smaller share of the woodland and the nunnery buildings, which he was going to convert to a country residence. Master Curteys took the larger part of the woodland. Master Hobbey became friendly with Master and Mistress Curteys over the sale. He struck Michael as one who adopts reformist positions when he is with godly people, but if he were negotiating the purchase of lands with a papist he would take some beads to click. As for his wife, Mistress Abigail, Michael said he thought she was mad.’
Madness again. ‘In what way?’
She shook her head. ‘I don’t know. Michael did not like to talk to me of such things.’ She paused, then went on. ‘Master and Mistress Curteys died too quick to make wills. That was why everything was uncertain. But shortly afterwards Master Hobbey appeared with a lawyer, and told him the children’s future was being arranged.’
‘Do you know the lawyer’s name?’
‘Dyrick. Vincent Dyrick.’
‘Do you know him?’ the Queen asked.
‘Slightly. He is an Inner Temple barrister. He has represented landlords against me in the Court of Requests occasionally over the years. He is good in argument but – over-aggressive perhaps. I did not know he worked in the Court of Wards too.’
‘Michael feared him. Michael and the Curteyses’ vicar were trying to trace relatives, but then Master Hobbey said he had bought the children’s wardship. The Curteyses’ house was to be sold and Hugh and Emma were to move to the Hobbeys’ house in Shoe Lane.’
‘That went through very quickly,’ I said.
‘Money must have passed,’ the Queen said quietly.
‘How much land is there?’
‘I think about twenty square miles in all. The children’s share was about two-thirds.’
That was a great deal of land. ‘Do you know how much Hobbey paid for the wardship?’
‘I think it was eighty pounds.’
That sounded cheap. I thought, if Master Hobbey bought Hugh and Emma’s wardship he has control of their share of that woodland. In Hampshire, near to Portsmouth, where there would be much demand for wood for ships, and not too far from the Sussex Weald, where the expanding ironworks had brought constant demand for fuel.
Bess continued. ‘Master Hobbey seemed minded to get his own tutor, but Hugh and Emma had grown attached to Michael. The children asked Master Hobbey to keep Michael on, and he agreed.’ Bess lifted her hands, made a sort of helpless motion. ‘Apart from me, the Curteys family were all Michael had. He was a lad full of generous emotion: he should have sought a wife but for some reason never did.’ She composed herself again, continued in a flat voice. ‘And so the children were moved, and the house they had lived in all their lives sold and gone. I think the proceeds were put in care of the Court of Wards.’
‘Yes. It would be the trustee. So, Mistress Calfhill, your son moved with the children to Shoe Lane.’
‘Yes. He did not like the Hobbeys’ house. It was a small, dark place. And Michael had a new pupil. The Hobbeys’ son David.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Michael said he was a spoiled and pampered only child, the same age as Emma. Stupid and cruel, always taunting Hugh and Emma, saying they were in his house on sufferance, that his parents did not love them as they did him. True enough, I suppose. I believe Master Hobbey only took the children on to profit from their lands.’
‘Is it not illegal to make profit from a ward’s lands?’ the Queen asked.
‘Yes. Whoever purchases a wardship has custody of the ward’s lands, but he is supposed to take care of them and not make profit for himself. Though that is not always what happens. And he would have control of the girl’s marriage,’ I added thoughtfully.
Bess said, ‘Michael feared they wanted to marry Emma to David, so her share of the children’s lands would pass to the Hobbey family. Those poor children. Hugh and Emma cleaved together, they only had each other, though they had a friend in my son. Michael told me Hugh had a fight once with David, over something improper he said to Emma. She would have been only thirteen. David was a big strong boy, but Hugh beat him.’ She looked at me sharply again. ‘I told Michael he was getting too concerned over Hugh and Emma, he couldn’t be mother and father to them. But then – ’ her face went blank once more – ‘then smallpox came to the Hobbeys’ house.’
The Queen leaned forward and laid a hand on Bess’s arm.
