by C. J. Sansom
‘Michael’s mother said Hugh and Emma Curteys were close.’
‘Yes. Serious, godly children.’ He shook his head, his long beard trembling. ‘I wrote to the aunt, paid for a fast messenger. It was already three weeks then after John and Ruth’s death. Michael and I suspected Hobbey was after control of the children’s lands, but not that it could be done so fast.’
‘Usually it can’t.’
‘I waited every day for a reply from the north, but you know how long it takes to get messages from those wild places. Two weeks passed, then three. Michael visited me again, saying Hobbey was always at the Curteys house. And his lawyer too.’
‘Vincent Dyrick.’
‘Yes, that was the name. Michael said the children were afraid. He implored me to go and see Hobbey. So I did, I went to his house up at Shoe Lane.’ Broughton frowned. ‘He received me in his parlour, looked at me with the haughty arrogance of a man who worships Mammon, not God. I told him I had written to the aunt. Well, Master Hobbey only asked coldly how an old woman was going to drag herself two hundred miles and care for two growing children. He said he was the family’s best friend and their neighbour in Hampshire, he would see justice done for Hugh and Emma. And then his wife came in. Abigail Hobbey.’ There was anger in Broughton’s face now.
‘Goodwife Calfhill mentioned her. She said Michael thought her a little mad.’
‘A screaming, raving shrew. She burst into the parlour while I was talking to her husband, screeching that I was a troublemaking ranter, making accusations against her husband when he wished only to help two orphaned children.’
‘But you had made no accusations.’
‘No, but when that woman started screaming at me, that was when I really began to fear for those children.’
‘How did Nicholas Hobbey react to his wife’s outburst?’ I asked curiously.
‘He was annoyed. He raised a hand, said, “Quiet, my dear,” or some such words. She stopped yelling, but still stood with her eyes flashing fire at me. Then Hobbey told me to leave, saying I had upset his wife. Unwomanly creature. He added sarcastically that I should let him know if the aunt replied, but he had already made his application to the Court of Wards.’
‘Did the aunt reply?’
‘Two weeks later I had a letter from her vicar in Lancaster, to say she had died a year before.’
‘I suspect Master Hobbey had already discovered that.’
‘There seemed nothing else I could do,’ Broughton said, spreading his arms wide. ‘I talked to Michael. To be fair to Hobbey, Michael said the children were well taken care of, their needs looked after. But he said Hugh and Emma had no affection from Hobbey or his wife.’
‘That happens often enough in wardship cases.’
‘There was more to it than that. Michael feared Nicholas Hobbey planned to marry Emma to their son, and so unite their Hampshire lands.’
‘That would be David Hobbey.’
‘Yes. I saw him as I left the house that day. He was in the hallway outside, I am sure he had been listening at the door. He gave me an impertinent stare, a strange look for a child, something – triumphant about it.’
‘He would have been – what – twelve then?’
‘Yes. As ill favoured a boy as I have ever seen. Squat, fat-faced. Dark like his father, a wispy moustache already growing on his lip.’ Broughton stopped, raising his hands. ‘I am sorry, I should not have said that. He was only a child.’
‘Almost a man now,’ Barak observed.
I said, ‘Unfortunately, to arrange such a marriage would be within Master Hobbey’s rights once he had the wardship.’
Broughton shook his head in disgust. ‘It is ungodly. The sacrament of marriage turned to a bargain. And Michael said – he told me David had put his hands on Emma. In a way he should not. Hugh had fought him over it.’
‘So Michael’s mother told me too. But then Emma died.’
‘God rest the poor child. By then the wardships had been granted and Michael had moved with the children to the Hobbeys’ house, out of the parish. I only saw him once more after that, when he came to tell me Emma had died and he had been dismissed.’ Broughton shook his head. ‘He said Abigail Hobbey showed no sadness at her funeral, looked on coldly as Emma was buried. I thought I saw despair in Michael’s face then. And from what you say it seems I was right.’ Broughton looked at me earnestly. ‘Does this help you, sir?’
I thought. ‘Only a little, I fear. Is there anyone else in your congregation who knew the family?’
