Heartstone: A Shardlake Novel

  ‘I will.’

  Barak and I rode across the bridge over the moat. My eyes turned to the sea, then flickered away. I drew a deep breath.

  ‘To Hoyland,’ I said. ‘Then home.’

  We turned and rode away from Portchester Castle, away from the sea.

  Chapter Fifty

  TWO HOURS LATER we rode again down the narrow lane to Hoyland Priory. We passed through the gate and faced the house. Poor Abigail’s flowers had mostly died and the grass on the once neat lawns was starting to grow high. The windows were shuttered. I saw the butts by the nuns’ graveyard had gone.

  I had been relieved to turn inland, but now, as we rode towards the porch, the gentle motion of the horse seemed all at once like a heaving deck. I grasped the reins, pulled Oddleg to a halt, and closed my eyes, breathing heavily.

  ‘All right?’ Barak asked anxiously.

  ‘Yes. Just give me a moment.’

  ‘There’s Dyrick.’

  I opened my eyes. Dyrick had come out onto the steps. He stood there in his black robe, frowning at us. The sight restored me; I would not let that man see my weakness. Dyrick called over his shoulder into the hall, and a boy ran out to take the horses.

  ‘You’re back at last,’ Dyrick said in his grating voice as we approached. ‘It’s been four days. Master Hobbey has been out of his mind with worry. Where is Emma? Did you find her?’

  I had to smile at how, even now, he had to be argumentative. Yet I could see he had been mightily worried; fearing no doubt that what the Hobbeys had done to Emma might have been discovered.

  ‘I found her, Dyrick. But she would not return with me. She ran away again, I do not know where she is.’

  ‘We heard of the Mary Rose sinking, the attack on the Isle of Wight.’

  ‘The French failed to take it. Though they are still in the Solent.’ I had already agreed with Barak to say nothing about being on the Mary Rose. There was no point. ‘The lawn is starting to look unkempt,’ I said.

  Dyrick grunted. ‘Half the servants have left. Even that old crone Ursula has gone, saying the household’s cursed. They’ve all run back to the village, to try and ingratiate themselves with Ettis. He has been released, by the way. Master Hobbey kept his word.’

  ‘Where is he?’

  ‘In his study. He never leaves it now, save to go to his son.’

  ‘How is David?’

  ‘Recovering, but they think he will never walk properly again. And Jesu knows what is happening in his mind. I fear he may spill out the whole story,’ Dyrick added in a pettish tone. ‘He needs to be kept somewhere where he can be watched.’

  I stared at him. His words reminded me of how West and Rich had protected themselves after Ellen’s rape. Nothing like that, I would make sure, would happen to David.

  NICHOLAS HOBBEY sat at his desk. When we came in I saw the sad blankness that had been on his face since Abigail’s death, then a kind of desperate eagerness. He had, I saw, lost weight.

  ‘Emma! Have you news of her? We have been waiting.’ There was an old man’s querulousness in his voice now.

  ‘We were detained in Portsmouth. There has been fighting—’

  ‘Yes. They brought the news the Mary Rose was lost. But, sir, Emma – ’

  I took a deep breath. ‘I found her, but she ran away again. She has left Portsmouth. I do not know where she is now.’

  His face fell. ‘Is she still – pretending to be her brother?’

  ‘I think she will continue to do so. That identity is all she has known for years.’

  Dyrick said, ‘She can’t last for long on the road. She took no money.’

  ‘It is possible she may try to join a company somewhere.’

  Hobbey groaned. ‘Sleeping in hedges, stealing food from gardens – ’

  Dyrick added angrily, ‘And any day she could be caught and exposed for who she really is.’

  I said, ‘Emma is intelligent. She will realize she cannot support herself, that she risks discovery. I think there is a chance at least that she may seek me out.’

  ‘In London?’ Hobbey asked.

  ‘I told her I was taking her wardship, that I would leave her to decide what to make of her life.’

  ‘Then pray God she does come to you.’ Hobbey sighed, then added, ‘I plan to go back to London myself, sell this wretched place and buy a small house, somewhere quiet. It will be easier for David, and I can find better help for his afflictions there.’

  ‘Afflicted he is,’ Dyrick said emphatically.

