C.J. Sansom - Heartstone

'I wonder what they're up to in the village,' Barak said.

'Trying to bully them over the woodlands, probably.'

We went down the side of the great hall and round to the front of the house. In Abigail's garden the flowers were dying unwatered in the heat. I said, 'Remember when that greyhound killed Abigail's dog? Remember her saying I was a fool who did not see what was in front of me? If I had, then, she might not have died. But they were so clever, all of them. Come,' I said savagely, 'let's get this over.'

We walked round to the front porch. Hugh was sitting on the steps, oiling his bow. He wore a grey smock and a broad-brimmed hat to shade his face. When he saw us he jumped to his feet. He looked shocked.

'Good afternoon, Hugh,' I said quietly.

'What do you want?' His voice trembled. 'You are not welcome here.'

'I need to talk to Master Hobbey. Do you know where he is?'

'I think he's gone to the village.'

'I will go in and see.'

'Fulstowe will throw you out.'

I met Hugh's gaze, this time letting my eyes rove openly over his long, tanned face, staring straight at the smallpox scars. He looked away. 'Come, Jack,' I said. We walked past Hugh, up the steps.

The great hall, too, was silent and empty. The saints in the old west window at the far end still raised their hands to heaven. The walls remained blank; I wondered where the tapestries were. Then a door at the upper end of the hall opened, and David came in, dressed in mourning black. Like Hugh and the servant before him, he stared at us wonderingly. Then he walked forward, his solid body settling into an aggressive posture.

'You!' he shouted angrily. 'What are you doing here?'

'There is something I need to see your father about,' I told him.

'He's not here!' David's voice rose to a shout. 'He's gone to the village with Fulstowe, to sort out those serfs.'

'Then we will wait till he returns.'

'What's this about?'

'Something important.' I looked into the boy's wide, angry blue eyes. 'Something I have discovered about the family.' David's full lips worked, and his expression turned from truculence to fear.

'Go away! I am in charge in my father's absence. I order you to leave!' he shouted. 'I order you out of this house!' He was breathing heavily, almost panting.

'Very well, David,' I said quietly. 'We will go. For now.' I turned and walked away to the door. Barak followed, casting glances over his shoulder to where David stood staring. Then the boy turned and walked rapidly away. A door slammed.

We stepped back into the sunlight. In the distance I saw Hugh standing, shooting arrows at the butts. Barak said, 'David looked like he'd been found out in something.'

'He has, and realized it. He is not quite as stupid as he seems.'

'He looked like he might have another fit.'

'Poor creature,' I said sorrowfully. 'There is every reason to pity David Hobbey. More than any of them.'

'All right,' Barak said in a sharp voice. 'Enough riddles. Tell me what's going on.'

'I said I wanted you to see. Come, walk with me.'

I led the way round the side of the house. Here we had a clear view of Hugh. He stood with feet planted firmly on the lawn. He had a bagful of arrows at his belt and was shooting them, one after another, at the target. Several were stuck there already. Hugh reached down, fitted another arrow to his bow, bent back, rose up and shot. The arrow hit the centre of the target.

'By God,' Barak said. 'He gets better and better.'

I laughed then, loudly and bitterly. Barak looked at me in surprise.

'There is what none of us saw,' I said, 'except Feaveryear, who realized and ran to Dyrick. I think Dyrick did not know until Hobbey told him after Lamkin died. I remember he looked perturbed after that. He had probably demanded Hobbey tell him what it was Abigail had said I could not see.'

'Know what?' Barak's voice was angry now. 'All I see is Hugh Curteys shooting on the lawn. We saw that every day for a week.'

I said quietly, 'That is not Hugh Curteys.'

Now Barak looked alarmed for my sanity. His voice rose. 'Then who the hell is it?'

'Hugh Curteys died six years ago. That is Emma, his sister.'

'What—'

'They both had smallpox. But I believe it was Hugh that died, not Emma. We know Hobbey was in financial difficulties. He could hold off his creditors by making a bond to pay them, over a period of years, and creaming off the money from the Curteys children's woodlands. I think that is why he took the wardship.'

'But that's a boy—'

'Let me continue.' I went on, in tones of quiet intensity, 'But then Hugh died. Remember how wardship works: a boy has to be twenty-one to sue out his livery and gain possession of his lands, but a girl can inherit at fourteen. Emma would have inherited Hugh's share of the lands automatically. Hobbey no doubt had thought he would have control at least for nine years, but now he faced losing them in one. Not long enough to pay off his debts. So I think they substituted Emma for Hugh.'

'They couldn't—'

'They could. It helped that the children were so close in age and looked alike, though no one who knew them both would have been deceived. So they dismissed Michael Calfhill at once and left London quickly.'

'But Michael said he saw Emma buried.'

'It was Hugh in that coffin.'

'Jesus.'

'Michael never did anything wrong with Hugh. And when he came to visit last spring he recognized Emma.'

Barak leaned forward, watching the figure on the lawn intently as another arrow was loosed at the target. Like the last, it hit dead centre. 'You're wrong, that's not a girl. And what on earth would be in it for her?'

'Not marrying David, I would guess. Of course, she might have learned from Michael that David's falling sickness meant she could go to the Court of Wards and say a marriage to him would be disparagement. But, with Michael gone and her fate in the hands of the Hobbeys, it would be a hard thing for a thirteen-year-old girl to do on her own. And the impersonation would have given her some power over the Hobbeys. She held their fate in her hands. I would guess Emma agreed to the substitution because it meant there could never be a marriage. That was probably all she thought of then,' I added sadly. 'But once it was done they were all trapped.'

Barak shaded his eyes with his hand, looked again at Hugh. 'That is no girl. It can't be.'

'Keep your voice down. No, you wouldn't think so. But a girl may learn skill at the bow, may be educated as well as a man. I think that is why the time I met Lady Elizabeth kept coming back into my mind. She too is a good archer. And if a girl has learned to walk as a boy, dress as a boy, behave as a boy and shoot arrows like a boy, then among strangers the deception may be kept up for years. If she is tall, that helps too.'

'But her breasts? And the stubble—Hugh gets shaved regularly.'

'Breasts can be flattened with padding. And though they have taken trouble to tell us Hugh is shaved regularly I have never seen any stubble on his face. Have you?'

'But he had shaving cuts—'

'He had cuts on his face. Or rather, hers. Those are easy enough to make.'

'No Adam's apple—'

'Some boys have a prominent one, like Feaveryear. Others have one that is barely noticeable. And her scars prevented anyone from looking too closely at her neck.'

Barak stared harder. 'But to keep it up for years—'

'Yes. It must have been a terrible strain on them all, one that unbalanced Abigail and David. They told Fulstowe, of course—his help was essential. And that gave him a hold over the family. The Hobbeys must soon have realized they were caught, trapped for ever. Because once it started there was no going back. If they were found out they could have ended in prison.'