Heartstone ms-5

by C. J. Sansom

  Barak slapped his knapsack. 'I've Broughton's deposition here.'

  'Good.' I looked at him. 'But there is something else I must tell you now. Alderman Carver came to see me last night. I'm afraid it is not good news.' I repeated what Carver had told me.

  'Shit,' he said fiercely. 'Tammy's right, I should have treated Goodryke with more care.'

  'Why don't I come to your house later, and the three of us can talk about it?'

  'I won't have Tammy leaving London, travelling over muddy roads,' he said firmly. 'I was scared shitless when she collapsed the other day.'

  'I know. But we'll find some way through. I promise. Now, let me see Reverend Broughton's deposition.'

  Barak opened his satchel and passed me the paper, written in his scratchy copyhand and signed by Broughton. He sat frowning, preoccupied, as I read. Broughton reiterated what he had told us about the Curteys family, the parents' death and Nicholas Hobbey's rapid intervention, his own and Michael's efforts on behalf of Hugh and Emma, and Hobbey's hostility to him. I looked at Barak. 'Nothing new, then?'

  'No. He says that's all he remembers. I asked him if any of the Curteyses' neighbours could tell me anything, but he was sure not. The family do seem to have kept to themselves, as the godly folk will.'

  I looked up as a shadow passed the window: Bess Calfhill, her face pale as parchment in the sunshine, paler even than her white coif. She wore a black dress again, though the mourning period was long past. 'Go and receive her,' I said to Barak, 'tell her my neck's been hurt in an attempted robbery. Gently. Someone with a bruised neck's the last thing she'll want to see.'

  He went out, and I pulled the strings on my shirt tight again before taking the draft deposition I had prepared for Bess from my desk. Barak led her in, and she sat on the other side of my desk. She looked at my neck, shuddered slightly and dropped her gaze, twisting her hands in her lap. Then she looked up, her face determinedly composed.

  'Thank you for coming, Bess.' I made my voice as strong as I could.

  'It is for Michael, sir.'

  'I have prepared a deposition based on what you told me at Hampton Court. If I may, I will read it over. We can make any necessary corrections, see if there is anything to add.'

  'I am ready,' she said quietly.

  We went through her story again. Bess nodded vigorously when I read out how close Michael and the two children had been, and said 'Yes' with quiet fierceness as I related Michael's attempt to resist Hobbey's taking over their affairs. At the end she nodded firmly. 'That is it, sir, that is the story. Thank you. I could never have formed the words so well.'

  I smiled. 'I have training, Bess. But please remember that Michael's story, told to you, is hearsay. Hearsay is allowed in the case of a deceased person, but it does not have the status of first-hand testimony. And Master Hobbey's barrister may question you on it.'

  'I understand,' she said firmly. 'Will Nicholas Hobbey be there?'

  'I do not know.'

  'I am ready to face them both.'

  'We have spoken to Vicar Broughton, who has been helpful. He is coming on Monday. But he can confirm only that he and Michael tried to stop the wardship. Is there anything else you can think of that I have not included? About the children, perhaps.'

  She shook her head sadly. 'Only little bits and pieces.'

  'They would have been brought up by the women of the household till they were old enough for a tutor, I imagine.'

  'Yes. Though John and Ruth Curteys delayed past the normal age to get a tutor. Michael thought they loved their children so much they did not wish to share them.'

  'Did you meet Hugh and Emma?'

  'Yes. Once Michael brought them to visit me and I went to him at the Curteyses' house and saw them many times. Master and Mistress Curteys were most civil to me, as though I were a gentlewoman. I remember Hugh and Emma coming up to Michael's room to meet me. They were laughing because Hugh had got nits from somewhere and had his hair cut close. His sister laughed at his shaven poll, saying he looked like a little old man. I told Emma tush, she should not mock her brother, but Hugh laughed and said if he were a man then he was strong enough to smack his insolent sister. Then he chased her round the room, both of them shrieking and laughing.' She shook her head. 'I can see them now, that poor dead girl's hair flying out behind her, Michael and I joining in their laughter.'

  'Mistress,' I asked quietly, 'why do you think Michael left home towards the end?'

