C.J. Sansom - Heartstone

'I have met Master Ascham. He—he is one who does swagger.' She laughed. 'But he is a learned man. The Lady Elizabeth has expressed a wish to correspond with him. She is such a remarkable child. Master Grindal is teaching her well, he is one of those who believes a woman may learn anything as well as a man. That is good. I often wish I had had a better education.' She smiled again, and a little merriment came to her eyes. 'Though I wish Elizabeth would not swear like a boy. I tell her it is not ladylike.' The Queen looked round the little garden; sunlight came through the trees, making patterns on the ground as the breeze shifted the branches. Birds sang softly. 'This is a peaceful little place,' she said wistfully. 'Tell me, what is Hugh Curteys like?'

'He is somehow—unreadable. But he still mourns his sister.'

Her face clouded again. 'Many in England may be in mourning before long. I wish the King had never—' she cut herself short, biting her lip, then reached out and touched my hand. 'I am sorry I was vexed, Matthew. I am tired.'

'Should I leave you, your majesty?'

'Yes. I may go to my chamber and rest. But I pray God we may meet again, safe, in London.'

I bowed and stepped to the door. I was full of gratitude for her forgiveness, and deeply sorry now for my accusations against Warner. I might have gained a friend in little Lady Elizabeth, but I had lost one, too. Then I frowned. Something was nagging at my mind. Something the Queen had said about Elizabeth. The maids-in-waiting moved aside to let me pass, dresses rustling. Inside, Warner waited, his manner still cold and hostile.

'Robert,' I said, 'I apologize again—'

'Come, you should leave, now.'

We went back up the stairs I had descended in such fear. 'Master Warner,' I said when we reached the top. 'There is one last question I would ask, if you will?'

'Well?' he asked roughly.

'Something you said to me at Hampton Court. You said the Queen was like Catherine of Aragon, utterly loyal to her servants.'

'Do not worry,' he said contemptuously, 'the Queen will stay loyal to you.'

'I did not mean that. It was something else you said, that Catherine of Aragon had her faults. What did you mean by that?'

'It is simple enough. She was another like you, sir, who would not let go when sense and even decency indicated she ought. When the King first said he wished to divorce her, the Pope sent her a message. That I did know of, as her lawyer. The Pope, to whom Catherine of Aragon's ultimate loyalty lay as a Catholic, suggested that in order to resolve the problems that were beginning to tear England apart, she should retire to a nunnery, which in canon law would allow the King to marry again without a divorce.'

'That would have been a neat answer.'

'It would have been the best answer. She was past childbearing age; the King would not bed with her anyway. She could have kept her status and honours, lived an easy life. And her daughter Mary that she loved would have kept her place in the succession rather than being threatened, as she was later, with execution. So much blood and trouble would have been spared. And the irony is Catherine of Aragon's obstinacy meant that England split from Rome; the last thing she wanted.'

'Of course. I see.'

Warner smiled tightly. 'But she believed God desired her to stay married to the King. And as often happens, God's will and her own chimed nicely. So there you are, that is where obstinacy may lead. Fortunately, our present Queen has a strong sense of realism. Stronger than some men, for all that she is a weak woman.'

He turned on his heel, and led me away. And with his last words it came to me, like a click in the brain. I understood now what had happened at Hoyland, what the secret was that everyone had known and concealed. Warner turned and looked at me in surprise as I released a sound that started as a sigh but ended as a groan.

AN HOUR LATER Barak and I were riding north along the London road. When I arrived at the inn I had been moved by the relief on his face. I told him Warner was innocent and that I had received a deserved rebuke from the Queen.

'Well,' he said, 'I did warn you.'

'Yes. You did.'

As we rode on I was silent; Barak probably thought I was in a chastened mood, but I was thinking hard, turning everything over since that flash of revelation as I left the Queen, afraid I might be building another castle in the air. But this time everything fitted tightly. And it would be easy to find out, very easy.

I said quietly, 'I want to call in at Hoyland on the way. Just briefly.'

For a second I thought he would fall from his saddle. ' Hoyland ? Have you gone stark mad? What sort of welcome do you think you'll get?'

'I know now what it was that the Hobbeys were keeping quiet. What caused poor Michael Calfhill such distress when he came, and why Feaveryear left.'

'Jesus Christ, another theory.'

'It is easy to test. It should only take half an hour. And if I am wrong no harm will be done, and we can be on our way.'

'Do you think you know who killed Abigail?' he asked sharply.

'I am not sure yet. But if I am right, the killer came from within the household not the village.' I gave him a pleading look. 'Maybe I am wrong, but if I am right Ettis may be proved innocent. Half an hour. But if you want, ride on and find a bed in Petersfield.'

He looked down the dusty, tree-shaded road, then at me, and to my relief he shook his head and laughed. 'I give up,' he said. 'I'll come. After all, it's only the Hobbeys we have to face this time.'

I KNEW THAT if we rode up to the front door of Hoyland Priory, Fulstowe might see us and order us off. Accordingly we turned onto the path along the edge of the hunting park that led to the rear gate. Overhanging branches brushed us as we rode quietly along. I remembered the day of the hunt, the great stag turning at bay. And the day we had ridden into Hugh's woodland and that arrow had plunged into the tree beside us.

We dismounted beside the gate. 'Let's tie the horses to a tree,' I said.

'I hope it's unlocked.'

'It's flimsy. If need be we can smash it open.'

'Breaking and entering?' Barak looked at me seriously. 'That's not like you.'

But it was unlocked, and we stepped quietly through into the familiar grounds. Ahead was the lawn dotted with its trees; to our left the kennels and other outhouses. Barak looked down to the little sheds where he and Dyrick's clerk had lodged. He suddenly asked, 'Feaveryear hasn't been harmed, has he?'

'No, he was sent packing back to London because he discovered something.'

'In God's name, what?'

'I want you to see for yourself.'

I looked at the great hall, the sun glinting on the windows. No one was about; it was very quiet. We started a little as a pair of wood pigeons flapped noisily from one tree to another. It was hot, the sun almost directly above. My coif chafed against my brow and I wiped away sweat. I realized I was hungry; it was well past lunchtime. I looked at the old nuns' cemetery, the practice butts, remembered Hobbey saying he wondered if he might be under a curse for taking over the old convent.

One of the servants, a young man from the village, came out of the buttery. He stared at us in astonishment, as though we were ghosts. All the servants would know how I had upset the family at the inquest. I walked across, smiling. 'Good afternoon, fellow. Do you know if Master Hobbey is at home?'

'I—I don't know, sir. He is going to the village today, with Master Fulstowe and Master Dyrick.'

'Dyrick is still here?'

'Yes, sir. I don't know if they've gone out yet. You have come back?'

'Just briefly. Something I need to speak with Master Hobbey about. I will go round to the house.' We walked away, leaving him gazing after us.