C.J. Sansom - Heartstone

I had been relieved to turn inland, but now, as we rode towards the porch, the gentle motion of the horse seemed all at once like a heaving deck. I grasped the reins, pulled Oddleg to a halt, and closed my eyes, breathing heavily.

'All right?' Barak asked anxiously.

'Yes. Just give me a moment.'

'There's Dyrick.'

I opened my eyes. Dyrick had come out onto the steps. He stood there in his black robe, frowning at us. The sight restored me; I would not let that man see my weakness. Dyrick called over his shoulder into the hall, and a boy ran out to take the horses.

'You're back at last,' Dyrick said in his grating voice as we approached. 'It's been four days. Master Hobbey has been out of his mind with worry. Where is Emma? Did you find her?'

I had to smile at how, even now, he had to be argumentative. Yet I could see he had been mightily worried; fearing no doubt that what the Hobbeys had done to Emma might have been discovered.

'I found her, Dyrick. But she would not return with me. She ran away again, I do not know where she is.'

'We heard of the Mary Rose sinking, the attack on the Isle of Wight.'

'The French failed to take it. Though they are still in the Solent.' I had already agreed with Barak to say nothing about being on the Mary Rose . There was no point. 'The lawn is starting to look unkempt,' I said.

Dyrick grunted. 'Half the servants have left. Even that old crone Ursula has gone, saying the household's cursed. They've all run back to the village, to try and ingratiate themselves with Ettis. He has been released, by the way. Master Hobbey kept his word.'

'Where is he?'

'In his study. He never leaves it now, save to go to his son.'

'How is David?'

'Recovering, but they think he will never walk properly again. And Jesu knows what is happening in his mind. I fear he may spill out the whole story,' Dyrick added in a pettish tone. 'He needs to be kept somewhere where he can be watched.'

I stared at him. His words reminded me of how West and Rich had protected themselves after Ellen's rape. Nothing like that, I would make sure, would happen to David.

NICHOLAS HOBBEY sat at his desk. When we came in I saw the sad blankness that had been on his face since Abigail's death, then a kind of desperate eagerness. He had, I saw, lost weight.

'Emma! Have you news of her? We have been waiting.' There was an old man's querulousness in his voice now.

'We were detained in Portsmouth. There has been fighting—'

'Yes. They brought the news the Mary Rose was lost. But, sir, Emma—'

I took a deep breath. 'I found her, but she ran away again. She has left Portsmouth. I do not know where she is now.'

His face fell. 'Is she still—pretending to be her brother?'

'I think she will continue to do so. That identity is all she has known for years.'

Dyrick said, 'She can't last for long on the road. She took no money.'

'It is possible she may try to join a company somewhere.'

Hobbey groaned. 'Sleeping in hedges, stealing food from gardens—'

Dyrick added angrily, 'And any day she could be caught and exposed for who she really is.'

I said, 'Emma is intelligent. She will realize she cannot support herself, that she risks discovery. I think there is a chance at least that she may seek me out.'

'In London?' Hobbey asked.

'I told her I was taking her wardship, that I would leave her to decide what to make of her life.'

'Then pray God she does come to you.' Hobbey sighed, then added, 'I plan to go back to London myself, sell this wretched place and buy a small house, somewhere quiet. It will be easier for David, and I can find better help for his afflictions there.'

'Afflicted he is,' Dyrick said emphatically.

'Do you think I, of all people, do not know that?' Hobbey snapped. He turned back to me. 'I will get a good price for this house and all these woods. Sir Luke Corembeck has expressed an interest.' He turned to Dyrick, with another touch of his old sharpness. 'Make sure of the price, Vincent. I leave the negotiation to you. Whatever we make will be all David and I have to live on in the future, once—once my old debts are paid off. Master Shardlake, will you hold Emma's share if she has not returned by the time Hoyland is sold?'

'I will.'

'We'd get more if we had the village woodlands,' Dyrick grumbled.

'Well, we don't,' Hobbey said. 'Leave tomorrow, Vincent, get the negotiations moving from London. I am sick of the sight of you,' he added. Dyrick's face darkened. Hobbey turned to me. 'Master Shardlake, I want you, if you will, to see David. To reassure him you plan to say nothing of what happened to his mother.'

I nodded agreement. I still felt the responsibility of keeping that secret; I needed to see how David was.

HOBBEY AND I ascended the stairs. He walked slowly, clinging to the banister. 'Before we see David, Master Shardlake, there is something I wanted to ask you.'

'Yes?'

'I hope you are right and that Emma may come to you in London. But if she is exposed, do you think she will tell—' he winced, gripping the banister—'that David killed his mother? I believe she guessed it was him.' He stared at me intently. His first concern was still his son.

'I doubt it. From what she said in Portsmouth she feels a deep guilt for what she did to David.'

Hobbey took another step, then stopped again and looked me in the face. 'What was I doing?' he asked. 'What were we thinking of, all those years?'

'I do not believe any of you were thinking clearly, not for a long time. You were all too afraid. Except for Fulstowe, who was out to get what he could from the situation.'

Hobbey looked around the great hall, the culmination of all his ambition. 'And I was blind to how my son was becoming—deranged. I blame myself for what he did.' He sighed. 'Well, it is all over now. Dyrick tries to talk me out of leaving, but my mind is made up.'

He led me into David's room. It had a good four-poster bed, chairs and cushions, and an old tapestry on the wall showing a battle from Roman times. No books, unlike Hugh's room. David lay in the bed; he had been looking up at the ceiling, but when we came in he struggled to rise. Hobbey raised a hand.

'No, no. You will pull at your bandages.'

David fixed me with a frightened gaze. Lying there he looked like a trapped, terrified little boy, the stubble on his cheeks making him seem all the more pathetic.

'How do you fare, David?' I asked gently.

'It hurts,' he said. 'The doctor stitched me up.'

Hobbey said, 'David was brave. He did not cry out once, did you, my son?' He took a deep breath. 'Master Shardlake has come to tell you he will say nothing of what happened to your mother.'

Tears welled up in David's eyes. 'I think I was mad, sir. I shot at you and then I killed my poor mother. I seemed able to think of nothing else but shooting at people, all the time. I had to keep our secret, keep Emma with us. Even if I had to kill—' He had been talking fast, almost gabbling, but suddenly he paused, looked at me, and asked in a passionate voice, 'Sir, can God ever forgive such a sin as I have committed?'

I looked into his wild eyes. 'I am no cleric, David, but if someone truly repents, they say He will forgive even the greatest sin.'

'I pray ceaselessly, sir,' he said through his tears. 'For forgiveness and for my mother.'

'That is all you can do, David,' his father said, going forward and taking his hand. His words reminded me of what Catherine Parr had said to me a few hours ago. I looked down at the floor.

'What news of Emma?' David asked tremulously.

'Master Shardlake saw her in Portsmouth. She is truly sorry for what she did to you.'