  'I think it was because—' her lips worked suddenly—'because I fuss so.' She bowed her head, then said, 'Michael was all I had. His father died when he was three, and I brought him up alone. At Lord and Lady Latimer's house in Charterhouse Square. Lady Latimer, as she was then, took great interest in my son, who was fond of learning like her, and encouraged him. She too knows what a kind-hearted boy he was. Too kind-hearted, perhaps.'

  'Well,' I said, 'let us see if we can get his kindness rewarded in court on Monday.' I exchanged glances with Barak. We both knew that if the case were allowed to go forward, it would be because of the Queen's involvement, not the merits of the evidence.

  * * *

  A LITTLE LATER I walked again down Middle Temple Lane, my knapsack over my shoulder. I turned left, to the Temple church. Dyrick's chambers lay opposite, in an ancient building of heavy stone. A clerk told me he was on the third floor, and I trudged wearily up a wide staircase of heavy oak boards. I had to pause halfway up, for my neck was throbbing. I grasped the banister and continued. On the third-floor landing a board outside a door had Dyrick's name picked out in elegant letters. I knocked and went in.

  All barristers' chambers are much alike. Desks, shelves, papers, clerks. Dyrick's had many bundles piled around on tables, the sign of a busy practice. There were two clerks' desks but only one was occupied, by a small young fellow in a clerk's short robe. He had a thin face and a long neck in which a large Adam's apple bobbled, and narrow blue eyes beneath straggling hair. He looked at me with insolent disapproval.

  'I am here to see Brother Dyrick,' I said curtly. 'Serjeant Shard-lake.'

  An inner door was thrown open, and Vincent Dyrick stepped out, advancing quickly with outstretched hand. He was a tall, lean man around my age. Athletically built, he seemed to exude energy. He had a pale complexion and coppery hair worn long; he was not handsome, but certainly striking. He smiled, showing a full set of teeth, but his greenish-brown eyes were hard and watchful.

  'Good morning, Serjeant Shardlake. We have met before in court. I beat you twice, I think?' His voice was as I remembered, deep and rasping, educated but still with a touch of London in it; a good voice for court.

  'We lost one case each, as I recall.'

  'Are you sure?'

  'Yes.'

  'Come to my room. You do not mind if Master Feaveryear, my clerk, sits with us?' He waved an arm at the young man.

  'Not at all.' My strategy was to say as little as possible, and get Dyrick to reveal as much as possible.

  'In you go, Sam.' Dyrick threw open the door to his office and waved Feaveryear in ahead of him. I followed. 'Please, sit.' Dyrick indicated a stool set before a large oak desk and took a chair behind it, motioning Feaveryear to another stool beside him. The clerk took up a quill that had been laid there, ready sharpened, and dipped it in an inkpot. Copies of Michael Calfhill's application and Dyrick's reply lay on the desk. Dyrick squared them carefully with his hands, then looked at me. His smile was gone.

  'Brother Shardlake, it grieves me to see a lawyer of your seniority involved in such a case as this. I would call it frivolous and vexatious were not the man who lodged this garbled bill clearly insane. A suicide, God pardon him. This application will be thrown out, and there will be substantial costs.' He leaned forward. 'Who is to pay them? Has his mother means? I heard she was but some old servant.'

  So he had been doing his research. Maybe paying for information from the Court of Wards, perhaps even from Mylling.

  'Any costs will be paid according to the law,' I
said. It was the same point I had made to Richard Rich. I made a mental note to write to Warner suggesting he find some substantial back pay due to Mistress Calfhill. 'If we lose, that is.'

  'You will.' Dyrick laughed, glancing at Feaveryear, who looked up and smiled. I opened my knapsack.

  'You should see these depositions, Brother. From Mistress Calfhill and the Curteys family's vicar.' I passed copies across. Dyrick read, occasionally screwing up his nose. Then he passed the papers to Feaveryear with a shrug.

  'Is this all you have, sir?' Dyrick spread his arms. 'Insignificant hearsay. This man Calfhill, before hanging himself, made accusations of serious misconduct against my client. Though neither he, nor these depositions—' he leaned across the desk to emphasize the point—'state what this misconduct actually is.'

  He was quite right, and there lay our greatest weakness.

