by C. J. Sansom
‘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 against 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.’
‘So do I.’ I had never told Emma that but for Rich’s machinations it would have been a different company of soldiers on the Mary Rose. I would not have her share my unending sense of guilt. I remembered visiting Leacon’s parents in Kent, to tell them their son was dead, and offer what financial help I could. The two old people had been lost, broken.
Emma said, ‘Thank you, Master Shardlake. I am sorry I did not trust you from the beginning. I did not think anyone could get me away from Hoyland and the Hobbeys, and I had stopped wanting to leave.’
I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees, and looked at her. ‘Why did you let them do it to you, Emma?’
‘At first to save myself from marriage to David. But – when I became a boy, I realized how much more power a male child has in the world. And – ’ she hesitated momentarily, then continued – ‘in a strange way it was as though wearing his clothes and pretending to be him kept my brother alive. Can you understand that?’
‘Perhaps. But later – you could have changed your identity back and claimed your lands. There would have been nothing the Hobbeys could have done.’
She shook her head. ‘I had been Hugh for too long by then. There would have been a scandal. And a disfigured young woman, alone, even one with money, has little power. Far less than a man. And I wanted to be a soldier so much.’ She laughed mirthlessly. ‘What am I, I wonder? Perhaps something new in the world.’
I did not know how to reply. We were silent a few moments, then Emma said, ‘I heard they have given up trying to raise the Mary Rose. The masts have collapsed, she has settled into the silt. With the remains of all those men, God rest their souls.’
We were silent a moment. Then I asked, ‘What will you do? As I have said before, you can do what you like with your life now. That is what I wanted for you. The Court of Wards has permitted me to hold all your money. I have to hold it for three years, but whatever sums you want, just ask. So far as I am concerned it is yours. God knows you deserve it after what it has cost you. I have it safe in the old gold coins, protected from this endless collapse in the value of money.’
Emma shook her head. ‘I do not know, Master Shardlake. I like it at my rooms. You know, I thought it might be more difficult to pass as a boy in the city. But no one looks at you twice, it is easy to blend in. Thank you, by the way, for sending me the money to buy those books.’
‘You can buy what you like now. You are rich.’
‘Yet stil
l I do not know who or what I am. But I do not want to be a woman, to be an obedient, subservient creature, wear those uncomfortable clothes.’
‘You should meet Barak’s wife, Tamasin, nobody could ever call her subservient. And it is possible for a woman to be independent, if she has money.’
Then Emma sighed, looked away. She said, ‘There is a boy who has a room in my house, who I have gone drinking with some evenings. I – I like him. His name is Bernard.’ She reddened slightly, her scars showing pale, then added, ‘But I fear he might guess the truth, as Sam Feaveryear did. Love,’ she said bitterly, ‘it is a very dangerous thing.’
‘Emma, it would be difficult for you to assume the identity of a woman now, I know. But I have been thinking. Jack’s wife Tamasin could help you, show you how a woman dresses and behaves. She is to be trusted with the story, and you would like her, I am sure.’
‘Does she not have a new baby?’
‘Yes. But she would be glad to help you, I am sure.’
She shook her head. ‘I cannot bear the thought of learning how to become a different person. Not again. No matter how good and kind your friend Tamasin is, it would bring back those days when Hobbey and Fulstowe made me learn how to impersonate Hugh. And wearing skirts again would make me feel hopeless, helpless, as I did when my brother died.’
‘But now you have money – ’
‘Even if I wanted to, I do not think I could do it.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Master Shardlake, I have been thinking of going abroad, perhaps to the Low Countries, away from England. Perhaps even seeing if I can get a place in one of the universities there. I could never be a soldier now, not after what happened.’
‘No.’
‘You see, I think you were right, perhaps I am a scholar by nature. But there are no women scholars, are there?’
‘There are learned women. The Queen herself has written a book, and the Lady Elizabeth – ’
Emma shook her head vigorously. ‘They have a dispensation, as royalty.’
I thought, then asked, ‘Are you running away from your feelings for this boy Bernard?’