Heartstone (Matthew Shardlake #5)(88)

This time he answered the door, already dressed in shirt and doublet.

‘I am sorry to disturb you so early,’ I said, ‘but I am setting out for Sussex now, and I wanted to return your book.’

He hesitated a moment before inviting me in, as courtesy demanded.

The room was furnished with a bed, a chest and a table, and a wall hanging in green and white stripes, the Tudor colours. On a shelf above the table I saw, to my surprise, a collection of perhaps two dozen books. The room smelled strongly of wax and Hugh’s bow, unstrung, leaned against a corner of the bed. A box of wax and a rag lay beside it.

‘I am polishing my bow.’ He gave a little smile. ‘Mistress Abigail prefers me to do it outside, but at this hour who will know?’

‘It is early indeed.’

‘I like to rise before everyone else, have some time to myself before they are all up.’ I caught a note of contempt in Hugh’s voice and looked at him keenly. He coloured and put a hand to his neck. He is very conscious of those marks, I thought.

‘You have many books,’ I said. ‘May I look?’

‘Please do.’

There were Latin and Greek classics, a book on manners for young gentlemen, and copies of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, The Book of the Hunt and Boorde’s Dietary of Health, as well as Sir Thomas More’s Utopia. There were, unusually, no religious works save a New Testament.

‘A fine collection,’ I observed. ‘Few people your age have so many.’

‘Some were my father’s, and Master Hobbey fetched some for me from London. But I have no one to discuss them with since our last tutor left.’

I took down The Book of the Hunt. ‘This is the classic work on hunting, I believe.’

‘It is. Originally by a Frenchman, but translated by the Duke of York, who died at Agincourt. When nine thousand English archers routed a huge French army,’ he added proudly. He sat down on the bed.

‘Are you looking forward to the hunt next week?’ I asked.

‘Very much. It will only be my third. We do not socialize much here.’

‘I understand it has taken time for the local gentlefolk to accept the family.’

‘It is only the prospect of the hunt that is bringing them. So Mistress Abigail says at least.’ I realized how isolated Hugh was down here, David too.

‘At my last hunt it was I who brought down the hart,’ Hugh added proudly.

‘I was told you were awarded the heartstone, that you wear it round your neck still.’

His hand rose to his neck again. His eyes narrowed. ‘By whom?’

‘Master Avery.’

‘You have been questioning him about me?’

‘Hugh, the only reason I am here is to look into your welfare.’

Those unreadable blue-green eyes met mine. ‘I told you yesterday, sir, I have no complaints.’

‘Before I left London, Bess Calfhill gave me something for you. Something Mistress Hobbey gave to Michael. It was your sister’s.’ I opened my hand and showed him the decorated cross. At once tears started to his eyes. He turned his head away.

‘Michael kept it till he died?’ Hugh asked, his voice hoarse.

‘Yes, he did.’ I laid the cross on the bed beside him. Hugh reached out and grasped it. He took out a handkerchief, wiped his eyes, then looked at me.

‘Mistress Calfhill remembers my sister?’

‘Very fondly.’

He was silent a moment, grasping the cross tightly. Then he asked, ‘What is London like now? I have been here so long. I remember little more than the noise, people always shouting in the streets, and then the quiet of our garden.’ Again I sensed a weariness in him that a boy of his age should not feel.

‘If you went to university you could meet new people your age, Hugh, discuss books from morn to night. Master Hobbey must make provision if you want to go.’

He looked up, gave a tight smile, then quoted: ‘ “In study every part of the body is idle, which encourages gross and cold humours.” ’

‘Toxophilus?’

‘Yes. You know I wish not to study but to go to war. Use my skills at the bow.’

‘I confess I think Master Hobbey right to stop you.’

‘When you go to Portsmouth on Friday, will you see your friend the captain of archers?’

‘I hope so.’

‘David and I are coming. To see the ships and soldiers. Tell me, were there lads my age among those archers? I have seen companies on the road to Portsmouth where some soldiers looked no older than me.’

I thought of Tom Llewellyn. ‘In truth, Master Hugh, the youngest recruit I met was a year or so older than you. A right well-built lad.’

‘I am strong enough, and skilled enough, too, I think, to bury a well-steeled arrow in a Frenchman’s heart. God give them pestilence.’ He spoke with passion. I must have looked surprised, for he flushed and lowered his head, rubbing one of the little moles on his face. Suddenly the lad seemed terribly vulnerable. He looked up again. ‘Tell me, sir, is Master Dyrick your friend? They say lawyers argue over cases but are friends outside the court.’

‘Sometimes they are. But Master Dyrick and I – no, we are not friends.’

He nodded. ‘Good. I dislike him. But often in this life we must spend our time associating with those who are not friends, must we not?’ He gave a bitter little laugh, then said, ‘Time goes on, sir. I should not detain you.’