  'Michael Calfhill made a serious claim—'

  'Undefined, unspecified—'

  '—sufficient I believe for the court to require further investigation. Remember the Court of Wards' motto. A helper to wards, orphans and widows.'

  Dyrick raised his eyebrows. 'And what, sir, would that investigation consist of? Depositions?'

  'Perhaps.'

  'And who is to be sent to take them? All the way to Hampshire. And how much will that cost? Enough to bankrupt any servant woman.' His voice rose angrily. He frowned, bringing himself under control—or seeming to. It had struck me that everything Dyrick and his assistant did was a performance, though a skilful one.

  'It would take a few days,' I said. 'Your client will only have to pay if he loses. And you say he will not. And my client has her own house.'

  'Some hovel near the Butcheries, perhaps?'

  'You should not cast aspersions on my client, Brother,' I said with asperity. Dyrick inclined his head. 'You should not, Brother,' I repeated. It hurt me to speak now, I had placed too much strain on my throat. 'I see no deposition from your client. Is Master Hobbey in London?'

  'No, Brother Shardlake. Master Hobbey is a gentleman with much business in Hampshire. And there is nothing here for him to depose to, no allegation precise enough to warrant an answer.'

  'Where a child is concerned, any allegation should be investigated.' I thought, so Hobbey is not in London. No time for him to give an order to have me attacked.

  'A child?' Dyrick expostulated. 'Hugh Curteys is eighteen. A strong, fit lad; I have seen him when I have visited my client on business. And well cared for, I might add.'

  'Still a minor. And under the control and custody of—' I had to break off at a spasm of pain from my throat. I gasped, put my hands to my neck.

  'See, Sam,' Dyrick said to Feaveryear, 'Brother Shardlake's words stick in his throat.'

  I glared at Dyrick, cursing myself for my weakness. Then I saw the anger in his eyes, fierce as mine. It was no act.

  'I see you have scant answer, Serjeant Shardlake,' Dyrick continued. 'I thank you for these depositions, though they are out of time and I shall argue so on Monday—'

  'I see Master Curteys' estate consists of a considerable acreage of woodland.'

  'All dealt with properly. You have seen the papers.'

  'But no accounts.'

  'Those are kept by the feodary in Hampshire. You may not be familiar with the Court of Wards, Brother, but that is the procedure.'

  'Tell me, Brother Dyrick, is any marriage contemplated for Hugh Curteys?'

  'None.' He inclined his head and smiled. 'There is really nothing to investigate, Brother Shardlake.'

  'These accusations must be looked into, and I think the court will agree.' My voice came scratchy, high-pitched.

  Dyrick stood up. 'I hope your throat is recovered by Monday.'

  'It will be, Brother.'

  I got up and turned to leave. Dyrick's face was cold, stony. I glanced at Feaveryear. For the first time I saw him smile, not at me but at his master. A smile of pure admiration.

  Chapter Nine

  THE FOLLOWING MORNING I crossed the central yard of Hampton Court again. It was Sunday, a bright, cool day, the day before the hearing. The courtyard was quiet, only a few clerks around; no skulking courtiers today.

  A letter from Warner had been waiting when I returned home from my encounter with Dyrick. Coldiron had been standing in the hallway, turning the thick white paper over in his hands, staring at the beautifully written superscription on one side, the Queen's seal on the other. He handed it to me with new respect in his eye, as well as aching curiosity. I dismissed him curtly and opened it; it asked me to attend the Queen again on the morrow.

  I had been instructed to come to Warner's office, and once more I climbed the spiral steps. I wore my coif to hide my bruises. Warner's room had been freshly laid with new rushes, their sweetness overcoming the smell of dust and paper. 'Ah, Brother Shardlake,' he said. 'It is cold again. What a summer.'

  'I saw, on my way here, that hailstorm has flattened much of the wheat.'

  'It's worse in the north. And great winds in the Channel. By Christ's mercy the Great Harry and the Mary Rose have arrived safely in Portsmouth Haven.' He looked at me keenly. 'I showed your message to the Queen. She was disturbed, as I was, by the attack on you. You are recovering?'

  'I am, thank you.'

  'The Queen wishes to see you now.' Warner opened a side door and called in a young clerk. 'Serjeant Shardlake is here. Go, inform the Queen. She will just be leaving the chapel.'

