Heartstone ms-5

by C. J. Sansom

  'Ellen Fettiplace,' I said heavily. 'That is your connection to West. It was you with him at Rolfswood nineteen years ago.'

  Rich leaned back in his chair again. His face was impassive now. 'So you know.'

  'When I realized you had no connection to the Curteys case, I knew it had to be that.'

  'Who else knows?' he asked abruptly.

  'Barak,' I lied. 'And I have sent him back to London.'

  Rich sat, considering. Then a voice called from outside, 'Sir?'

  A spasm of annoyance crossed Rich's face. 'Come in, Colin,' he said heavily.

  The door opened and a large, heavy-faced young man, the letters RR emblazoned on his tunic, entered with a taper. Rich gestured to the sconce, and the servant lit the candles, illuminating the tent with yellow light. 'What news?' Rich asked.

  'The French have gone.'

  'The soldiers will stay on board tonight?'

  'Yes, sir. They must be ready to engage the French at first light if need be. Sir, a messenger came. The Privy Council is meeting in the King's tent in an hour.'

  'God's death,' Rich snapped, 'why didn't you tell me immediately you came in?'

  The man reddened. 'I—'

  'Messages from the Privy Council must be conveyed at once—how many times have I told you? Get out,' Rich snapped. 'But stay near enough to hear if I ring my bell for you.'

  'Yes sir.' He bowed and left. Rich shook his head. 'Peel is a dolt,' he said, 'but it can be useful sometimes to have people around who understand little, and who fear you.' He composed his features into that superior, contemptuous smile again. I saw it cost him an effort.

  'Now, Brother Shardlake, let me tell you what I propose. A letter from me to Philip West will get you on the Mary Rose. Then you can tell your friend Leacon that the boy he recruited today is a girl, and bring her back. My servant will get a boat to row you there and back. In return, you will say nothing to anybody about what happened at Rolfswood nineteen years ago. It is Philip West, by the way, who has been paying Ellen Fettiplace's fees at the Bedlam all these years.'

  'I guessed that.'

  'You can take over responsibility for payment yourself if you like, I don't care.'

  'You have left her safe all this time? If she had ever talked about the rape—'

  'She never knew my name. And West has always threatened to tell the whole story if anything happened to her.' Rich's eye twitched again and he blinked angrily. 'Well, Brother Shardlake, what do you say? There will likely be a battle tomorrow, next day at the latest.'

  'I need to know the whole story,' I answered steadily. I needed time to think, too.

  'Do we really have to go into that?' he snapped impatiently.

  'I do,' I answered. 'West's mother told me of the letter he carried from the King to Anne Boleyn that day.'

  'He told me she had. Stupid old mare.'

  'And I want to know what happened at that foundry.' I needed to know if Ellen had played any part in the deaths of her father and Gratwyck.

  Rich's eyes narrowed.

  'You must have been near thirty then,' I said. 'Much older than West. From what he said it was only a junior official that accompanied him.'

  'I was junior then. Despite my striving, despite my attempts to get the patronage of Thomas More, I had advanced only to a lowly position working for the King's chamberlain.' He smiled, an odd smile. 'Do you believe in fortune, Master Shardlake? Fate?'

  'No.'

  'I like to gamble. The world is like the cards. You wait for a run of luck, then when you have it you use your skill to increase it. What happened with that letter began the run of luck that has led me on to the Privy Council.'

  'How did you know what it contained?'

  'I didn't.' He laughed. 'I wouldn't have dared touch it if I had. I thought it was just a matter of old Queen Catherine nosing out how long the King's affair with Anne Boleyn might last. Ridiculous old creature, you should have seen her then. Waddling around with her rosary, fat and shapeless from carrying all those children that died. I had put much effort into getting to know anyone I could at court, and had made friends with an elderly maid-in-waiting in the Queen's household, one of those wonderful old gossips who knows what everyone is doing. I told her I was a loyal servant of the Queen, someone who did not like to see her disgraced by the Boleyn, and so on.' He smiled at his cleverness. 'She told Queen Catherine, and through her it was suggested that I cultivate West; the Queen knew he sometimes carried letters to Anne Boleyn. Then she suggested that I intercept this one. Queen Catherine's spies in the King's household must have told her it contained something important. So I arranged to accompany Philip West to Rolfswood.'