He shook his head. ‘Not well. It was only I that took an interest in the wardship. People do not like to interfere in such matters. But there was one thing I discovered. There were rumours that Master Hobbey was in debt.’
‘Then how could he afford to buy the wardship? And he had just bought a monastic house and was having it converted.’
Barak grunted. ‘Hoped to get Emma’s share of the Curteys land by marrying her to his son. If so, he got a bad bargain.’
Broughton looked alarmed. ‘He still has the right to make a marriage for Hugh. What if he plans to marry him to someone unsuitable? That could be what Michael discovered.’
I nodded thoughtfully. ‘Possibly. Sir, I would be grateful if you could come to the hearing on Monday. At least you could testify you were unhappy with how matters were handled.’ I needed every scrap of evidence I could bring. But there was still nothing a good lawyer for the other side could not easily dismiss. I got up, wincing at my stiff back. Broughton rose too.
‘Sir,’ he said. ‘You will see justice done? Right whatever wrong is being done to Hugh?’
‘I will try. But it will not be easy. I will send Barak back tomorrow to prepare a deposition for you. It must be lodged with the Court of Wards before the hearing.’
‘God will not suffer injustice to children,’ Broughton said with sudden passion. ‘Our Saviour said, “Any wrong done unto these little ones is done also to me.” ’ He quoted the Bible in a fierce voice; but then I saw he was crying, tears running down his creased face. ‘I am sorry, sir,’ he said. ‘I was thinking of Michael. A suicide. In Hell. It is so – harsh. But God has decided that is where suicides must go and how can we question God?’ Faith and desperation showed equally in his face.
‘Justice may be tempered with mercy,’ I ventured. ‘That is an important principle, in earthly law at least.’
Broughton nodded, but did not speak again as he led us outside. ‘What time should I come on Monday?’ he asked as we parted at the church door.
‘The hearing is set for ten, the Court of Wards at Westminster. If you could come early.’
Broughton bowed and returned to the dim interior of the church. As we walked through the lych gate Barak turned to me. ‘Justice? He won’t see that in the Court of Wards.’ He gave a bitter laugh. ‘Only harsh judgement, like he says God gives.’
‘If Michael Calfhill deserves to be in Hell, perhaps even the Court of Wards’ judgement is better than God’s. Come, let’s change the subject. We are talking heresy in the street.’
MICHAEL CALFHILL’S lodgings lay at the other end of the city, in the warren of streets down by the river. The afternoon was well on as we turned into a narrow alley, where high old dwellings with overhanging eaves had been converted into lodging houses, old paint flaking onto the muddy ground. Chickens rooted in the dust. At a tavern on the corner a group of seven or eight apprentices in their late teens, many with swords at the belts of their blue robes, gave us hostile looks. The tallest, a fair-haired, heavy-set lad, fixed me with a hard stare. Perhaps he thought my lawyer’s robe the uniform of a French spy. Barak put a hand to his own sword and the boy turned away.
Barak knocked on an unpainted wooden door. It was answered by a pretty young woman, an apron over her cheap wool dress. She smiled at him in recognition before giving me a deep curtsey. This must be Michael’s downstairs neighbour; I guessed Barak had charmed her.
‘I’ve brought Master Shardlake, Sally,’ he
said lightly. ‘The lawyer that has an interest in poor Michael’s affairs. Did Constable Harman give you the key?’
‘Yes, sir. Come in.’
We followed her into a damp hallway, through an inner door into her lodging, a small room with dirty rushes on the floor, a table and a bed. An old iron key lay on the table. There was no glass in the windows, and the slats in the shutters were open. I saw the apprentices watching the house. Sally followed my gaze. ‘They’ve been hanging around there for days,’ she said. ‘I wish they’d go away.’
‘What guild are they from?’ I asked. ‘Their masters should keep them under better control.’
‘I don’t know. A lot of apprentices have lost their places with goods so dear. My husband worked as a messenger for the German traders at the Steelyard, but there’s no trade now with ships being impounded everywhere. He’s out looking for work.’ Her face was weary.
Barak picked up the key. ‘Can we have a look?’
‘Yes. Poor Michael,’ she added sadly.
