Heartstone ms-5 Page 22

  'It's you. God's teeth, I thought someone was trying to batter the door down. Come in.'

  I followed him inside. A mean little room with a truckle bed in the corner, lit by a cheap, smoky, tallow candle. I took out the letter.

  'News from Tamasin?' he said, his face suddenly bright.

  'I have had a letter from Guy, he says she continues well.'

  Barak tore open the letter and read it. He smiled broadly. 'Yes, all is well. Tammy says she is doing everything Jane Marris tells her. I'm not sure I believe her, though.'

  'Is not the letter written in Guy's hand?' I asked curioulsy.

  Barak flushed, then looked at me. 'Tamasin can barely write, did you not know?'

  'No.' I was embarrassed. 'I am sorry, I thought—'

  'Tamasin is a woman of low birth, she was taught little more than to sign her own name.' His tone was sharp, I had annoyed him. 'Did Guy tell you how Ellen was?'

  'Guy had not visited her when he wrote.' He grunted. 'No Feaveryear for company?' I asked in an effort to lighten the atmosphere.

  'No, thank heaven. He's next door. I heard him at his prayers through the wall a while ago.'

  'Well, we cannot grudge him his belief.'

  'I grudge his deference to that Dyrick. He thinks the sun shines out of his arse.'

  'Yes. 'Tis well said that a faithful servant shall become a perpetual ass.'

  Barak looked at me closely. 'Are you all right? You seemed scared when you came in.'

  'I thought I heard someone following me. I was probably mistaken.' I laughed uneasily. 'No corner boys here.'

  'We still don't know who set them on you. Do you think it could have been Hobbey?'

  'I don't know. He is a hard man for all his civility.' I shook my head. 'But there was no time for him to instruct anyone.'

  'What of Hugh Curteys? How does he seem?'

  'Well. I have just dined with the family. I think he would like to go and join the army.'

  Barak raised his eyebrows. 'Rather him than me. When do you think we will get home?'

  'We have to go to Portsmouth on Friday to see Priddis, the feodary. Then we shall see.'

  'Friday? Shit, I thought we would be on the road home by then.'

  'I know. Listen, I want you to help me take the depositions tomorrow, give me your view of these people. And try to make friends with the servants, see what they may have to tell. Quietly—you know how.'

  'That might not be easy. Fulstowe told me not to go to the house unless I was asked for. Haughty fellow. I took a walk by myself in the grounds, greeted a couple of gardeners but only got a surly nod. Hampshire hogs.'

  I was silent a moment. Then I said, 'That family . . .'

  'What?'

  'They try to hide it, but it breaks through. They are angry and frightened, I think. All of them.'

  'What of?'

  I took a long breath. 'Of me. But I think also of each other.'

  Chapter Eighteen

  ON RETURNING TO the house I spent two hours going over Hobbey's accounts. He had given me the books dating back to 1539, the year they had all moved to Hoyland. Everything was clearly recorded in a neat hand that I guessed was Fulstowe's. Much woodland had been cut down in the last six years, and the payments had accumulated into a considerable sum. Hugh's land was accounted for separately, and the amount of different types of wood—oak, beech and elm and the prices each had fetched—neatly entered. But I knew well enough that even accounts as clearly set out as these could be full of false entries. I recalled the old saying that there was good fishing in puddled waters. I sat awhile, thinking back to the meal, the terrible tension round the table. There was something very wrong here, I sensed, more than profiteering from a ward's lands.

  At last I went to bed and slept deeply. Just before I woke I dreamed of Joan, welcoming me home on a cold dark night, saying I had been away too long. I heaved myself out of bed, then sat thinking. It struck me that if we were not travelling to Portsmouth until Friday, then instead of visiting Rolfswood on the way home, finding some excuse to send Barak on, I should have the opportunity to ride to Sussex while we were here. I estimated the journey at perhaps fifteen miles; I would have to stay overnight to rest the horse.

  I heard youthful shouts outside. I opened the window and looked out. Some distance away—I guessed the regulation two hundred and twenty yards—Hugh and David stood shooting arrows at the butts. I watched Hugh loose an arrow. It sped through the air and landed smack in the centre of the target. He seemed as fast and accurate as Leacon's men.

