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  'Is it not illegal to make profit from a ward's lands?' the Queen asked.

  'Yes. Whoever purchases a wardship has custody of the ward's lands, but he is supposed to take care of them and not make profit for himself. Though that is not always what happens. And he would have control of the girl's marriage,' I added thoughtfully.

  Bess said, 'Michael feared they wanted to marry Emma to David, so her share of the children's lands would pass to the Hobbey family. Those poor children. Hugh and Emma cleaved together, they only had each other, though they had a friend in my son. Michael told me Hugh had a fight once with David, over something improper he said to Emma. She would have been only thirteen. David was a big strong boy, but Hugh beat him.' She looked at me sharply again. 'I told Michael he was getting too concerned over Hugh and Emma, he couldn't be mother and father to them. But then—' her face went blank once more—'then smallpox came to the Hobbeys' house.'

  The Queen leaned forward and laid a hand on Bess's arm.

  'All three children caught it,' Bess continued stonily. 'Michael was forbidden their chambers for fear of infection. The servants were set to look after Hugh and Emma, but David's mother cared for him herself, weeping and crying to God for her boy to be saved. I give her credit for that; I would have done the same for Michael.' She paused, then said in a savage voice, 'David survived unmarked. Hugh lived, but with a pitted face that destroyed his handsomeness. And little Emma died.'

  'I am sorry.'

  'Then a few days later Master Hobbey told my son his wife would not live in London any more. They were going to their house in Hampshire for good and he would not be needed. Michael never saw Hugh again—he and David were still being kept isolated. They allowed Michael to go to poor Emma's funeral, that was all. He saw her little white coffin laid in the earth. He left that day. He said the servants were burning Emma's clothes in the garden in case they harboured the ill humours of the disease.'

  'A terrible story,' I said gently. 'Death and greed, and children the victims. But Mistress Calfhill, your son could have done no more.'

  'I know,' she said. 'Master Hobbey gave Michael a letter of recommendation, and he got other positions in London. He wrote to Hugh, but had only a stiff reply from Master Hobbey saying he should not write, they were trying to build a new life for the boy in Hampshire.' Her voice rose. 'The cruelty of it, after all Michael had done for those children.'

  'That was hard indeed,' I said. Yet I could see Hobbey's point of view. In London the boy Hugh had lost his entire family.

  Bess continued, the tonelessness returning to her voice. 'The years passed. Then at the end of last year Michael took a place down in Dorset, teaching the sons of a large landowner. But the fate of Hugh and Emma seemed to haunt him. He often said he wondered what had become of Hugh.' She frowned and looked down.

  The Queen spoke again. 'Come, Bess, you must tell the last part, though I know it is the hardest.'

  Bess looked at me, steeled herself. 'Michael returned from Dorset to visit me at Easter. When he arrived he looked terrible, pale and distracted, almost out of his wits. He would not tell me why, but after a few days he suddenly asked if I knew any lawyers. For what, I asked. To my amazement he said he wished to apply to the Court of Wards for Hugh to be taken from the Hobbeys' custody.' She took a deep breath. 'I told him I knew no lawyers, and asked why he should do this now, after six years. He said it was something not fit for my ears or any woman's, or man's either except a judge. I tell you, sir, I began to fear for Michael's reason. I can see him now, sitting opposite me in the little house I have, thanks to the Queen's goodness. In the light from the fire his face looked lined—old. Yes, old, though he was not yet thirty. I suggested if he wanted a lawyer perhaps he should visit Master Dyrick. But he laughed bitterly and said he was the last person he should go to.'

  'That is right. If Dyrick was acting for Hobbey in the wardship, he could not act against him in the same matter.'

  'It was more than that, sir. There was anger in Michael's voice.'

  I sensed a new stillness in the room, and glanced over to the windows. The maids-in-waiting had stopped sewing, and were listening as intently as the Queen and I.

  'It occurred to me that on the way back home from Dorset Michael might have visited Hugh. I asked him outright, and he admitted it was true. He had not made an appointment because he feared Master Hobbey might not receive him. He said when he arrived he found that something frightful had been done. He had to find a lawyer whom he could trust, and if he could not he would file the case in court himself.'