  The clerk bowed and ran from the room. His footsteps clattered on the steps, then from the window I saw him run across the courtyard. I envied his speed and grace. Warner invited me to sit. He stroked his beard. 'These are lawless times. Tell me what happened.'

  I told him the story, concluding with my visit to Dyrick. 'He will fight hard for his client,' I said. 'And, to be frank, his arguments are strong.'

  Warner nodded slowly. 'Do you think he is involved in what happened to you?'

  'There is no evidence at all. When I first saw him I thought he was acting the part of the outraged lawyer. But then I sensed an anger behind the legal dancing, some personal feeling.' I hesitated. 'Talking of that, Mistress Calfhill told me the Queen was very fond of Michael.'

  'That is my impression too.'

  Warner frowned. I could see he wished himself, and the Queen, rid of this.

  'One thing, Master Warner. There is a rumour that Master Hobbey was in debt at the time of his move to Hampshire. I spoke to Alderman Carver of the Mercers' Guild, but he was reluctant to talk about another member. Is there any way you could make discreet enquiry?'

  'I will see what I can do.' He stood up, nodding at me to do likewise, as light footsteps sounded on the stairs. We both bowed deeply as the door opened. A maid-in-waiting stepped in and held it open for the Queen.

  * * *

  QUEEN CATHERINE was dressed soberly for Sunday, in a plain dress of grey silk and a hood without jewellery. I thought they suited her less well than the bright colours she favoured, though they showed her auburn hair to advantage. She indicated that Warner and I should sit. The maid-in-waiting took a stool by the window, folding her hands in her lap.

  'Matthew,' she began, 'Robert tells me you have been attacked. Are you safe?'

  'Quite safe, your majesty.'

  'I thank God for it. And what of the case? I understand there is little new evidence.' Her eyes were full of sorrow. Bess was right. She had cared deeply for Michael.

  I told her that apart from Broughton's confirming his and Michael's opposition to the wardship, I had discovered little. She sat, considering, then said quietly, 'One thing I know about Michael, have known since he was a child. He was a good man, full of the kindness and charity that our Lord wished us all to have, though few enough do. He would never have made up a story to harm Hobbey. Never, even if his mind was disturbed.'

  'That is my impression.'

  'If something bad has been done to that boy,' Warner said, 'this case could make a stir. To say nothing of inflaming opinion furt
her against the Court of Wards. The King might not wish that.'

  'No, Master Warner!' The Queen spoke with sudden fierceness. 'His majesty would not wish wrongdoing to go unpunished. Michael wished to protect the boy Hugh, the only survivor of that poor family, and so do I. For his sake, and his good mother's, and the sake of justice!'

  I glanced at Warner. I thought his estimate of the King's likely response more accurate than the Queen's. She continued, 'Matthew, if the gathering of depositions is ordered tomorrow, do not feel you must take on this burden. Another barrister can be appointed to act from then on and travel south.'

  'He would need to know everything about the case to deal with the matter properly.'

  She nodded. 'That would only be fair to him.'

  'Someone else might take it on for a good purse,' Warner said, 'but would he have Serjeant Shardlake's commitment?' I realized Warner wanted me to stay with the case. He trusted me, and the fewer who knew the Queen had got herself involved with such a jar of worms the better. He looked at me. I could almost feel him willing me not to withdraw.

  'I will follow this through, your majesty.'

  The Queen smiled again, a warm open smile. 'I knew you would.' Her mobile face grew serious again. 'But I remember all that happened the last time you plunged into dark waters when your friend Master Elliard was murdered. Before I was Queen.'

  'That I do not regret.'

  'But Hugh Curteys is not a friend; you have never met him.'

  'I would like to help him if I can. I would ask, though, for someone to accompany me. My clerk cannot come and my steward is—unsuitable.'

  She nodded. 'A good clerk, and some strong fellow to be at your side. Warner, you can arrange that?'

  'I will do all I can.'

  She smiled at him. 'I know you are uneasy, my good servant. But I wish this matter properly investigated. Because it affects me in my heart, and because it is right that it should be.' She turned back to me. 'Thank you, Matthew. And now, I must go. I am due for lunch with the King. Matthew—' she held out her hand for me to kiss—'keep me informed of what happens at the hearing.'