Heartstone

'And then you got rid of Michael Calfhill and moved down here. Where no one had ever seen the children.'

'Yes. It was only then that we realized that we were all trapped. Me, David, Abigail and Emma. If the truth came out we could have been in deep trouble. The only other who knew was Fulstowe.' Hobbey looked at his steward. 'He was always so good at organizing things, anticipating difficulties. And Emma—she retreated into herself, into books and archery.'

'Which she had already practised with Michael.'

'Yes. And the other tutors. We never let one stay too long. It was easy enough to deceive them at first, but it grew harder as Emma grew older. We—we became frightened of her. She never let us know what was happening in her mind. She impersonated her brother so well—sometimes I found myself thinking of her as Hugh for days at a time, somehow it eased my mind. Abigail never did—if I accidentally referred to Emma as Hugh in her presence she would shout and rail at me. But she was utterly terrified of exposure. And at the time you came there were only three years left till Emma could go to court as Hugh and claim her lands. I do not know what would have happened then.' Nor did I, I thought. Emma had truly made herself unreachable.

Hobbey continued: 'As the years passed the deception was a toll on us all. But especially on Abigail. She was the one who had to counsel Emma how to deal with the monthly woman's curse, cut and sew padding for her breasts. That only seemed to make Emma hate her, and—and somehow we all came to blame Abigail because it had been her idea. Especially David. It was not fair, it had all been done to pay my debts. But even I came to blame her. My poor wife.'

'And then Michael Calfhill returned.'

Hobbey flinched. 'He realized at once that Hugh was really Emma. The moles on her face were enough. He threatened to expose us. But Emma did not want him to.' He looked at Dyrick. 'And you had found out something about Michael, hadn't you, when he was encouraging Emma to refuse to marry David.'

'You suspected it yourself,' Dyrick answered sharply. 'You asked me to see what I could find.'

Hobbey dropped his gaze. He said, 'Someone in London told me Michael was said to have had an— improper—relationship with another student at Cambridge. And Vincent discovered there had been others.'

'So after he came this year you threatened him with exposure?'

'Yes. I got Vincent to visit him. God forgive me.'

'Sodomy is a hanging offence,' Dyrick snapped. 'I told Calfhill I would tell the world what he was if he lodged a complaint at Wards. How was I to know he would kill himself?'

'So it was suicide, after all,' I said.

'What the hell else did you think it was?' Dyrick burst out.

'You went and threatened him.' I looked at Dyrick with disgust. 'You drove that young man, who had only ever sought to help both children, to his grave.'

'I did not know he was that weak,' Dyrick said defiantly.

'You dirty shit,' Barak said.

I stared at Dyrick. 'Someone attacked me in London and warned me off the case. Was that you as well?'

Dyrick and Hobbey stared at each other, then at me. Dyrick said, 'That was nothing to do with us.'

I frowned, thinking. 'So Michael screwed up the courage to make the complaint at the Court of Wards. But then he became terrified of what you would say and killed himself. How he must have struggled with his conscience. Perhaps he hoped his mother would take up the case, maybe bring it to the Queen, who had been kind to him.'

'Conscience,' Hobbey said with infinite sadness. 'I had one once. Ambition killed it. And afterwards—you know in your heart the wrong you have done, but—you stifle it. You have to. You continue to act your part. But Michael's death has haunted me.' Tears began coursing down his thin grey cheeks. 'And poor Abigail. Oh, if only we could have seen where this imposture would lead. And it destroyed my poor son's mind.' He put his head in his hands and began weeping uncontrollably. Dyrick stirred restlessly. Fulstowe gave his employer a look of contempt.

After a minute, Hobbey wiped his face then looked at me wearily. 'What will you do now, sir, about David? Will you reveal he killed his mother?'

'Shouldn't he?' Barak asked brutally.

'My son's mind was disturbed,' Hobbey said desperately. 'It was my fault.' He looked at me, his face suddenly animated. 'If I could, I would sell Hoyland, leave the villagers alone, and go somewhere where I could spend the rest of my life looking after my son, trying—trying to heal him. Though I think he would not be sorry to die now.'

'Nicholas,' Dyrick said, 'Hoyland has been your life—'

'That is over, Vincent.' Hobbey looked at his servant. 'And you, Fulstowe, that we took into our confidence, you used that to build up power over this family. You used us, you felt nothing for any of us. I have known that for a long time. You can go, now. At once.'

Fulstowe looked at him in disbelief. 'You can't dismiss me. Listen, were it not for me—'

'I can,' Hobbey cut in, a touch of the old authority in his voice. 'Get out, now.'

Fulstowe turned to Dyrick. But his confederate in the plan to destroy the village only jerked his head sharply at the door, saying, 'Tell no one about Emma, ever. You are as implicated as your master.'

'After everything I have done for you—' Fulstowe looked at Hobbey and Dyrick again, then walked from the room, slamming the door behind him.

I looked at Dyrick. 'Ettis has to be freed,' I said. 'You and Fulstowe would have let him die to further your schemes.'

'Don't be stupid,' Dyrick snapped back. 'He would never have been found guilty. But with him in prison the villagers would have been more reasonable.'

'Master Shardlake,' Hobbey said, 'I want no charges brought against Emma. If only she could be brought back—'

'I fear she may have gone to Portsmouth to enlist. She may look for my friend George Leacon's company. They saw what a good archer she is.'

'Could you—might you find her?'

I sat back, considering. David and Emma. Both their fates were in my hands now.

Barak said, 'She nearly killed us. Let them both be exposed for what they did.'

I looked at Hobbey. 'I have two more questions. First, am I right that Sir Quintin Priddis knew Hugh was really Emma?'

'Nicholas,' Dyrick expostulated, 'don't answer. We may need Priddis—'

Hobbey ignored him. 'Yes. He knew.'

'From the beginning?'

'No, but he visited this house once, to bargain for his share when I began cutting Emma's woodlands. Sir Quintin is very observant, looking at her he realized the deception. The only one that ever has, save you and Feaveryear. He agreed to keep quiet in return for a larger cut.'

'And his son?'

'I think not. Sir Quintin is a man who even now likes his power, and secrets are power. Other people's, that is; your own are a curse.'

I took a deep breath, then asked, 'And Sir Richard Rich? What is his involvement in all this?'

A look of genuine puzzlement crossed Hobbey's face. 'Rich? The royal counsellor? I have never met him. I saw him for the first time when he came up to you at the Guildhall.'

'Are you sure, Master Hobbey?'

He spread his hands. 'Why would I keep anything back now?'

Dyrick too was staring at me in surprise. I realized neither of them had any idea what I was talking about. But then why had Rich been so agitated in Portsmouth? Why had he, as I increasingly believed, set those corner boys on me in London and killed the clerk Mylling? I thought hard, and then I understood. Again I had jumped to a wrong conclusion.

* * *

AND NOW I had to decide what to do. I looked at Hobbey's desperate face, Barak's angry one, then at Dyrick, who had begun to look uneasy and frightened. If it became known he had helped to conceal Emma's true