  'I wish you had come to me, Bess,' the Queen said. 'You could have.'

  'Your majesty, I feared my son was losing his reason. I could not see anything that could have happened to Hugh that would drive Michael to such a state. Shortly afterwards Michael said he had found a lodging of his own. He said he was not going back to Dorset. He—'At last she broke down, burying her head in her hands and weeping. The Queen leaned over and held Bess close against her breast.

  At length she regained her composure. The Queen had given her a handkerchief, which she twisted and squeezed in her hands. She spoke, but with her head bowed so low I was looking at the top of her white coif.

  'Michael moved into lodgings down by the river. He visited me most days. He told me he had filed papers in the Court of Wards by himself and paid the fee. I fancied he looked a little easier then, but in the days that followed that old, drawn look returned. Then several days passed when he did not visit. The following morning the local constable came.' She looked up, eyes bereft. 'He told me my son had been found dead in his room, he had hanged himself from a roof beam. He left me a note—I have it. Master Warner said I should bring it with me for you to see.'

  'May I?'

  Bess produced a folded scrap of dirty paper from her dress. She passed it to me with a trembling hand. I opened it. Forgive me, Mother, was scrawled on it. I looked up at her. 'This is Michael's writing?' I asked.

  'You think I do not know my own son's hand?' she asked angrily. 'He wrote this, as I told the coroner at the inquest, before the jury and all the curious public.'

  'Come, Bess,' the Queen said gently. 'Master Shardlake needs to ask these questions.'

  'I know, your majesty, but it is hard.' She looked at me. 'I apologize, sir.'

  'I understand. Was the hearing before the London coroner?'

  'Yes, Master Grice. A hard, stupid man.'

  I smiled sadly. 'That he is.'

  'The coroner asked me if my son had seemed unwell and I said yes, his behaviour had been strange lately. They brought in a verdict of suicide. I did not say anything about Hampshire.'

  'Why not?'

  She raised her head and looked at me again, defiantly. 'Because I had decided to bring that matter to the Queen. And now I have come for justice, by the Queen's good grace.' She sat back. I realized there was a thread of steel under Bess's pain.

  I asked quietly, 'What do you think your son found in Hampshire that could have driven him to kill himself?'

  'God rest and quiet his soul, I do not know, but I believe it was something terrible.'

  I did not answer. I wondered if Bess needed to believe that now, had turned pain outwards into anger.

  'Show Master Shardlake the summons from the court,' the Queen said.

  Bess reached into her dress and pulled out a large paper, folded many times, and handed it to me. It was a summons from the Court of Wards, ordering all parties with business in the matter of the wardship of Hugh William Curteys to attend the court on the twenty-ninth of June, in five days' time. It was addressed to Michael Calfhill as petitioner—they would not know he was dead—and I noted a copy had also been delivered to Vincent Dyrick at the Inner Temple. It was dated near three weeks before.

  'It reached me only last week,' Bess said. 'It arrived at my son's lodgings, was taken to the coroner, then he sent it to me as Michael's next of kin.'

  'Have you seen a copy of Michael's actual application? It is calle
d a Bill of Information. I need to know what he said.'

  'No, sir. I know only what I have told you.'

  I looked at Bess and the Queen. I decided to be direct. 'Whatever the application says, it is Michael's, based on facts within his knowledge. But Michael is dead, and the court might not hear the case without Michael there to give evidence.'

  'I know nothing of the law,' Bess said, 'only what happened to my son.'

  The Queen said, 'I did not think the courts were sitting, I heard they were dissolved early because of the war.'

  'Wards and Augmentations are still sitting.' The courts that brought revenue to the King, they would sit all summer. The judges there were hard men. I turned to the Queen. 'Sir William Paulet is Master of the Court of Wards. I wonder if he is sitting himself, or has other duties connected with the war. He is a senior councillor.'

  'I asked Master Warner. Sir William goes to Portsmouth soon as governor, but he will be sitting in court next week.'

