Heartstone (Matthew Shardlake #5)(37)

I glared at Dyrick, cursing myself for my weakness. Then I saw the anger in his eyes, fierce as mine. It was no act.

‘I see you have scant answer, Serjeant Shardlake,’ Dyrick continued. ‘I thank you for these depositions, though they are out of time and I shall argue so on Monday—’

‘I see Master Curteys’ estate consists of a considerable acreage of woodland.’

‘All dealt with properly. You have seen the papers.’

‘But no accounts.’

‘Those are kept by the feodary in Hampshire. You may not be familiar with the Court of Wards, Brother, but that is the procedure.’

‘Tell me, Brother Dyrick, is any marriage contemplated for Hugh Curteys?’

‘None.’ He inclined his head and smiled. ‘There is really nothing to investigate, Brother Shardlake.’

‘These accusations must be looked into, and I think the court will agree.’ My voice came scratchy, high-pitched.

Dyrick stood up. ‘I hope your throat is recovered by Monday.’

‘It will be, Brother.’

I got up and turned to leave. Dyrick’s face was cold, stony. I glanced at Feaveryear. For the first time I saw him smile, not at me but at his master. A smile of pure admiration.





Chapter Nine


THE FOLLOWING MORNING I crossed the central yard of Hampton Court again. It was Sunday, a bright, cool day, the day before the hearing. The courtyard was quiet, only a few clerks around; no skulking courtiers today.

A letter from Warner had been waiting when I returned home from my encounter with Dyrick. Coldiron had been standing in the hallway, turning the thick white paper over in his hands, staring at the beautifully written superscription on one side, the Queen’s seal on the other. He handed it to me with new respect in his eye, as well as aching curiosity. I dismissed him curtly and opened it; it asked me to attend the Queen again on the morrow.

I had been instructed to come to Warner’s office, and once more I climbed the spiral steps. I wore my coif to hide my bruises. Warner’s room had been freshly laid with new rushes, their sweetness overcoming the smell of dust and paper. ‘Ah, Brother Shardlake,’ he said. ‘It is cold again. What a summer.’

‘I saw, on my way here, that hailstorm has flattened much of the wheat.’

‘It’s worse in the north. And great winds in the Channel. By Christ’s mercy the Great Harry and the Mary Rose have arrived safely in Portsmouth Haven.’ He looked at me keenly. ‘I showed your message to the Queen. She was disturbed, as I was, by the attack on you. You are recovering?’

‘I am, thank you.’

‘The Queen wishes to see you now.’ Warner opened a side door and called in a young clerk. ‘Serjeant Shardlake is here. Go, inform the Queen. She will just be leaving the chapel.’

The clerk bowed and ran from the room. His footsteps clattered on the steps, then from the window I saw him run across the courtyard. I envied his speed and grace. Warner invited me to sit. He stroked his beard. ‘These are lawless times. Tell me what happened.’

I told him the story, concluding with my visit to Dyrick. ‘He will fight hard for his client,’ I said. ‘And, to be frank, his arguments are strong.’

Warner nodded slowly. ‘Do you think he is involved in what happened to you?’

‘There is no evidence at all. When I first saw him I thought he was acting the part of the outraged lawyer. But then I sensed an anger behind the legal dancing, some personal feeling.’ I hesitated. ‘Talking of that, Mistress Calfhill told me the Queen was very fond of Michael.’

‘That is my impression too.’

Warner frowned. I could see he wished himself, and the Queen, rid of this.

‘One thing, Master Warner. There is a rumour that Master Hobbey was in debt at the time of his move to Hampshire. I spoke to Alderman Carver of the Mercers’ Guild, but he was reluctant to talk about another member. Is there any way you could make discreet enquiry?’

‘I will see what I can do.’ He stood up, nodding at me to do likewise, as light footsteps sounded on the stairs. We both bowed deeply as the door opened. A maid-in-waiting stepped in and held it open for the Queen.



QUEEN CATHERINE was dressed soberly for Sunday, in a plain dress of grey silk and a hood without jewellery. I thought they suited her less well than the bright colours she favoured, though they showed her auburn hair to advantage. She indicated that Warner and I should sit. The maid-in-waiting took a stool by the window, folding her hands in her lap.

‘Matthew,’ she began, ‘Robert tells me you have been attacked. Are you safe?’

‘Quite safe, your majesty.’

‘I thank God for it. And what of the case? I understand there is little new evidence.’ Her eyes were full of sorrow. Bess was right. She had cared deeply for Michael.

I told her that apart from Broughton’s confirming his and Michael’s opposition to the wardship, I had discovered little. She sat, considering, then said quietly, ‘One thing I know about Michael, have known since he was a child. He was a good man, full of the kindness and charity that our Lord wished us all to have, though few enough do. He would never have made up a story to harm Hobbey. Never, even if his mind was disturbed.’

‘That is my impression.’