C.J. Sansom - Heartstone

'I ran out into the night after her, but she had disappeared. I had to think what to do. I went back to the foundry, but it was already well on fire, Gratwyck still shrieking somewhere inside. So I walked up the path by that pond, looking for the girl.'

'What would you have done, had you found her?'

He shrugged. 'I did not find her. Instead I stepped straight into an older man in a robe.'

'Master Fettiplace.'

'He yelled, "Who are you?" I think he had been out looking for his daughter and come to the foundry to see whether she might be there, though I do not know. He grabbed at me, so I put my sword through him.' Rich spoke quite unemotionally, as though reading a document in court. 'I knew I had to get rid of him before people were attracted by the fire. I couldn't put him in the building, it was ablaze from end to end by now. But it was a moonlit night, I saw a boat by the pond, I rowed him out and sunk him with a discarded lump of iron I found nearby. I walked until dawn broke, then I hired a horse from an inn and rode back to Petworth.'

You were afraid, I thought: walking through the night in a terrified panic after what you'd done.

Rich said, 'Next day West sought me out. I denied I had anything to do with the fire, I said I rode straight back to Petworth, and though he suspected me there was no proof. As for the letter and the rape, I told him we must both keep quiet. But the fool rode back to Rolfswood again, to try and speak to Ellen. That was dangerous, it gave me some sleepless nights. But fortunately the girl had lost her wits, and after a while West and his family arranged with Priddis for her to be taken to the Bedlam. Priddis, as you can imagine, was well paid to ask no questions.'

'So now you have made a new bargain with Philip West.'

'Yes. I am good at bargains.'

'He had insisted Ellen be left alive.'

Rich frowned. 'He said if she ever came to harm he would tell the whole story. He was full of remorse then, he had decided to go to the King's ships. He is half mad—I think part of him wants to die. Though with his honour preserved.' Rich sneered. 'That is why, when I met him today, he agreed to take the Curteys girl on board his ship, so I could bargain for your silence.'

'My silence over what happened at Rolfswood, in return for getting Emma Curteys off that ship. I see. And what of Ellen?'

He spread his little hands. 'I will leave her safe in the Bedlam, under your eye. I understand she would never leave, even if she could.'

I thought hard. But Rich was right. I could perhaps destroy him, but then I would never get Emma Curteys off the Mary Rose . I thought, you will get away with murder. But he had already; I remembered his betrayal of Thomas More, his persecution of heretics in Essex. I asked, 'How can you be sure I will not take Emma off the ship, see her safe, and expose you anyway?'

'Oh, I have thought of that.'

'I guessed you would.' I added, 'You killed Mylling, too, didn't you?'

'He was in my pay, with standing instructions to inform me if anyone asked after Ellen Fettiplace. He told me you had been nosing around. And then, do you know, he tried to blackmail me, asked for more money. He did not know his young clerk was in my pay too. I could not afford any risks, so I arranged for the clerk to deal with him. Shutting him up in that Stinkroom place was a good idea; if he had survived it could be said the door shutting on him was an accident. Young Master Alabaster has his job now.' He bent his head to search among his papers. 'And now,' he concluded briskly, 'here it is.' He pulled out a paper and passed it across to me. 'Your will.'

I jerked backwards, nearly falling off my stool, for wills are made in contemplation of death. Rich gave a mocking laugh. 'Do not worry. Everyone is making wills in this camp with the battle coming. Look through it, there are spaces for your legacies.'

I looked down. I make this will at Portsmouth, the French fleet before me, in contemplation of death. Then the executor's clause: I appoint Sir Richard Rich, of Essex, Privy Councillor to his majesty the King, as my sole executor. Afterwards, the first legacy was already inserted: To the aforesaid Sir Richard Rich, with a request for forgiveness for dishonourable accusations I have laid against him over many years, but who has now shown me his true friendship, 50 marks. There was space for more gifts, then the date, 18th of July 1545 , and space for me and two witnesses to sign.

Rich passed over two blank sheets of paper. 'Copy it out twice,' he instructed briskly, in charge again. 'One copy for me to keep, for I have little doubt you will make a new will when you return to London. That matters not, the fifty marks is a nominal amount, as anyone can see. I want this will, which will be witnessed by a couple of reputable men from this camp who do not know me or you, and who can testify later that your will was made quite freely, for I shall show it in court should you ever make accusations against me.' He tilted his neat little head. 'No legacies to Ellen Fettiplace, by the way.'

I read the draft will again. Neat, tidy, like everything Rich did, except for that first venture at Rolfswood when he had taken huge risks and murdered a man in a panic. He held out a quill and spoke quietly. 'If you betray me, if you leave me with nothing to lose, then believe me something will happen to Ellen Fettiplace. So there you are, we have each other tied up neatly.'

I took the quill and began to write. As I did so I heard voices outside, clatter, noise: the King's party, returning from South Sea Castle. I heard people talking in low, serious tones as they passed Rich's tent.

When I had finished, Rich took the will and read both copies carefully. He nodded. 'Yes, large gifts to Jack and Tamasin Barak and to Guy Malton, as I expected. Small gifts to the boys who work in your household.' Then he looked up with an amused expression. 'Who is this Josephine Coldiron you leave a hundred marks to? Are you keeping some whore with you at Chancery Lane?'

'She, too, works in my household.'

Rich shrugged, studied the documents once more for some slip or trick, then nodded, satisfied, and rang the little bell on his desk. A moment later Peel came in. 'Fetch a couple of gentlemen here,' Rich said. 'The higher their status the better. Officials, not anyone who may be involved in any fighting tomorrow. I want them to survive to remember witnessing my friend Shardlake here signing his will.' He looked at the hourglass. 'Be quick, time runs on.'

When Peel had gone, Rich said, 'When the witnesses come we must pretend to be friends, you understand. Just for a moment.'

'I understand,' I said heavily.

Rich looked at me, curious now. 'You were once a friend of Lord Cromwell's; you could have risen to the top had you not fallen out with him.'

'His price was too high.'

'Ah, yes, we councillors are wicked men. But you, I think, like above all to feel you are in the right. Helping the poor and weak. Justified, as the radical Protestants say. As consolation for how you look, perhaps.' He smiled ironically. 'You know, there are men of conscience on the Privy Council. People like me and Paulet and Wriothesley sit round the council table and listen to them; Hertford snarling at Gardiner and Norfolk about correct forms of religion. We listen afterwards as they plot to put each other in the fire. But some of us, as Sir William Paulet says, bend to the wind rather than be broken by it. Those with conscience are too obsessed with the rightness of their cause to survive, in the end. But the King knows the value of straight, hard counsel, and that is why men like us survive while others go to the axe.'

'Men without even hearts to turn to stone,' I said.

'Oh, we have hearts. For our families, our children whom we educate and make prosperous with the help of our grants of land from the King, and incomes and presents from our clients. But of course,' he said, his face twisting into a sneer, 'you would know nothing about families.'