  'Will they make Master Hobbey come?' Bess asked.

  'I imagine Dyrick will attend on his behalf at the first hearing. What the court will make of Michael's application will depend on what it says and whether any witnesses can be found to help us. You mentioned that when Master Hobbey applied for the wardship Michael sought the help of the Curteyses' vicar.'

  'Yes. Master Broughton. Michael said he was a good man.'

  'Do you know whether Michael saw him recently?'

  She shook her head. 'I asked him that. He said not.'

  'Did anyone else know about this application?' I asked. 'A friend of Michael's perhaps.'

  'He was a stranger in London. He had no friends here. Apart from me,' she added sadly.

  'Can you find out?' the Queen asked. 'Can you take the case? On Bess's behalf?'

  I hesitated. All I could see here was a bundle of intense emotional connections. Between the Queen and Bess, Bess and Michael, Michael and those children. No facts, no evidence, maybe no case at all. I looked at the Queen. She wanted me to help her old servant. I thought of the boy Hugh who was at the centre of it all, only a name to me, but alone and unprotected.

  'Yes,' I answered. 'I will do the best I can.'

  Chapter Four

  I LEFT THE QUEEN an hour later, with the suicide note and the summons in my pocket. I had arranged with Mistress Calfhill for her to call on me later in the week so that I could take a full statement.

  Warner was waiting in the presence chamber. He led me up a flight of winding steps to his office, a cramped room with shelves of papers and parchments tied in pink ribbon.

  'So you will take the case,' he said.

  I smiled. 'I cannot refuse the Queen.'

  'Nor I. She has asked me to write to John Sewster, the Court of Wards attorney. I will say next Monday's hearing should go forward, even though Calfhill is dead. I will say the Queen wishes it, in the interests of justice. He will tell Sir William so, and that should stop him from throwing the case out. Paulet is a man for whom political advantage is all—he would not wish to upset her.' Warner looked at me seriously, fingering his long beard. 'But that is as far as we can go, Brother Shardlake. I do not want to press the connection to the Queen too far. We do not know what lies at the bottom of this case. Maybe nothing, but if Michael Calfhill did find something serious, it may be a matter the Queen should not be publicly involved in.'

  'I understand.' I respected Warner. He had worked as an attorney in the Queen's household for over twenty years, since Catherine of Aragon's time, and I knew he had come to have a particular affection for Catherine Parr, as most did who worked for her.

  'You have been given a hard task,' he said sympathetically. 'Only five more days to the hearing, and no witnesses apart from Mistress Calfhill that we know of.'

  'With the end of the law term I have time.'

  He nodded slowly. 'The Court of Wards still sits. There are wards and money to be gathered in.' Like any lawyer with integrity, he spoke of Wards with contempt.

  'I will do what I can to find witnesses,' I told him. 'There is that vicar who worked with Michael six years ago. My clerk will help me, he is skilled in such matters. If there is anyone, we will find them. But first I must go to Wards, see what Michael's Bill of Information said.'

  'And you will need to talk to Dyrick.'

  'After I've seen the papers, and found what witnesses there are.'

  Warner said, 'I have met Dyrick.' The legal world of London was small, everyone knew everyone else by reputation at least. 'A strong opponent. No doubt he will say the case is a meaningless accusation from a madman.'

  'That is why I wish to see more of how the land lies before visiting him. Tell me, what do you make of Mistress Calfhill?'

  'Full of grief. Confused. Maybe looking for a scapegoat for her son's death. But I am sure you will do everything possible to root out the truth of it.' He smiled sadly. 'You were afraid it was politics. I saw that on your face when you came in.'

  'Yes, Brother Warner, I fear I was.'

  'The Queen always honours her promises, Brother Shardlake,' he answered reprovingly. 'And will always help an old servant in trouble.'

  'I know. I should have trusted.'

  'Queen Catherine holds old friends in more kindness than any since the first Queen Catherine.'

  'Catherine of Aragon.'

  'Yes. She, too, was kind, though she had her faults.'

  I smiled. 'Her Catholicism.'