‘All three children caught it,’ Bess continued stonily. ‘Michael was forbidden their chambers for fear of infection. The servants were set to look after Hugh and Emma, but David’s mother cared for him herself, weeping and crying to God for her boy to be saved. I give her credit for that; I would have done the same for Michael.’ She paused, then said in a savage voice, ‘David survived unmarked. Hugh lived, but with a pitted face that destroyed his handsomeness. And little Emma died.’
‘I am sorry.’
‘Then a few days later Master Hobbey told my son his wife would not live in London any more. They were going to their house in Hampshire for good and he would not be needed. Michael never saw Hugh again – he and David were still being kept isolated. They allowed Michael to go to poor Emma’s funeral, that was all. He saw her little white coffin laid in the earth. He left that day. He said the servants were burning Emma’s clothes in the garden in case they harboured the ill humours of the disease.’
‘A terrible story,’ I said gently. ‘Death and greed, and children the victims. But Mistress Calfhill, your son could have done no more.’
‘I know,’ she said. ‘Master Hobbey gave Michael a letter of recommendation, and he got other positions in London. He wrote to Hugh, but had only a stiff reply from Master Hobbey saying he should not write, they were trying to build a new life for the boy in Hampshire.’ Her voice rose. ‘The cruelty of it, after all Michael had done for those children.’
‘That was hard indeed,’ I said. Yet I could see Hobbey’s point of view. In London the boy Hugh had lost his entire family.
Bess continued, the tonelessness returning to her voice. ‘The years passed. Then at the end of last year Michael took a place down in Dorset, teaching the sons of a large landowner. But the fate of Hugh and Emma seemed to haunt him. He often said he wondered what had become of Hugh.’ She frowned and looked down.
The Queen spoke again. ‘Come, Bess, you must tell the last part, though I know it is the hardest.’
Bess looked at me, steeled herself. ‘Michael returned from Dorset to visit me at Easter. When he arrived he looked terrible, pale and distracted, almost out of his wits. He would not tell me why, but after a few days he suddenly asked if I knew any lawyers. For what, I asked. To my amazement he said he wished to apply to the Court of Wards for Hugh to be taken from the Hobbeys’ custody.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I told him I knew no lawyers, and asked why he should do this now, after six years. He said it was something not fit for my ears or any woman’s, or man’s either except a judge. I tell you, sir, I began to fear for Michael’s reason. I can see him now, sitting opposite me in the little house I have, thanks to the Queen’s goodness. In the light from the fire his face looked lined – old. Yes, old, though he was not yet thirty. I suggested if he wanted a lawyer perhaps he should visit Master Dyrick. But he laughed bitterly and said he was the last person he should go to.’
‘That is right. If Dyrick was acting for Hobbey in the wardship, he could not act against him in the same matter.’
‘It was more than that, sir. There was anger in Michael’s voice.’
I sensed a new stillness in the room, and glanced over to the windows. The maids-in-waiting had stopped sewing, and
were listening as intently as the Queen and I.
‘It occurred to me that on the way back home from Dorset Michael might have visited Hugh. I asked him outright, and he admitted it was true. He had not made an appointment because he feared Master Hobbey might not receive him. He said when he arrived he found that something frightful had been done. He had to find a lawyer whom he could trust, and if he could not he would file the case in court himself.’
‘I wish you had come to me, Bess,’ the Queen said. ‘You could have.’
‘Your majesty, I feared my son was losing his reason. I could not see anything that could have happened to Hugh that would drive Michael to such a state. Shortly afterwards Michael said he had found a lodging of his own. He said he was not going back to Dorset. He – ’At last she broke down, burying her head in her hands and weeping. The Queen leaned over and held Bess close against her breast.
At length she regained her composure. The Queen had given her a handkerchief, which she twisted and squeezed in her hands. She spoke, but with her head bowed so low I was looking at the top of her white coif.