  I would have benefited from a session of the morning exercises Guy had given me for my back, but there was much to be done. So I dressed in my serjeant's robe and went downstairs. It felt uncomfortable; it was another hot, sticky morning.

  The great hall was empty, but I heard Barak's voice somewhere and followed it to a large kitchen, where he and Feaveryear sat at a table eating bread and cheese, their tones more amicable than I had heard before. The old woman Ursula stood at the big range, sweat on her thin face. Abigail Hobbey's lapdog, Lamkin, stood by Feaveryear's feet, gobbling at a lump of cheese. It looked up as I entered, wagging its feathery tail as though to say, see what a lucky fellow I am.

  'Tamasin has a good woman to care for her,' Barak was saying to Feaveryear, 'but I cannot help worrying. I imagine her out in her garden, weeding when she should be sitting indoors.'

  'I did not know you were married. I took you for a roistering fellow.'

  'That's all done now—ah, good morning,' he said as I came in. Feaveryear stood, bowing briefly.

  'You've let me sleep in,' I said, joining them at table.

  'They only woke me half an hour ago,' Barak answered cheerfully. 'And the old need their sleep.'

  'Less of the old, churl.' Feaveryear looked shocked at our familiarity.

  From the kitchen we had a better view through an open window of the boys practising. David was shooting now, leaning back then bending his strong square body forward and loosing his arrow. He too hit the target, though off-centre.

  'This is a beautiful place,' Feaveryear said. 'I have never seen the country before.'

  'Never left London?' I asked.

  'This is my first journey. I wanted to see it. The smells are so different, so clean.'

  'Ay,' Barak agreed. 'No rotten meat or sewage stink.'

  'And so quiet. Hard to think that only a few miles away the army is gathering at Portsmouth.'

  'Yes,' I agreed, 'it is.'

  'Master Hobbey has made a marvellous house. And a good thing this estate is no longer used to support those nuns mumbling prayers to idolatrous statues,' Feaveryear added sententiously. The old woman turned and gave him a vicious look.

  'Those lads know what they're doing,' Barak said, looking through the window at Hugh and David. David shot again, and I followed the arcing trajectory of the arrow to the target. 'There,' I heard him shout, 'I win! Sixpence you owe me!'

  'No!' Hugh called back. 'I shot nearer the centre!'

  Feaveryear was looking at the boys too, his face sad. 'Do you pull the bow at all?' I asked him.

  'No, sir. God gave me but little strength. I envy those strong lads.'

  'A cosy scene,' a sneering voice said. We turned to find Dyrick in the doorway, Hobbey beside him. Dyrick too had donned his lawyer's robe.

  'Who has been feeding that dog?' Hobbey asked sharply.

  'Me, sir,' Feaveryear answered nervously. 'He is such a merry little fellow.'

  'You will be no merry fellow if my wife finds out. Only she feeds him—she thinks he has a delicate stomach. Lamkin, go find Mistress.' The dog turned and waddled obediently out of the kitchen. Hobbey turned to Ursula. 'You should not have allowed him to feed Lamkin,' he snapped.

  'I am sorry sir. I could not see through the steam.'

  'I think you saw well enough. Be careful, goodwife.' Hobbey turned to me, his voice smooth again. 'Well, Brother Shardlake, perhaps you could say how you wish to proceed. As you see, Hugh is av
ailable now.'

  I had decided to interview the others before Hugh, to try and get some sense of this strange family. 'I thought we might take your deposition first, sir. Then Fulstowe's and your wife's.'

  Hobbey looked at Dyrick. 'Is that agreeable to you?'

  Dyrick inclined his head. 'Very well.'

  'Then I will tell the boys they may go hawking this morning; they asked if they might.' Hobbey took a deep breath. 'Let us begin. We can use my study.'

  'I wish Barak to be with me, to take notes,' I said.

  'I have brought some paper and a quill, Master Hobbey,' Barak said cheerfully. 'If you could let me have some ink.'

  'We do not need clerks,' Dyrick snapped.

  'Clerks usually attend when taking depositions, do they not?' I looked at him levelly. 'It makes for greater accuracy.'

  'If we must,' Dyrick said with a sigh. 'Come, Feaveryear,' he continued, 'if Barak is attending you must too. More unnecessary costs for Master Shardlake's client to pay.'