I followed Barak up a flight of narrow stairs. He turned the key in the lock of a battered door at the back of the house. It creaked open. The shutters on the little window were closed, only dim shapes visible. Barak pulled them open. I saw the room was small, patches of damp on the walls. There was a narrow straw bed, a pillow with a torn sheet splayed across it. An old chest beside the bed was open, revealing an untidy heap of clothes. The only other furniture was a scarred table and a chair that lay overturned on the floor. A quill and a dusty, dried-up inkpot stood on the table. Looking up, I saw a strip of white sheet knotted to the roof beam, the end cut.
‘Christ’s wounds,’ I said. ‘It’s been left as it was when he was cut down.’
‘Maybe the coroner ordered it kept as it was for the jury’s inspection.’
‘Then forgot to tell the landlord he could clear it. That sounds like Coroner Grice.’ I stared around the miserable room where Michael had spent his last days. Barak went to the chest and started searching the contents. ‘There’s only clothes here,’ he said. ‘Clothes and a few books. A plate and spoon wrapped up in a cloth.’
‘Let me see.’ I looked at the books – Latin and Greek classics, a tutor’s books. There was also a copy of Roger Ascham’s Toxophilus, his treatise on archery that the Queen told me the Lady Elizabeth was reading. I said, ‘They should have taken all these things as exhibits.’
‘The coroner was only here five minutes.’ Sally was standing in the doorway. She looked around the room sadly. ‘Isn’t that why you’re here, sir, to question the careless way the coroner handled matters?’
‘Yes, that’s right,’ Barak said before I could reply. Sally looked round the room. ‘It’s just as I saw it that night. Constable Harman forced the door open, then he cried out. Samuel ran up to see what was happening and I followed.’ She stared bleakly at the strip of linen hanging from the beam. ‘Poor Master Calfhill. I’ve seen a hanging, sir, and I saw from his face he’d strangled slowly, not broken his neck.’ She crossed herself.
‘What was he wearing?’
She looked at me in surprise. ‘Just a jerkin and hose.’
‘Was he carrying anything at his belt? They would have exhibited it at the inquest.’
‘Only a purse, sir, with a few coins, and a little gold cross his mother recognized as his at the inquest. Poor old woman.’
‘No dagger?’
‘No, sir. Samuel and I noticed he never wore one.’ She smiled sadly. ‘We thought him foolish. Master Calfhill didn’t understand how rough it can be down here.’
I looked at Barak. ‘So what did he use to cut up the sheet to hang himself?’ Turning back to Sally, I asked, ‘Did they say anything about that at the inquest?’
She smiled sadly. ‘No, sir. The coroner just seemed to want to get through everything quickly.’
‘I see.’ I looked at the roof-beam again. ‘What was Michael like, Sally?’
‘Samuel and I used to jest that he lived in a world of his own. Walking about in fine clothes, which isn’t really safe round here. I would have thought he could have afforded better lodgings. But he didn’t seem to care about the dirt or the rats. He seemed lost in thought most of the time.’ She paused, then added, ‘Not happy thoughts. We used to wonder if he was one of those whose minds are perplexed about religion. Samuel and I just worship the way the King commands,’ she added quickly.
‘The constable told me he had some trouble with the corner boys,’ Barak said. ‘Was it the ones outside?’
She shook her head. ‘I didn’t hear that. It can’t have been them. Those boys have only been there these last few days.’
‘One question more,’ I said. It was something no one had mentioned so far. ‘What did Michael Calfhill look like?’
She thought. ‘He was small, thin, with a comely face and brown hair. It was starting to recede though I doubt he was thirty.’
‘Thank you. Here, for your trouble in helping us – ’
She hesitated, but took the coin. She curtsied and left, closing the door behind her. Barak had gone over to the window. ‘Come and look at this,’ he said.
I went over. Directly underneath was the sloping roof of an outhouse, covered with mossy tiles, above a small yard. ‘Someone could have climbed up there easily,’ Barak said. ‘I could get up, even now with all my easy living.’ He patted his stomach.