‘Michael moved into lodgings down by the river. He visited me most days. He told me he had filed papers in the Court of Wards by himself and paid the fee. I fancied he looked a little easier then, but in the days that followed that old, drawn look returned. Then several days passed when he did not visit. The following morning the local constable came.’ She looked up, eyes bereft. ‘He told me my son had been found dead in his room, he had hanged himself from a roof beam. He left me a note – I have it. Master Warner said I should bring it with me for you to see.’
‘May I?’
Bess produced a folded scrap of dirty paper from her dress. She passed it to me with a trembling hand. I opened it. Forgive me, Mother, was scrawled on it. I looked up at her. ‘This is Michael’s writing?’ I asked.
‘You think I do not know my own son’s hand?’ she asked angrily. ‘He wrote this, as I told the coroner at the inquest, before the jury and all the curious public.’
‘Come, Bess,’ the Queen said gently. ‘Master Shardlake needs to ask these questions.’
‘I know, your majesty, but it is hard.’ She looked at me. ‘I apologize, sir.’
‘I understand. Was the hearing before the London coroner?’
‘Yes, Master Grice. A hard, stupid man.’
I smiled sadly. ‘That he is.’
‘The coroner asked me if my son had seemed unwell and I said yes, his behaviour had been strange lately. They brought in a verdict of suicide. I did not say anything about Hampshire.’
‘Why not?’
She raised her head and looked at me again, defiantly. ‘Because I had decided to bring that matter to the Queen. And now I have come for justice, by the Queen’s good grace.’ She sat back. I realized there was a thread of steel under Bess’s pain.
I asked quietly, ‘What do you think your son found in Hampshire that could have driven him to kill himself?’
‘God rest and quiet his soul, I do not know, but I believe it was something terrible.’
I did not answer. I wondered if Bess needed to believe that now, had turned pain outwards into anger.
‘Show Master Shardlake the summons from the court,’ the Queen said.
Bess reached into her dress and pulled out a large paper, folded many times, and handed it to me. It was a summons from the Court of Wards, ordering all parties with business in the matter of the wardship of Hugh William Curteys to attend the court on the twenty-ninth of June, in five days’ time. It was addressed to Michael Calfhill as petitioner – they would not know he was dead – and I noted a copy had also been delivered to Vincent Dyrick at the Inner Temple. It was dated near three weeks before.
‘It reached me only last week,’ Bess said. ‘It arrived at my son’s lodgings, was taken to the coroner, then he sent it to me as Michael’s next of kin.’
‘Have you seen a copy of Michael’s actual application? It is called a Bill of Information. I need to know what he said.’
‘No, sir. I know only what I have told you.’
I looked at Bess and the Queen. I decided to be direct. ‘Whatever the application says, it is Michael’s, based on facts within his knowledge. But Michael is dead, and the court might not hear the case without Michael there to give evidence.’
‘I know nothing of the law,’ Bess said, ‘only what happened to my son.’
The Queen said, ‘I did not think the courts were sitting, I heard they were dissolved early because of the war.’
‘Wards and Augmentations are still sitting.’ The courts that brought revenue to the King, they would sit all summer. The judges there were hard men. I turned to the Queen. ‘Sir William Paulet is Master of the Court of Wards. I wonder if he is sitting himself, or has other duties connected with the war. He is a senior councillor.’
‘I asked Master Warner. Sir William goes to Portsmouth soon as governor, but he will be sitting in court next week.’
‘Will they make Master Hobbey come?’ Bess asked.
‘I imagine Dyrick will attend on his behalf at the first hearing. What the court will make of Michael’s application will depend on what it says and whether any witnesses can be found to help us. You mentioned that when Master Hobbey applied for the wardship Michael sought the help of the Curteyses’ vicar.’
‘Yes. Master Broughton. Michael said he was a good man.’
‘Do you know whether Michael saw him recently?’
She shook her head. ‘I asked him that. He said not.’
‘Did anyone else know about this application?’ I asked. ‘A friend of Michael’s perhaps.’