  * * *

  HOBBEY'S STUDY was a large ground-floor room, lavishly decorated. There was a wide desk with many drawers, pigeonholes on the wall above, and several beautifully decorated wooden chests. Chairs had been set in a semicircle facing the window. On one wall I saw a portrait of a Benedictine nun, her neck and head swathed in starched white folds and a black veil.

  'The second to last abbess of Wherwell,' Hobbey said.

  'An interesting face,' I replied. 'Watchful yet contemplative.'

  'You appreciate painting, Master Shardlake.' His face relaxed and he gave me an oddly shy smile.

  'We should begin, sir,' Dyrick said a little sharply. He took two inkpots from the desk, passing them to Barak and Feaveryear.

  Hobbey invited us to sit and took a chair by his desk. There was a large hourglass on it, a beautiful greenstone one with clear glass, full of white sand. He turned it so the sand began to fall.

  'To begin, sir,' I said. 'Would you tell me a little of your background? You said last night you had lived in Germany?'

  Hobbey glanced at his hourglass, then folded his slim, well-manicured hands in his lap. 'As a boy I got a job as a messenger, running between the wool merchants and the German traders at the Steelyard. Then I went to Germany to learn the trade myself, came back and in time became a member of the Mercers' Company.'

  'When did you meet the Curteys family?'

  'It was seven years past,' Hobbey continued in the same quiet, even tone. 'The monasteries were going down like bowling pins, everyone was looking for bargains at the Court of Augmentations. And I wanted to retire from my business.'

  'An early retirement, was it not?' I would not ask whether he had been in debt; not yet.

  'I had been in the trade since I was ten, I was bored with it. I learned the lands of this priory were for sale and came down here. I met John Curteys at a local inn, God rest him. He was interested in buying some of the priory woodland. I could not afford to buy it all as well as the nunnery, so we agreed he would take the larger portion. We were both wool merchants and we became friends. But then John and his wife died suddenly, as you will know.'

  'And you applied for Hugh and Emma's wardship.'

  Hobbey spread his hands. 'That is no mystery. I knew the children. And as the lands they inherited marched with mine it made commercial sense for everyone for Hoyland to be managed as a unit. I paid a good price, and every penny went into Hugh and Emma's account at Wards.'

  I looked at Dyrick, who was nodding slowly. I guessed they had rehearsed all this last night. I had been in practice long enough to tell.

  'So taking the children's wardship was a commercial venture?'

  'Certainly not.' Hobbey looked angry for a moment. 'I felt sorry for them, left orphaned with no one to care for them. Who better to look after them than Abigail and I? We had always wanted more children, but after David was born we had two babies who died.' A shadow crossed his face. 'And Hugh and Emma had no other relatives, save an ancient aunt in the north whom John and Ruth's vicar wished to involve. But that proved rather difficult,' he added scornfully, 'as she turned out to be dead.' I thought, that is the tone Reverend Broughton heard when he protested. And Abigail shrieking, which I could imagine.

  I paused a moment to let Barak catch up. His and Feaveryear's pens scratched away.

  'To turn to Michael Calfhill,' I continued, 'you kept him as tutor. He had been with the children some years then. Yet when you moved to Hampshire you dismissed him. Why was that?'

  Hobbey leaned forward and made a steeple of his hands. 'First of all, sir, the children had no real attachment to Calfhill. After their parents died they withdrew into each other's company. And within the year Emma, too, was dead.' He gave a sigh which seemed full of genuine emotion. 'And when we moved, yes, I dismissed Michael Calfhill because Hugh was now alone, and I feared Michael's influence was becoming unhealthy. Frankly I feared what paths he might lead the boy down. Impropriety,' he added slowly.

  'What evidence did you have for that?'

  'Remember, Brother Shardlake,' Dyrick said, 'Master Hobbey's answer could be read out in court, in front of Michael Calfhill's mother.'

  'I know.' I looked fixedly at Hobbey; Dyrick would not blackmail me thus.

  'It was a matter of looks and gestures. Once I saw him touch Hugh's bottom.'

  'I see. Speaking of impropriety, Michael told his mother David said something improper to Emma, and Hugh fought him over it.'