  He looked at me seriously. 'More than that. But come, I say more than I should. Talk of politics is dangerous, even though the great men of the realm have no time for intrigue just now. Hertford, Norfolk, Gardiner—all away on military assignments. But if we get through this war, I have little doubt it will all begin again. The Catholic party does not like Queen Catherine. You have seen her book?'

  'Prayers and Meditations? Yes, she sent me a copy last month.'

  He looked at me keenly. 'What did you make of it?'

  'I did not know she had such sadness in her heart. All those prayers urging us to put up with the shafts of ill fortune that come to us in this world, in the hope of salvation in the next.'

  'Her friends had to advise her to leave out certain passages—with a flavour of Luther. Fortunately she listened to us. She is always careful. For example, she will not stir from her chamber today because Sir Thomas Seymour is at Hampton Court.'

  'That rogue,' I said feelingly. I had met Seymour at the time the King was pressing Catherine Parr to marry him; she had wanted to marry the dashing Seymour instead.

  'The King has had him chasing round the south of England inspecting the armies. He's come to report to the Privy Council.'

  'I am glad the Queen has loyal friends such as you,' I said sincerely.

  'Ay, we'll watch out for her. Someone has to do the politics,' he added.

  * * *

  I STEPPED OUT into the sunlit courtyard. The astronomical clock over the arch in front of me showed four o'clock. The red-brick buildings cast barely a shadow on the courtyard; the paving stones shimmered in the heat. Sweat pricked at my brow. A messenger in the King's livery rode fast through the courtyard, under the opposite arch, perhaps with some message for the military commanders.

  Then I saw two men standing in a doorway, looking at me. I recognized both, and my heart sank. Warner had said Sir Thomas Seymour was at Hampton Court and here he was, in a bright yellow doublet, black hose on his long shapely legs, the handsome face above his dark red beard as hard and mocking as I remembered. He stood with hands on hips in a pose of courtly arrogance; the stance in which Holbein had painted the King. Beside him, short and neat in his lawyer's robe, stood Sir Richard Rich, his fellow member of the Privy Council, the King's willing tool in the dirtiest pieces of State business these last ten years. I knew Rich had been involved in the financial administration of the invasion of France the year before; rumour said he had been in trouble with the King for lining his pockets a little too heavily.

  The two did not speak or move, just
stood looking at me, Seymour with a contemptuous stare and Rich with his cold, still gaze. They knew a man of my rank could not simply ignore them. I took off my cap and approached, trying to keep my legs steady. I bowed low.

  Seymour spoke first. 'Master Shardlake, it is a long time since we met. I thought you had gone back to the courts.' He smiled mischievously and waved a hand in an exaggerated, sweeping gesture. 'Gathering gold from the quarrels of poor silly folks, while strong true Englishmen fight to save their country from its enemies.' He pointedly looked me up and down, even glancing round a little at my back.

  'God has given me my limitations.'

  He laughed. 'Ay, that he has.'

  I did not reply. I knew Seymour would soon tire of mocking me and allow me on my way. But then Rich spoke, quietly, in his sharp voice. 'What business have you here? I would not have thought you would dare come near the King's court again. After last time.'

  He was referring to when he had had me put in the Tower on false charges to win a court case. Rich had then been in charge of the Court of Augmentations, which controlled the monastic lands seized by the King. I had brought a case on behalf of the City of London and, had I won, it would have reduced the value of some of the lands. Rich had used lying witnesses to have me imprisoned on false charges of treason. He would happily have seen me executed, but the charges had been proved false. Nonetheless the City Council had been so frightened they had withdrawn the case.

  I begged my legs to be still. 'I am here on legal business, Sir Richard. For Brother Warner.'

  'The Queen's lawyer. I hope she has not set you to defending heretics, as Warner did last year.'

  'No, Sir Richard. Merely a civil case. For one of the Queen's old servants.'

  'Which court?'

  'Wards.'

  Rich and Seymour both laughed, Seymour's bellow contrasting with Rich's rasp. 'Then I wish you a merry time,' Rich said.

  'I hope you have a full purse for the officials,' Seymour said. 'You will need it.'