  ‘Do you think I, of all people, do not know that?’ Hobbey snapped. He turned back to me. ‘I will get a good price for this house and all these woods. Sir Luke Corembeck has expressed an interest.’ He turned to Dyrick, with another touch of his old sharpness. ‘Make sure of the price, Vincent. I leave the negotiation to you. Whatever we make will be all David and I have to live on in the future, once – once my old debts are paid off. Master Shardlake, will you hold Emma’s share if she has not returned by the time Hoyland is sold?’

  ‘I will.’

  ‘We’d get more if we had the village woodlands,’ Dyrick grumbled.

  ‘Well, we don’t,’ Hobbey said. ‘Leave tomorrow, Vincent, get the negotiations moving from London. I am sick of the sight of you,’ he added. Dyrick’s face darkened. Hobbey turned to me. ‘Master Shardlake, I want you, if you will, to see David. To reassure him you plan to say nothing of what happened to his mother.’

  I nodded agreement. I still felt the responsibility of keeping that secret; I needed to see how David was.

  HOBBEY AND I ascended the stairs. He walked slowly, clinging to the banister. ‘Before we see David, Master Shardlake, there is something I wanted to ask you.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I hope you are right and that Emma may come to you in London. But if she is exposed, do you think she will tell – ’ he winced, gripping the banister – ‘that David killed his mother? I believe she guessed it was him.’ He stared at me intently. His first concern was still his son.

  ‘I doubt it. From what she said in Portsmouth she feels a deep guilt for what she did to David.’

  Hobbey took another step, then stopped again and looked me in the face. ‘What was I doing?’ he asked. ‘What were we thinking of, all those years?’

  ‘I do not believe any of you were thinking clearly, not for a long time. You were all too afraid. Except for Fulstowe, who was out to get what he could from the situation.’

  Hobbey looked around the great hall, the culmination of all his ambition. ‘And I was blind to how my son was becoming – deranged. I blame myself for what he did.’ He sighed. ‘Well, it is all over now. Dyrick tries to talk me out of leaving, but my mind is made up.’

  He led me into David’s room. It had a good four-poster bed, chairs and cushions, and an old tapestry on the wall showing a battle from Roman times. No books, unlike Hugh’s room. David lay in the bed; he had been looking up at the ceiling, but when we came in he struggled to rise. Hobbey raised a hand.

  ‘No, no. You will pull at your bandages.’

  David fixed me with a frightened gaze. Lying there he looked like a trapped, terrified little boy, the stubble on his cheeks making him seem all the more pathetic.

  ‘How do you fare, David?’ I asked gently.

  ‘It hurts,’ he said. ‘The doctor stitched me up.’

  Hobbey said, ‘David was brave. He did not cry out once, did you, my son?’ He took a deep breath. ‘Master Shardlake has come to tell you he will say nothing of what happened to your mother.’

  Tears welled up in David’s eyes. ‘I think I was mad, sir. I shot at you and then I killed my poor mother. I seemed able to think of nothing else but shooting at people, all the time. I had to keep our secret, keep Emma with us. Even if I had to kill – ’ He had been talking fast, almost gabbling, but suddenly he paused, looked at me, and asked in a passionate voice, ‘Sir, can God ever forgive such a sin as I have committed?’

  I looked into his wild ey
es. ‘I am no cleric, David, but if someone truly repents, they say He will forgive even the greatest sin.’

  ‘I pray ceaselessly, sir,’ he said through his tears. ‘For forgiveness and for my mother.’

  ‘That is all you can do, David,’ his father said, going forward and taking his hand. His words reminded me of what Catherine Parr had said to me a few hours ago. I looked down at the floor.

  ‘What news of Emma?’ David asked tremulously.

  ‘Master Shardlake saw her in Portsmouth. She is truly sorry for what she did to you.’

  ‘I deserved it,’ David said. He looked at me, and I saw that even now he loved her. I shuddered to think of what had gone on in his mind these last six years, warping it utterly. ‘Where is she now?’ he asked.

  Hobbey hesitated. ‘We are not sure. But we believe her safe.’

  ‘Will I see her again?’

  ‘I do not think so, David. If she goes to anyone it will be Master Shardlake.’