  'How did you get hold of the letter?'

  'It is enough for you to know that I did.'

  'No, Sir Richard, if we are to make a bargain I must know everything. Remember, Barak is on the road to London even now.'

  Rich set his narrow lips. 'You have met Philip West. He is a man dominated by his passions, even more when he was younger. And like many who think themselves honourable fellows, what really matters to him is his dignity. His reputation, his vanity. What his mother thinks of him.' He wrinkled his sharp nose in contempt. 'I rode to Rolfswood with him that day, and waited at an inn nearby while he went to propose marriage to Ellen Fettiplace.'

  'I thought there was a fight, and that he had not intended to propose to her that day, just talk to her father.'

  'No, no. That was a lie he made up for his parents.' He raised his eyebrows. 'He had quite a passion for the woman. She was no great beauty but there it is.' He paused. 'Ah, you mind my saying that. Perhaps you have a liking for this Ellen, too.'

  'No. I do not.'

  Rich shrugged. 'Well, Philip West was convinced she would accept him, he thought someone of his station would be a good catch for her. But when he returned he told me that she had said no; she did not love him. He was furious, outraged, humiliated. Ranting like a demon in a play. I listened to him maundering on, encouraged him to get more and more drunk in case it gave me a chance to take the letter, but his hand kept going to his shirt where he kept it. He was not going to forget it. Not unless something dramatic happened to distract him. In the end he decided to ride back to Petworth. We had just started out on the road when my second good card turned up. Ellen Fettiplace herself.'

  It was warm in the tent, but I felt cold. A moth flew in from a gap somewhere and began fluttering round the candles. I remembered Dyrick slamming his arm down on the moth at Hoyland. Rich ignored it. 'What does Ellen Fettiplace mean to you?' he asked. 'Are you sure she is just another of your waifs and strays, not something more?'

  'No,' I answered sadly. 'Nothing more.'

  He looked at me hard. 'She has been a worry to me for years.' His eye gave a little twitch again. 'Do you really need me to go on?'

  'Yes, Sir Richard. If we are to bargain, I must know everything that happened to Ellen. And to her father, and his worker.'

  'I can deny this conversation ever happened, you realize that. There are no witnesses.'

  'Of course.'

  He frowned, then continued in clipped tones. 'The girl saw us riding towards her and stopped. West's face frightened her, I think. Then I said to him, have her anyway, there's no one else around. He said that by damnation he would. He was too drunk to think of consequences. I had to help him unbuckle his sword—as gentlemen, we both wore swords—then help him off his horse. I thought the girl would run but she stood there with her mouth open as we ran over and seized her. West had his way. I helped hold her down, and while he was on her I took the letter. He did not notice, he was inside her by then, and the girl was beating and clawing at him. I'm surprised he was able to do it, he was very drunk. I took the letter and ran. Unfortunately I had to leave my horse.'

  'What if the girl talked?'

  'I planned to say she was confused, that I had tried to stop West and fled for help when I realized I couldn't.' He considered. 'And I was willing to take the risk, to gain th
e Queen as a patron.'

  I frowned. 'But your promotion came through Thomas Cromwell, Catherine of Aragon's enemy.'

  'Oh, Cromwell saw I could be a useful man.'

  'Please continue, Sir Richard.' He gave me a long cold stare, and I suppressed a shudder at the thought of what he would have liked to do to me had I not had the Queen's protection.

  'After I left West I planned to go to the nearest town and hire a horse. But I got lost in those woods and it soon became too dark even to see my way. Then I heard West blundering about in the trees, cursing and shouting my name. He had missed the letter. And he knew those woods, he had been brought up there. I managed to lose him, then I saw a light ahead, and made for it. I thought it was some house or inn where I could seek shelter.' A cloud crossed Rich's face, and I realized he had been afraid that night, alone in the woods.

  'The foundry,' I said.