‘He was a stranger in London. He had no friends here. Apart from me,’ she added sadly.
‘Can you find out?’ the Queen asked. ‘Can you take the case? On Bess’s behalf?’
I hesitated. All I could see here was a bundle of intense emotional connections. Between the Queen and Bess, Bess and Michael, Michael and those children. No facts, no evidence, maybe no case at all. I looked at the Queen. She wanted me to help her old servant. I thought of the boy Hugh who was at the centre of it all, only a name to me, but alone and unprotected.
‘Yes,’ I answered. ‘I will do the best I can.’
Chapter Four
I LEFT THE QUEEN an hour later, with the suicide note and the summons in my pocket. I had arranged with Mistress Calfhill for her to call on me later in the week so that I could take a full statement.
Warner was waiting in the presence chamber. He led me up a flight of winding steps to his office, a cramped room with shelves of papers and parchments tied in pink ribbon.
‘So you will take the case,’ he said.
I smiled. ‘I cannot refuse the Queen.’
‘Nor I. She has asked me to write to John Sewster, the Court of Wards attorney. I will say next Monday’s hearing should go forward, even though Calfhill is dead. I will say the Queen wishes it, in the interests of justice. He will tell Sir William so, and that should stop him from throwing the case out. Paulet is a man for whom political advantage is all – he would not wish to upset her.’ Warner looked at me seriously, fingering his long beard. ‘But that is as far as we can go, Brother Shardlake. I do not want to press the connection to the Queen too far. We do not know what lies at the bottom of this case. Maybe nothing, but if Michael Calfhill did find something serious, it may be a matter the Queen should not be publicly involved in.’
‘I understand.’ I respected Warner. He had worked as an attorney in the Queen’s household for over twenty years, since Catherine of Aragon’s time, and I knew he had come to have a particular affection for Catherine Parr, as most did who worked for her.
‘You have been given a hard task,’ he said sympathetically. ‘Only five more days to the hearing, and no witnesses apart from Mistress Calfhill that we know of.’
‘With the end of the law term I have time.’
He nodded slowly. ‘The Court of Wards still sits. There are wards and mo
ney to be gathered in.’ Like any lawyer with integrity, he spoke of Wards with contempt.
‘I will do what I can to find witnesses,’ I told him. ‘There is that vicar who worked with Michael six years ago. My clerk will help me, he is skilled in such matters. If there is anyone, we will find them. But first I must go to Wards, see what Michael’s Bill of Information said.’
‘And you will need to talk to Dyrick.’
‘After I’ve seen the papers, and found what witnesses there are.’
Warner said, ‘I have met Dyrick.’ The legal world of London was small, everyone knew everyone else by reputation at least. ‘A strong opponent. No doubt he will say the case is a meaningless accusation from a madman.’
‘That is why I wish to see more of how the land lies before visiting him. Tell me, what do you make of Mistress Calfhill?’
‘Full of grief. Confused. Maybe looking for a scapegoat for her son’s death. But I am sure you will do everything possible to root out the truth of it.’ He smiled sadly. ‘You were afraid it was politics. I saw that on your face when you came in.’
‘Yes, Brother Warner, I fear I was.’
‘The Queen always honours her promises, Brother Shardlake,’ he answered reprovingly. ‘And will always help an old servant in trouble.’
‘I know. I should have trusted.’
‘Queen Catherine holds old friends in more kindness than any since the first Queen Catherine.’
‘Catherine of Aragon.’
‘Yes. She, too, was kind, though she had her faults.’
I smiled. ‘Her Catholicism.’
He looked at me seriously. ‘More than that. But come, I say more than I should. Talk of politics is dangerous, even though the great men of the realm have no time for intrigue just now. Hertford, Norfolk, Gardiner – all away on military assignments. But if we get through this war, I have little doubt it will all begin again. The Catholic party does not like Queen Catherine. You have seen her book?’