  'I believe Hugh once objected to something David said. My son—well, he has no good control of his tongue. They had a boyish tussle. But David and Hugh are fast friends now.'

  'Did you hope David might marry Emma? If that happened Emma would have brought her portion of her lands to her husband.'

  'Of course we considered that, but it would have been up to the children.'

  'Did you find another tutor for Hugh and David?'

  'We had a succession of tutors till last year.' He smiled wryly. 'They all had to be good archers. Hugh had begun his craze for the bow by then, and David followed.'

  'A succession? How many?'

  'Four, I think.'

  'In five years? That seems a great many.'

  'They were not always satisfactory. And many tutors see teaching as a stopgap, rather than a career.'

  'Michael Calfhill did not.'

  'He might have had his reasons for that,' Dyrick said, real venom in his tone.

  'And David is not an easy boy to teach.' Again that sadness in Hobbey's face. 'The last man was good, but he left us to travel, visit the continent. That was before this war began.'

  'Might I have their names?' I asked.

  'If you wish. Though I do not know where they would be now.'

  'Coming to the present, it is surely past time for the boys to consider university or a profession.'

  'I want David here, to learn about the estate. As for Hugh, he has the wit for a scholar and loves book learning. But he has a boyish fancy to go to the war. So I am keeping him here till it ends. Does that not sound a reasonable course, Master Shardlake?'

  'I think you will agree it is in Hugh's interest,' Dyrick interjected.

  'Perhaps.' I paused. 'Master Hobbey, you gave an account at dinner last night of Michael Calfhill's reappearance last Easter. Could you tell me again what happened, for the record this time?'

  Hobbey repeated the story of Michael's appearance in the old churchyard, his telling Hugh that he loved him more than anyone. I had hoped Hobbey might slip, say something inconsistent with what he had said last night. But either he spoke true, or he had been well rehearsed by Dyrick.

  'How far must we press this unsavoury episode?' Dyrick asked when Hobbey had finished.

  'One more thing, Master Hobbey. You have been selling off wood from the land which is part of Hugh's patrimony.'

  Hobbey spread his hands. 'I would be a poor custodian of his interests if I did otherwise. Between the need for timber for ships and the demand for charcoal for the Sussex ironworks
the price has never been so high.' Mention of the Sussex ironworks again, I thought. 'I am having part of my own woods felled. There is little other profit to be made here. The rents from Hoyland village and a few cottagers in the woods bring in less than seventy pounds a year, which becomes worth less and less with this great rise in prices. You have seen my accounts.'

  'Indeed. And I would like to take a ride through the woodland Hugh owns, before we meet Sir Quintin Priddis on Friday.'

  'Please do. But it is a large area, several miles deep in parts. Men are at work on the outer fringes now, felling trees, but further in it is old, wild growth, not easily penetrated.'

  Dyrick laughed. 'Do not get lost in there, Brother, or Mistress Calfhill will have to find another lawyer.'

  'I won't.' I made my voice as smooth as Hobbey's. 'And thank you, sir. I think that will be all, for now.'

  Dyrick looked up sharply. 'For now? You are not allowed innumerable depositions.'

  'I will only ask if something new arises.' I smiled. 'And now, if I may, I will see the steward, Fulstowe.'

  'Certainly. He is with my hounds, supervising their feeding.' Hobbey glanced at the hourglass, where the sand was still falling.

  'I will go and find him,' I said. 'I would like a little breath of air. Barak, come with me. And I think I will ride out and see Hugh's woodlands tomorrow.'

  * * *

  WE WALKED OUT into the fresh morning. A peacock strutted on the lawn, bright feathers glistening in the sun. As we approached, it uttered its mournful cry and stalked away. We followed the sound of barking to the outhouses, and I noted again the many hiding places behind the trees dotting the lawn.

  'What did you think of Hobbey?' I asked.

  'No fool. But I don't trust him: his story was too smoothly told.'

  'I agree. But Hugh Curteys is clearly not mistreated.'

  'They intended to marry David to Emma.'

  'That is the way of wardship. But there is something hidden here, I am sure of it.' I frowned. 'I was thinking just now of the corner boys. If there is some roguery going on over selling the woodland, and either Sir Quintin Priddis or his son were in London, they would probably be in and out of the Court of Wards all the time. They might have learned of my involvement in this case.'