  'Yes, it was the Fettiplace foundry. There was some old man sitting on a straw bed there, drinking. I said I was lost and he told me the way to Rolfswood. He invited me to stay, I think he was awestruck having a gentleman appear out of the blue. I decided to wait, hoping West would give up or fall down drunk, which I learned later is what he did. While I sat I read the letter. The damned seal had broken when I took it off West. I was astounded, for in it the King said he intended to marry Anne; he thought he could get the Pope on his side if Catherine refused. I hadn't realized that, I thought it was just some silly endearments to his mistress.'

  'So you took the letter to Catherine of Aragon and gave her warning of the King's intentions.'

  'Yes. God's death, the King must have been angry when West said he had lost it. I wonder West kept his head. Next year when the King went to Catherine saying he believed their marriage contravened biblical law and that was why they had had no sons, she already knew what his plans were. She'd had months to stew in her anger.'

  'If the King found out what you had done—'

  'Catherine of Aragon never told him she had intercepted that letter. She always protected her servants, that was her strategy to keep people loyal. I began my way up the ladder that night—and changed my loyalties when in the struggle that followed I saw Anne Boleyn would be the victor.'

  'So what you helped West to do to Ellen, that set you on your upward path.'

  'If you like. But it wasn't quite as simple as that. That night, as I was sitting in that old foundry, the door banged open. I feared West had found me but it was the girl who appeared, dishevelled and wild-looking. When she saw me she screamed and pointed and shouted, "Rape!" That man Gratwyck forgot his drink, got up and came towards me with a stick in his hand. Fortunately I had kept my sword. I slashed at him with it. I didn't kill him, but he fell into the fire he had lit and a moment later he was on fire himself, stumbling and shrieking around the place.' Rich paused and looked at me. 'It was self-defence, you see, not murder. I confess it shocked me, and when I turned back to the girl she was gone.

  'I ran out into the night after her, but she had disappeared. I had to think what to do. I went back to the foundry, but it was already well on fire, Gratwyck still shrieking somewhere inside. So I walked up the path by that pond, looking for the girl.'

  'What would you have done, had you found her?'

  He shrugged. 'I did not find her. Instead I stepped straight into an older man in a robe.'

  'Master Fettiplace.'

  'He yelled, "Who are you?" I think he had been out looking for his daughter and come to the foundry to see whether she might be there, though I do not know. He grabbed at me, so I put my sword through him.' Rich spoke quite unemotionally, as though reading a document in court. 'I knew I had to get rid of him before people were attracted by the fire. I couldn't put him in the building, it was ablaze from end to end by now. But it was a moonlit night, I saw a boat by the pond, I rowed him out and sunk him with a discarded lump of iron I found nearby. I walked until dawn broke, then I hired a horse from an inn and rode back to Petworth.'

  You were afraid, I thought: walking through the night in a terrified panic after what you'd done.

  Rich said, 'Next day West sought me out. I denied I had anything to do with the fire, I said I rode straight back to Petworth, and though he suspected me there was no proof. As for the letter and the rape, I told him we must both keep quiet. But the fool rode back to Rolfswood again, to try and speak to Ellen. That was dangerous, it gave me some sleepless nights. But fortunately the girl had lost her wits, and after a while West and his family arranged with Priddis for her to be taken to the Bedlam. Priddis, as you can imagine, was well paid to ask no questions.'

  'So now you have made a new bargain with Philip West.'

  'Yes. I am good at bargains.'

  'He had insisted Ellen be left alive.'

  Rich frowned. 'He said if she ever came to harm he would tell the whole story. He was full of remorse then, he had decided to go to the King's ships. He is half mad—I think part of him wants to die. Though with his honour preserved.' Rich sneered. 'That is why, when I met him today, he agreed to take the Curteys girl on board his ship, so I could bargain for your silence.'

  'My silence over what happened at Rolfswood, in return for getting Emma Curteys off that ship. I see. And what of Ellen?'

  He spread his little hands. 'I will leave her safe in the Bedlam, under your eye. I understand she would never leave, even if she could.'

  I thought hard. But Rich was right. I could perhaps destroy him, but then I would never get Emma Curteys off the Mary Rose. I thought, you will get away with murder. But he had already; I remembered his betrayal of Thomas More, his persecution of heretics in Essex. I asked, 'How can you be sure I will not take Emma off the ship, see her safe, and expose you anyway?'

  'Oh, I have thought of that.'

