Heartstone

'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.'

Barak opened his satchel and passed me the paper, written in his scratchy copyhand and signed by Broughton. He sat frowning, preoccupied, as I read. Broughton reiterated what he had told us about the Curteys family, the parents' death and Nicholas Hobbey's rapid intervention, his own and Michael's efforts on behalf of Hugh and Emma, and Hobbey's hostility to him. I looked at Barak. 'Nothing new, then?'

'No. He says that's all he remembers. I asked him if any of the Curteyses' neighbours could tell me anything, but he was sure not. The family do seem to have kept to themselves, as the godly folk will.'

I looked up as a shadow passed the window: Bess Calfhill, her face pale as parchment in the sunshine, paler even than her white coif. She wore a black dress again, though the mourning period was long past. 'Go and receive her,' I said to Barak, 'tell her my neck's been hurt in an attempted robbery. Gently. Someone with a bruised neck's the last thing she'll want to see.'

He went out, and I pulled the strings on my shirt tight again before taking the draft deposition I had prepared for Bess from my desk. Barak led her in, and she sat on the other side of my desk. She looked at my neck, shuddered slightly and dropped her gaze, twisting her hands in her lap. Then she looked up, her face determinedly composed.

'Thank you for coming, Bess.' I made my voice as strong as I could.

'It is for Michael, sir.'

'I have prepared a deposition based on what you told me at Hampton Court. If I may, I will read it over. We can make any necessary corrections, see if there is anything to add.'

'I am ready,' she said quietly.

We went through her story again. Bess nodded vigorously when I read out how close Michael and the two children had been, and said 'Yes' with quiet fierceness as I related Michael's attempt to resist Hobbey's taking over their affairs. At the end she nodded firmly. 'That is it, sir, that is the story. Thank you. I could never have formed the words so well.'

I smiled. 'I have training, Bess. But please remember that Michael's story, told to you, is hearsay. Hearsay is allowed in the case of a deceased person, but it does not have the status of first-hand testimony. And Master Hobbey's barrister may question you on it.'

'I understand,' she said firmly. 'Will Nicholas Hobbey be there?'