I looked out. From here I could see the river, busy as ever with barges carrying equipment down to the sea. ‘There are no tiles off the roof,’ I said. ‘They look old, someone climbing up would surely have dislodged a few.’ I turned back to the room, looked up at the beam. ‘If someone climbed up into the room and grabbed him in bed, there would have been a struggle.’
‘Not if they knocked him out as he slept, then strung him up.’
‘That would have left a mark on his head. The jury would have seen it at the viewing of the body.’
‘Not if it was above the hairline, and they didn’t look hard.’
I considered carefully. ‘Remember what this case is about. The management of some lands down in Hampshire, maybe a fee for marrying off Hugh Curteys. In three years the boy will reach his majority and the lands will be his. Would Nicholas Hobbey order Michael killed just to protect that? When he could hang for it? A man with status and a family?’
‘Maybe Michael discovered something Hobbey would hang for anyway.’
‘Like what?’
‘What about the missing knife?’
‘It could have been lost or stolen in that shambles Grice calls the coroner’s office.’ I smiled. ‘Come, have we not become too ready to see murder everywhere after all we have seen these last few years? And remember, the suicide note was in Michael’s hand.’
‘I still think there’s a smell of bad fish here.’
‘There’s certainly a smell of rats. Look at those droppings in the corner.’
‘Why would Michael leave his mother’s house and come to a dog hole like this?’
I considered this. ‘I don’t know. But I see nothing here pointing to murder, except the absence of the knife, and that could easily have been lost. What we must do now is concentrate on Monday’s hearing.’ I took a last look round the miserable room, and the thought crossed my mind that Michael might have been punishing himself in some way by leaving his mother. But for what? My eye went to the strip of cloth again, and I shuddered. ‘Come,’ I said to Barak, ‘let’s get out of here.’
‘Do you mind if I talk to the constable again?’ he asked as we descended the stairs. ‘I know where he’ll be, in the tavern I took him to before. It’s a few streets away. Maybe he will remember about the knife.’
‘Won’t Tamasin be waiting for you?’
‘I shan’t be long.’
WE RETURNED the key to Sally and left the house. It was dusk now; looking down between the houses I saw the river shining red in the setting sun. The corner boys had gone.
‘Can you prepare a draft deposition and take it to Bro
ughton this evening?’ I asked Barak. ‘Then come to chambers tomorrow at nine. Mistress Calfhill is coming in.’
‘All right.’ He took a deep breath. ‘Will you let me know when you get word from Carver?’
‘At once.’
Barak went down towards the river, while I turned for home. As I walked along, I thought again about Michael’s death. Barak had a nose for foul play.
I passed a dark alley, then jerked upright at a sudden rush of footsteps behind me. I turned quickly but got only a glimpse of young faces and blue robes, before a bag stinking of old vegetables was put over my head. Several pairs of hands seized me, hauling me into the alley. Robbers; like Michael I had carelessly advertised my wealth.
My back was slammed up against a stone wall. Then to my horror I felt hands around my neck, lifting me off the ground. My arms were held firm; my legs kicked helplessly against the stone. I was strangling, hanging. Then a hard youthful voice spoke into my ear.
‘Listen to me carefully, master hunchback.’
I gasped, gagged. Little red flashes began to appear in the pitch darkness inside the bag.
‘We could have you dead in a minute,’ the voice continued. ‘Remember that and listen hard. You drop this case, you forget about it. There’s people who don’t want this matter taken further. Now, tell me you understand.’ The pressure at my neck eased, though other hands still gripped my arms hard.
I coughed, managed to gasp a yes.
The hands released me, and I dropped to the muddy ground in a heap, the bag still over my head. By the time I clawed it off they had gone. I lay in the dark alley, taking great sucking breaths to get some air back into my lungs. Then I leaned over and was violently sick.
Chapter Eight
I MADE MY WAY home painfully, pausing occasionally for I felt dizzy. By the time I stumbled through my front door my neck was so swollen it was painful to swallow. I went up to Guy’s room. When he answered the door I could scarcely speak, my voice a croak. He made me lie down and applied a poultice, which brought some small relief. I told him I had been robbed, and he gave me a sharp look when he saw my purse was still at my belt; I felt guilty, but I had decided to keep what had happened to myself for now.
