Heartstone (75 page)

ONE OF THE soldiers took the horse, and the officer, with ill grace, led me across the drawbridge. We passed through the big gatehouse, guarded by more soldiers, which gave entrance to the castle and came out into a huge open space where there were yet more soldiers' tents. Men were drilling and practising with their bows on the cropped grass. Ahead of me was an enormous storehouse. The door was open and I saw it was near empty; most of the stores would have been taken to Portsmouth. A path ran straight across the enclosure to another gate on the opposite side, giving on to the harbour. Soldiers patrolled the walls and I saw the dark shapes of cannon; if the French managed to enter the harbour they might try to land here.

We turned left towards the tall inner keep; it was surrounded by a complex of smaller buildings, closed off by internal walls and protected by a continuation of the moat. The petty-captain had to explain his mission to the guards stationed there before he was allowed to lead me across the inner moat into a central yard. With the King away few people remained there. We passed through a high ornate door, then climbed a flight of steps to a great hall with a splendid hammerbeam roof. I was handed on to an official who led me down a narrow corridor into a small antechamber, telling me to wait. There were some cushioned chairs; I sat down wearily. It was quiet; a clock on the buffet ticked steadily. The sun streamed in through an arched window.

The door opened and Warner entered, my letter in his hand. He looked agitated. ‘Matthew, what is this?' he asked. ‘I hope it is urgent.'

I stood and bowed. ‘It is. I need to speak with you, Robert.'

‘Why are you still here?' he asked sharply. ‘The Queen recommended you to leave. You know the King is here?'

‘I saw him enter Portsmouth two hours ago.'

‘Please tell me nothing more has happened at Hoyland Priory. The Queen was most concerned to learn of that woman's death.'

‘A man has been arrested for Abigail Hobbey's murder, a local yeoman. I believe he is innocent.'

He waved a hand impatiently. ‘The Queen cannot deal with that now.'

‘And I have been warned to drop the Curteys case. By none other than Sir Richard Rich.'

I watched carefully for Warner's reaction, but he only looked surprised. ‘What on earth has Rich to do with Hoyland?'

‘I do not know. But I remember the day I came to Hampton Court to see the Queen, Rich was standing in a doorway in Clock Court when I left her. With Sir Thomas Seymour. They took the opportunity to bait me a little, but I thought the meeting was ill chance. Now I am not so sure.'

He shook his head. ‘I can make nothing of this.'

I continued, ‘I believe I mentioned I wished to take the opportunity to look into another matter down here.'

‘You did.' He frowned. ‘If there is a connection to the Hugh Curteys case, you should have told the Queen.'

‘I have only recently discovered there may be a link. A man called Sir Quintin Priddis.'

‘Matthew, the Queen cannot be troubled with this now,' he said sharply. ‘The King needs her full support. You were told to leave—'

I said quickly, ‘I have been investigating how a woman called Ellen Fettiplace came to be placed in the Bedlam nineteen years ago, despite there being no certificate of lunacy. Sir Quintin Priddis was involved. My trail led me to a town near the Sussex border, Rolfswood, where the body of her late father was recently discovered. It looks like murder. I have been talking to the man who was to marry her. He is now assistant purser on the
Mary Rose
. His name is Philip West.'

I watched Warner's face as I recited those names, but he still only looked puzzled and annoyed. ‘Master West told me an extraordinary tale,' I continued. ‘When he was young he was at court. He was favoured by the King and chosen to take a letter from Petworth to Hever Castle, the same summer of 1526 that Ellen's father disappeared and she went to the Bedlam. The letter was stolen by the man West was travelling with, a young lawyer in Catherine of Aragon's service.'

‘What is all this to do—'

I continued relentlessly. ‘He believes the lawyer was a spy for Catherine of Aragon and took the letter to her. It may have given her early warning of the King's intention to divorce her. West told the King the letter was lost, not stolen. He told me the man who stole it was named Gregory Jackson, and that he is dead, but I have wondered whether West might have been lying.'

Warner stared at me; then he reddened and his face grew hard. ‘What are you saying?' I did not answer. ‘You know I was a young lawyer in Catherine of Aragon's household then.' He said quietly, ‘You think it might have been me.' He took a deep breath. ‘Very well.'

He turned round and walked to the door. ‘Wait here,' he said. Before I could move he had gone, closing the door. I heard him call out to a guard to watch it.

FOR HALF AN HOUR I waited and sweated. And I thought, Barak was right, I have become obsessed; if he had come here with me, I would have led us both into danger. When the door opened I jumped involuntarily, my heart in my mouth. Warner was there, two guards with halberds behind him. ‘Come with me,' he said abruptly. I went out, the guards taking positions behind me.

Warner led me downstairs, our feet clattering on stone flags, and I thought with horror, this is a castle, it will have dungeons. But he stopped on the ground floor, took me along a corridor and then opened a door that led, to my surprise, into a small, secluded garden surrounded by trees. Vines hung from trellises and flowers grew in little banks by the walls. There, shaded by a trellis, the Queen sat, the spaniel Rig on her knee, two maids-in-waiting standing behind her. She wore a dress in her favourite crimson and a hood patterned with flowers, tiny diamonds sewn into the petals. She looked up at me and I saw her face was tight with strain, dark circles under the eyes. Her body was tense, rigid, her face angry. I bowed deeply.

