C.J. Sansom - Heartstone

I MADE MY WAY home painfully, pausing occasionally for I felt dizzy. By the time I stumbled through my front door my neck was so swollen it was painful to swallow. I went up to Guy's room. When he answered the door I could scarcely speak, my voice a croak. He made me lie down and applied a poultice, which brought some small relief. I told him I had been robbed, and he gave me a sharp look when he saw my purse was still at my belt; I felt guilty, but I had decided to keep what had happened to myself for now.

Guy told me to lie down and rest, but a short time later there was a knock at my door. Coldiron looked at me curiously as he told me I had a late visitor, Alderman Carver. I told him to show Carver into the parlour. Wearily, I went downstairs.

The set of Carver's plump face told me he had brought no good news. He, too, stared at my neck. 'Forgive my voice, sir,' I croaked. 'I was attacked earlier. Robbers.'

Carver shook his head. 'There are more and more robberies with so many constables away at the war. The times are mad. And I fear I have been unable to get a release for your man Barak.'

'But his wife—'

'I have spoken to Mayor Laxton and he has talked to Goodryke. But he is adamant he wants Barak. He has the bit truly between his teeth; Barak must have sorely annoyed him. Says the King has ordered sharp dealing with impertinence. Laxton said we could appeal to the Privy Council, but they are under orders from the King to veto any softness.'

'And I can't plead for the Queen to intervene with the King. My name has no favour with him.'

'His worship suggested one possible way forward.' Carver raised his eyebrows. 'Deal with the matter by stealth. Perhaps Barak could disappear somewhere for a while. He'll get orders very soon for swearing in.'

'He has already.'

'If he doesn't turn up, it's the council that would be asked to send constables to find him. Well—' he gave a politician's calculating smile—'they need not try too hard. And if he is gone, well . . .'

'But where? Neither Barak nor his wife have any relatives alive. I have some in the Midlands, but Tamasin is seven months gone with child, she could not travel. And what if they come after him later for desertion? It's a capital offence.'

'Goodryke himself will be gone to the wars soon, surely.' Carver spread his plump, beringed hands. 'I can do no more, sir.'

'I understand. I will have to talk to Barak. Thank you for what you have done, sir, I am grateful.' I hesitated, then added, 'I wonder if I could impose on you further for some information. In connection with a case. You have sat on the Common Council many years.'

'Indeed. Near twenty.' Carver's plump figure swelled with pride.

'I hear the council has been negotiating with the King to take over the Bedlam.'

'For some time. We are trying to get the King to fund hospitals under the city's control; taking over the Bedlam would be part of the scheme.'

'The wardenship has been in the King's gift many years. I know Sir George Metwys holds it now. I know George Boleyn held the wardenship before, till his execution. Might you remember who held it before him? I need to go back to 1526.'

Carver thought. 'I believe it was Sir John Howard. I remember now, he died in office.'

So that connection to Ellen was gone. But any secret arrangements would have been passed on to subsequent wardens. 'One more thing, Alderman. Do you remember a man who was in the Mercers' Guild some years ago? Nicholas Hobbey.'

He nodded slowly. 'Yes, I remember Master Hobbey. He worked his way up as an apprentice and set himself up in a small way of business. He did not involve himself much in Guild matters, though, his great interest was making money. He involved himself in importing dyestuffs, I remember, and his business suffered when the King broke from Rome and exports from the continent were embargoed. He closed his business and retired to the country.'

'I heard a rumour he was in debt about the time he moved.'

'I seem to remember people saying that.' Carver looked at me sharply. 'Sir, I should not really give you information on Guild members—'

'I am sorry, perhaps I should not have asked. But I am acting for the orphan son of another Guild member, who died some years ago and is now Master Hobbey's ward. John Curteys.'

Carver nodded sadly. 'I remember Master Curteys. A pleasant fellow, though a little stiff in religion. I did not know him well.'

'Well, sir, I thank you for your help.' I smiled. 'I will not forget my promise about a donation to the Guild.' I coughed and rose. 'Forgive me, but I should get back to bed.'

Carver stood and bowed. 'Take care of yourself, sir.' He shook his head. 'These times—'

NEXT MORNING I walked to work slowly and painfully, for my neck and throat still hurt. As I crossed Gatehouse Court I nodded to a couple of acquaintances, who fortunately were at a sufficient distance not to see the raw bruised flesh above my collar.

I entered chambers and sat behind my desk. By the chapel clock it was just after nine. Barak was due shortly, and Mistress Calfhill in half an hour. I undid my shirt collar, to ease the chafing of my bruises.

From my window I saw Barak striding across Gatehouse Court. I thought again how he was putting on weight. He knocked at my door and entered, then stared at my neck. 'God's nails! What happened to you?'

I told him in my still creaky voice. 'It's worse than it looks,' I concluded.

'Jesus. Who were they? Those lads hanging around outside Michael's house?'

'I didn't see. They made sure of that, jumping me from behind.'

'Is this Hobbey's work?'

'I don't know. Someone must have paid them well. Though there was little enough risk, there's no law left on the streets.'

Barak said, 'I wonder if Hobbey is in London.'

'If he isn't he has had no time to organize this. I only went on the court record two days ago.'

'What about Dyrick? He'll have been notified you're acting.'

'I doubt a barrister would risk his career by getting involved in something like this. Though it's not impossible.'

'When would he have got the papers saying you were on the record?'

I considered. 'Yesterday morning, I would guess. Whoever it was, they organized it fast.'

Barak looked at me keenly. 'Do you think the little arseholes meant to kill you?'

'They weren't so little. But no, I doubt it. Just to scare me off.'

'I still think someone could have killed Michael Calfhill.' Barak fixed me with his brown eyes. 'You shouldn't go to Portsmouth,' he said intently. 'Certainly not alone.'

'I agree. I have decided to talk to the Queen. I sent a message to Warner yesterday evening. She will find someone to travel with me if she thinks I should go.'

'So you'll still go if she wants you to.'

'I don't like a bunch of bluecoats trying to intimidate me.'

'Mistress Calfhill is due soon. Will you tell her what happened to you?'

'No. It would only frighten her without good cause. I'll see her, then I'll go down to the Temple and see Brother Dyrick. I sent a message last night.'

Barak slapped his knapsack. 'I've Broughton's deposition here.'

'Good.' I looked at him. 'But there is something else I must tell you now. Alderman Carver came to see me last night. I'm afraid it is not good news.' I repeated what Carver had told me.

'Shit,' he said fiercely. 'Tammy's right, I should have treated Goodryke with more care.'

'Why don't I come to your house later, and the three of us can talk about it?'

'I won't have Tammy leaving London, travelling over muddy roads,' he said firmly. 'I was scared shitless when she collapsed the other day.'

'I know. But we'll find some way through. I promise. Now, let me see Reverend Broughton's deposition.'