  'I guessed you would.' I added, 'You killed Mylling, too, didn't you?'

  'He was in my pay, with standing instructions to inform me if anyone asked after Ellen Fettiplace. He told me you had been nosing around. And then, do you know, he tried to blackmail me, asked for more money. He did not know his young clerk was in my pay too. I could not afford any risks, so I arranged for the clerk to deal with him. Shutting him up in that Stinkroom place was a good idea; if he had survived it could be said the door shutting on him was an accident. Young Master Alabaster has his job now.' He bent his head to search among his papers. 'And now,' he concluded briskly, 'here it is.' He pulled out a paper and passed it across to me. 'Your will.'

  I jerked backwards, nearly falling off my stool, for wills are made in contemplation of death. Rich gave a mocking laugh. 'Do not worry. Everyone is making wills in this camp with the battle coming. Look through it, there are spaces for your legacies.'

  I looked down. I make this will at Portsmouth, the French fleet before me, in contemplation of death. Then the executor's clause: I appoint Sir Richard Rich, of Essex, Privy Councillor to his majesty the King, as my sole executor. Afterwards, the first legacy was already inserted: To the aforesaid Sir Richard Rich, with a request for forgiveness for dishonourable accusations I have laid against him over many years, but who has now shown me his true friendship, 50 marks. There was space for more gifts, then the date, 18th of July 1545, and space for me and two witnesses to sign.

  Rich passed over two blank sheets of paper. 'Copy it out twice,' he instructed briskly, in charge again. 'One copy for me to keep, for I have little doubt you will make a new will when you return to London. That matters not, the fifty marks is a nominal amount, as anyone can see. I want this will, which will be witnessed by a couple of reputable men from this camp who do not know me or you, and who can testify later that your will was made quite freely, for I shall show it in court should you ever make accusations against me.' He tilted his neat little head. 'No legacies to Ellen Fettiplace, by the way.'

  I read the draft will again. Neat, tidy, like everything Rich did, except for that first venture at Rolfswood when he had taken huge risks and murdered a man in a panic. He held out a quill and spoke
quietly. 'If you betray me, if you leave me with nothing to lose, then believe me something will happen to Ellen Fettiplace. So there you are, we have each other tied up neatly.'

  I took the quill and began to write. As I did so I heard voices outside, clatter, noise: the King's party, returning from South Sea Castle. I heard people talking in low, serious tones as they passed Rich's tent.

  When I had finished, Rich took the will and read both copies carefully. He nodded. 'Yes, large gifts to Jack and Tamasin Barak and to Guy Malton, as I expected. Small gifts to the boys who work in your household.' Then he looked up with an amused expression. 'Who is this Josephine Coldiron you leave a hundred marks to? Are you keeping some whore with you at Chancery Lane?'

  'She, too, works in my household.'

  Rich shrugged, studied the documents once more for some slip or trick, then nodded, satisfied, and rang the little bell on his desk. A moment later Peel came in. 'Fetch a couple of gentlemen here,' Rich said. 'The higher their status the better. Officials, not anyone who may be involved in any fighting tomorrow. I want them to survive to remember witnessing my friend Shardlake here signing his will.' He looked at the hourglass. 'Be quick, time runs on.'

  When Peel had gone, Rich said, 'When the witnesses come we must pretend to be friends, you understand. Just for a moment.'

  'I understand,' I said heavily.

  Rich looked at me, curious now. 'You were once a friend of Lord Cromwell's; you could have risen to the top had you not fallen out with him.'

  'His price was too high.'

  'Ah, yes, we councillors are wicked men. But you, I think, like above all to feel you are in the right. Helping the poor and weak. Justified, as the radical Protestants say. As consolation for how you look, perhaps.' He smiled ironically. 'You know, there are men of conscience on the Privy Council. People like me and Paulet and Wriothesley sit round the council table and listen to them; Hertford snarling at Gardiner and Norfolk about correct forms of religion. We listen afterwards as they plot to put each other in the fire. But some of us, as Sir William Paulet says, bend to the wind rather than be broken by it. Those with conscience are too obsessed with the rightness of their cause to survive, in the end. But the King knows the value of straight, hard counsel, and that is why men like us survive while others go to the axe.'