‘Matthew!' The Queen's tone was low, hurt. ‘Master Warner tells me you have accused him of being in the pay of that scoundrel Richard Rich.'

I turned to Warner, who gazed back at me steadily. ‘I made no accusation, your majesty. But I feared—'

‘He has told me. It sounds scant reason to come here and accuse him. Now, of all times.'

‘Your majesty, my concern was for the integrity of your household.'

The Queen closed her eyes. ‘Oh, Matthew, Matthew,' she said. She looked at me again, steadily. ‘Have you told anyone else this story?'

‘Only Barak.'

‘Well, it is true at least that this man West lied to you.' The Queen gestured wearily to her lawyer. ‘Tell him, Robert.'

Warner said coldly, ‘There was indeed a young lawyer in Catherine of Aragon's household named Gregory Jackson. He worked for me, in fact. But he died in 1525, the year before West lost this letter. From the sweating sickness. I remember, I went to his funeral. So the man West and his mother spoke of could not have been Jackson. But nor was it me. Queen Catherine of Aragon had her spies, certainly, who would try to ferret out whatever they could about the King's mistresses. But they were mostly servants in the King's household. And on my oath I was no spy, I was a lawyer then as I am now. And I have no connections with Richard Rich, no dealings with that man if I can avoid it. I thought it best to lay your - insinuation - directly before the Queen.'

‘And I trust Robert.' The Queen's voice rose. ‘Do you think me a fool, Matthew, not to be sure whom I can trust in my service, when I know what can happen to queens in this country?'

I looked between her and Warner, saw the anger in both their faces. I realized I had been wrong. ‘I apologize most humbly, your majesty. And to you, Master Warner.'

The Queen turned to Warner. ‘I wonder if there even was a letter.'

‘I do not know, your majesty. I never heard anything, but I was not greatly in Catherine of Aragon's confidence. She knew or guessed by then that I was beginning to have reformist sympathies.'

I said, ‘Either way, West lied about this man Jackson.'

He nodded stiffly in agreement. I looked back at the Queen. ‘And there is still the question of Rich's involvement in the Curteys affair. There is a common link between the Curteys case and the Sussex matter - the feodary Sir Quintin Priddis, who was once a Sussex coroner. He is an old friend of Rich.'

The Queen considered. ‘The death of poor Mistress Hobbey - you told Robert a man had been accused?'

‘A local yeoman. He had been contesting attempts by Master Hobbey to enclose Hoyland village.'

‘You believe him innocent?'

‘Yes. There is no real evidence.'

‘Is there any evidence against anyone else?'

I hesitated. ‘No.'

‘Then he will stand trial. The truth will be investigated there.'

‘He is in prison now. I have offered to take up the villagers' case at the Court of Requests.'

‘You have been busy,' Warner said sarcastically.

The Queen said, ‘And the man found dead at Rolfswood, the father of your - friend - in Bedlam. What will happen there?'

‘There will be an inquest. I do not know when.'

The Queen looked at me. ‘Then that will be the time to ferret out the truth. As for Hugh Curteys, whatever corruption there may have been in the administration of his lands, if he does not wish to pursue the case, there is nothing to be done. Matthew, I know you never like to let a matter rest once you have taken it up, but sometimes in this life you must. These matters will have to await due process. And you should not be here. The French are coming, there could be mortal danger.' She raised a hand and pinched the bridge of her nose.

‘Are you all right, your majesty?' I asked.

‘Tired, that is all. The King slept badly last night and called me to talk with him. Often now he cannot sleep from the pain from his leg.'

‘You do not know how difficult life is for the Queen just now,' Warner said angrily. ‘Why do you think the King has left her here today? I will tell you,' he went on. ‘Because if, which God forbid, he should be killed or captured in these next few days, the Queen will be Regent for Prince Edward as she was when the King went to France last year, and she will have to deal with all of them. Gardiner, Norfolk, the Seymours, Cranmer. And Rich.' He moved a step closer to his mistress, protectively. ‘These last two years she has kept her patronage of you as unobtrusive as she can, lest the King remember your past encounter and be annoyed. And now you stay in Hampshire against her wishes, you come swaggering in here, making ridiculous accusations against me-'

The Queen looked up and now she was smiling faintly. She put her hand on Warner's sleeve. ‘Come, Robert. Swaggering is something Matthew does not do. Leave us to talk, just for a few moments, then take Matthew out and he can make haste straight back to London.'

Warner bowed deeply to the Queen, then walked stiffly away without another look at me. The Queen nodded to the maids-in-waiting and they stepped to the shade of the doorway. She looked at me, the half-smile still on her face.

‘I know you meant well, Matthew. But never forget that, as the Gospels tell us, the road to Hell is paved with good intentions.'

‘I am sorry. Sorry that I accused Master Warner, and sorrier that you have cause to be angry with me.'

She looked at me intently. ‘Do you see that I have cause? After you disobeyed me?'

‘Yes. Yes, I do.'

She nodded in acknowledgement, then looked down at her dog. ‘Do you remember that day at Hampton Court?' she said in a lighter tone. ‘The Lady Elizabeth was with us. She liked your answers to her questions, she told me later. I think you made a friend there. She does not like everyone, I can tell you.'