Heartstone (Matthew Shardlake #5)(160)

‘I want to find out exactly what happened to Ellen Fettiplace that night.’

‘Do you know where she is?’ West asked.

‘Do you?’

He did not answer, and I realized then he knew Ellen was in the Bedlam. The fight seemed to go out of him suddenly and he stepped away. He said, bitterly, ‘My friend betrayed me that day. Then I discovered what had happened to Ellen. It was because of both those things that I went to sea.’

‘Tell me who your friend was. Now, while there is still time.’

‘Are you working for someone at court?’ The aggression had returned to his voice. ‘Who is interested in reviving that old story?’

‘I am not. I swear, my concern is only with what happened at Rolfswood. Was the man’s name Robert Warner?’

West stared at me. ‘I never heard that name.’ He hesitated a long moment. ‘My friend was called Gregory Jackson.’

‘A lawyer in the Queen’s household?’

‘The King’s. But he was in the Queen’s pay.’

‘What happened to him, Master West?’

‘He is dead,’ West answered flatly. ‘Years ago, from the sweating sickness.’

I stared at him. Was he lying? I did not trust that long pause before he gave the name; he should have remembered it instantly. West had stepped back from the candlelight, his face dim again. I asked once more, ‘Do you know what happened to Ellen Fettiplace?’

‘I have never seen her since that day.’ His voice had taken on a dangerous edge again.

‘What’s going on here?’ We both turned at a sharp, angry voice from the ladder. A man had climbed down, a middle-aged officer in a yellow doublet. He glared at me, then at West, who had straightened up and stepped away from me. ‘Master Purser,’ West said with a bow.

‘I had your message from Morgan. I’ve got the crew banging spoons against their plates and mewling for food.’

‘There’s a barrel of good stockfish cooking now. It’s all that’s left. The pork was bad. We must get those fresh supplies tonight.’

The purser looked at me. ‘Are you the lawyer with the message?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Delivered it?’ He looked at West, who had composed his face.

‘I have – ’

‘Then get out. They shouldn’t have let you on board.’

‘I—’

‘God’s death, get out! Now!’



ON DECK the men sat with bowls and spoons in their laps, faces sullen. Officers now patrolled the deck. As I watched, the master appeared from a doorway in the forecastle. He stood on the walkway above us, blew his whistle shrilly, and shouted down in a loud clear voice: ‘Men! Your food is coming! The pork was bad, but there’s stockfish cooking! More stores will be brought across tonight! And I have had word that when the King comes to Portsmouth tomorrow he is coming to inspect the Mary Rose! He is to dine on the Great Harry, then come here afterwards. All know the Mary Rose is his favourite ship! So come, lads, cry “God save King Harry!” ’

The sailors looked at each other, then ragged cries of ‘God save King Harry!’ sounded along the deck. Some of the foreign sailors, not understanding, looked at each other in puzzlement. ‘Hail the King, dogs!’ someone shouted at them. The master stepped across the walkway to the aftercastle. I made my way to Leacon, who stood watching by the blinds. He gave me my robe; I was glad to put it on, feeling chilled in the night air after the heat of the galley.

‘What’s the matter, Matthew?’ he asked. ‘You look as though you’d seen a ghost.’

‘For a moment I thought I was in Hell, down in that galley.’

‘I hope they really do have some food.’

‘They do.’ I heard the master’s voice from high up in the aftercastle, more cheers for the King.

‘And you?’ Leacon asked. ‘Did you find Master West? Did you get the answers you sought?’

I sighed. ‘Only some. The purser arrived and ordered me off. I got enough answers to worry me, though.’

He looked at me seriously. ‘I have to get back to camp.’

‘Of course. There is no more I can do here.’

Leacon leaned through the blind, signalling to the boatman below. He helped me clamber through. I found my footing on the rope ladder and we descended to the boat. The boatman pulled out again, over the moonlit sea. I looked back at the Mary Rose, then across to the Great Harry. ‘Now we know what they were doing with that pig,’ I said. ‘Practising lifting the King aboard. He’d never get up a ladder.’

‘No. The master did well to marshal the sailors then, that was a nasty mood developing on deck. By Mary, the people organizing the supplies – cheating merchants, corrupt officials.’

Like Richard Rich, I thought.

‘Best the French come soon and make an end of this waiting,’ Leacon said passionately. ‘Get it over, one way or the other.’

I looked at his troubled face, but did not reply. When we reached the wharf again it was a relief to climb back on land. A group of ragged-looking men were being led up Oyster Street by constables armed with staves. One was protesting angrily. ‘I’ve a job at the warehouse!’

‘I’ve seen you begging by the churchyard. All beggars out of Portsmouth tonight!’