  David looked at me again. ‘I loved her, you see, I loved Emma all these years.’ I nodded. ‘I never thought of her as Hugh. That was why, when I feared we might actually be exposed, I think – I think the devil took hold of me. But I loved her. I loved my poor mother too, I realized as soon as I had – I had killed her.’ He burst out sobbing, tears streaming down his face.

  Hobbey hung his head.

  ‘I wonder – ’ I said. Hobbey looked at me. I hesitated, for I had brought enough nightmare cases to Guy. Yet he thrived on the most difficult patients, perhaps he even needed something like this now. And it would be a way for me to keep an eye on the Hobbeys. I said, ‘If you come to London, I know a physician, a good man. He may be able to help David.’

  Hobbey said eagerly, ‘Might he help him walk again?’

  ‘I cannot promise that.’

  ‘I do not deserve to,’ David burst out passionately.

  I said, though again only to comfort the poor creature, ‘Leave that to God.’

  AN HOUR LATER Barak and I rode out of Hoyland Priory for the last time and turned on to the London road. Before I left I had done one more thing; I went into Emma’s room and took the little cross from where it still lay in the drawer by the bed.

  ‘Home,’ Barak said. ‘Home at last. To see my son born.’ I looked at him, noticing the paunch he had begun to carry in London was gone. He followed my gaze. ‘Soon have the weight back on,’ he said cheerfully. ‘Rest and some good beer, that’ll do it.’

  Yet there was a delay. We passed the turning for Rolfswood, and I had looked up the road to Sussex between the steep banks. Then a couple of miles further on we found three soldiers standing across the road, blocking it. They told us that up the road a bridge had collapsed and was being repaired. It was late in the afternoon, and the soldiers told us we would have to find somewhere to stay for the night.

  Barak was angry. ‘Isn’t there any way we can get past? There’s only two of us and my wife in London has a baby due soon.’

  ‘Nobody goes across till the repair’s completed. There are soldiers and supplies waiting to go to Portsmouth.’

  Barak looked ready to argue, but I said, ‘Let us make a virtue of necessity, Jack, and go to Rolfswood.’

  He turned away from the soldier’s stare. ‘Come on, then,’ he muttered, waiting till we were out of their hearing to follow the comment with a string of oaths.

  ROLFSWOOD was quiet again, peaceful in the summer evening. We passed Buttress’s house. ‘What will you do about that rogue?’ Barak asked.

  ‘As with Priddis, I doubt there is anything I can do. If I try to raise the issue of whether he and Priddis got together to forge Ellen’s signature, it just opens up the story of the rape. And I do not think that would be in anyone’s interest now.’

  ‘At least Rich has had his wings clipped.’

  ‘A little. And we can leave West’s mother to believe her son died a hero.’

  ‘I wonder what the inquest on poor Master Fettiplace will decide.’

  ‘Murder by persons unknown, I am sure. Let us leave it there.’

  We rode on to the inn, where we found a place for the night. We ate dinner, then I left Barak alone, for I had a visit to make.

  THE VICARAGE looked as tumbledown as ever, the gnarled cherry tree in full leaf in the unkempt garden. Reverend Seckford answered my knock. He looked sober for once, though there was a beer stain on his surplice. He invited me in. I told him the whole story, about West and Ellen, and David and Emma, and the men I had seen die on the Mary Rose.

  It was dark by the time I concluded; Seckford had lit candles in his parlour. He had prevailed on me to share a jug of beer; I had drunk one mug to his three. When I finished the story he sat with bowed head, plump hands trembling on his lap. Then he looked up. ‘This King has had three wars against France, and lost all of them. All for his own glory. You know, the Church has a doctrine called just war. St Thomas Aquinas wrote on it, though the doctrine is much older than that. A State going to war must have tried all other options, must have justice on its side and have an honourable purpose in mind. None of Henry’s wars has been like that. Though he claims to be God’s representative on earth.’

  ‘Which wars do have justice on their side, Master Seckford?’

  He raised his cup to his lips with a shaking hand. ‘Some, perhaps. But not this King’s.’ He spoke with sudden anger. ‘Blame him, blame him for the men dead on the Mary Rose, the soldiers and the women and children in France. And even for Philip West, may his sins be forgiven.’

  ‘I keep seeing my friend’s face, all the other soldiers, I see them crashing into the water. Over and again.’ I smiled wryly. ‘A woman I admire greatly tells me to seek refuge in prayer.’

  ‘You should.’

  I burst out, ‘How can God allow such things to happen? How? I think of that ship going down, of the savagery Reformers and Catholics show to each other, of Emma and Hobbey and David and sometimes – forgive me, but sometimes I think God only laughs at us.’

  Seckford put down his cup. ‘I understand how people can think like that nowadays. And if God were all powerful, perhaps you would be right. But the Gospels tell a different story. The Cross, you see. For myself I think Christ suffers with us.’

  ‘What is the good of that, Reverend Seckford? How does that help?’

  ‘The age of miracles is long gone. See – ’ He picked up his mug again. ‘He cannot even stop me drinking, though I would like Him to.’

  ‘Why?’ I asked. ‘Why can he not?’

  He smiled sadly. ‘I do not know, I am only a drunken old country priest. But I have faith. It is the only way to live with the mystery.’

  I shook my head. ‘Faith is beyond me now.’

  Seckford smiled. ‘You do not like mysteries, do you? You like to solve them. As you have solved the mystery of Ellen.’

  ‘At such cost.’

  He looked at me. ‘You will take care of her?’

  ‘I will do all I can.’

  ‘And that poor girl Emma, and the wreckage of that Hobbey family?’

  ‘So far as possible.’

  Seckford leaned forward, placed his trembling hand on my arm. ‘ “Faith, Hope and Charity,” ’ he quoted. ‘ “But the greatest of these is charity.” ’

  ‘That is an old-fashioned doctrine nowadays.’

  ‘The best, nonetheless, Master Shardlake. Remember me to Ellen when you see her. And tonight I shall light candles in the church for your friend George Leacon and his men. I shall make it a blaze of colour for them.’

  He laid a shaking hand on mine. But I found it poor comfort.

  Chapter Fifty-one

  BARAK AND I ARRIVED back in London five days later, on the afternoon of the 27th of July. We had been away almost a month. We had returned the horses at Kingston and made the final leg of the journey, like the first, by boat. Even the tidal swell of the river made me feel uneasy, though I tried to hide it.

  We walked up through Temple Gardens. Dyrick would be back in
his chambers soon; if Emma appeared I would have to liaise with him to get Hugh’s – as the court supposed Emma to be – wardship transferred to me. But if she were never seen again I could do nothing.

  Fleet Street and the Strand presented the same aspect as when we had left; groups of corner boys in blue robes boldly scrutinizing passers-by; posters pasted to the buildings warning of French spies. The boatman had told us more soldiers were being sent south; the French were still in the Solent.

  Barak invited me to come to his house to see Tamasin, but I knew he would rather greet her alone so I said I must go to my chambers. We parted at the bottom of Chancery Lane. He promised to be in chambers the following morning. I walked on, turning in at Lincoln’s Inn gate. I wanted to see how things fared there, and also to consider how I would tackle Coldiron when I returned home.

  GATEHOUSE COURT was hot, dusty-smelling in the summer sun. Barristers and clerks walked to and fro within the square of red brick buildings. Here there was no sign of war. I felt myself relax at the old familiar scene as I walked to my chambers. I had sent Skelly a note from Esher saying I would shortly be back, and he rose to greet me with a smile.

  ‘Are you well, sir?’ From the hesitation in his voice I could tell the strain of what I had been through showed on my face.

  ‘Well enough. And you? Your wife and children?’

  ‘We are all in good health, thanks be to God.’

  ‘Everything well here?’

  ‘Yes, sir. A few new cases are in, to come on in the new term.’

  ‘Good.’ I sighed. ‘I want to encourage some new work.’

  ‘We heard about the French trying to invade the Isle of Wight, the loss of the Mary Rose in front of the King himself. They’re sending another fifteen hundred men down from London – ’

  ‘Yes, the road to Portsmouth was busy with men and supplies on our way back.’

  ‘Nobody seems to know what will happen next. The ship Hedgehog blew up in the Thames the same day the Mary Rose sank; some say she was blown up by French spies, though others blame the stock of gunpowder she carried not being supervised properly – ’