'I do not know.'
'I am ready to face them both.'
'We have spoken to Vicar Broughton, who has been helpful. He is coming on Monday. But he can confirm only that he and Michael tried to stop the wardship. Is there anything else you can think of that I have not included? About the children, perhaps.'
She shook her head sadly. 'Only little bits and pieces.'
'They would have been brought up by the women of the household till they were old enough for a tutor, I imagine.'
'Yes. Though John and Ruth Curteys delayed past the normal age to get a tutor. Michael thought they loved their children so much they did not wish to share them.'
'Did you meet Hugh and Emma?'
'Yes. Once Michael brought them to visit me and I went to him at the Curteyses' house and saw them many times. Master and Mistress Curteys were most civil to me, as though I were a gentlewoman. I remember Hugh and Emma coming up to Michael's room to meet me. They were laughing because Hugh had got nits from somewhere and had his hair cut close. His sister laughed at his shaven poll, saying he looked like a little old man. I told Emma tush, she should not mock her brother, but Hugh laughed and said if he were a man then he was strong enough to smack his insolent sister. Then he chased her round the room, both of them shrieking and laughing.' She shook her head. 'I can see them now, that poor dead girl's hair flying out behind her, Michael and I joining in their laughter.'
'Mistress,' I asked quietly, 'why do you think Michael left home towards the end?'
'I think it was because—' her lips worked suddenly—'because I fuss so.' She bowed her head, then said, 'Michael was all I had. His father died when he was three, and I brought him up alone. At Lord and Lady Latimer's house in Charterhouse Square. Lady Latimer, as she was then, took great interest in my son, who was fond of learning like her, and encouraged him. She too knows what a kind-hearted boy he was. Too kind-hearted, perhaps.'
'Well,' I said, 'let us see if we can get his kindness rewarded in court on Monday.' I exchanged glances with Barak. We both knew that if the case were allowed to go forward, it would be because of the Queen's involvement, not the merits of the evidence.
A LITTLE LATER I walked again down Middle Temple Lane, my knapsack over my shoulder. I turned left, to the Temple church. Dyrick's chambers lay opposite, in an ancient building of heavy stone. A clerk told me he was on the third floor, and I trudged wearily up a wide staircase of heavy oak boards. I had to pause halfway up, for my neck was throbbing. I grasped the banister and continued. On the third-floor landing a board outside a door had Dyrick's name picked out in elegant letters. I knocked and went in.
All barristers' chambers are much alike. Desks, shelves, papers, clerks. Dyrick's had many bundles piled around on tables, the sign of a busy practice. There were two clerks' desks but only one was occupied, by a small young fellow in a clerk's short robe. He had a thin face and a long neck in which a large Adam's apple bobbled, and narrow blue eyes beneath straggling hair. He looked at me with insolent disapproval.
'I am here to see Brother Dyrick,' I said curtly. 'Serjeant Shard-lake.'
An inner door was thrown open, and Vincent Dyrick stepped out, advancing quickly with outstretched hand. He was a tall, lean man around my age. Athletically built, he seemed to exude energy. He had a pale complexion and coppery hair worn long; he was not handsome, but certainly striking. He smiled, showing a full set of teeth, but his greenish-brown eyes were hard and watchful.
'Good morning, Serjeant Shardlake. We have met before in court. I beat you twice, I think?' His voice was as I remembered, deep and rasping, educated but still with a touch of London in it; a good voice for court.
'We lost one case each, as I recall.'
'Are you sure?'
'Yes.'
'Come to my room. You do not mind if Master Feaveryear, my clerk, sits with us?' He waved an arm at the young man.
'Not at all.' My strategy was to say as little as possible, and get Dyrick to reveal as much as possible.
'In you go, Sam.' Dyrick threw open the door to his office and waved Feaveryear in ahead of him. I followed. 'Please, sit.' Dyrick indicated a stool set before a large oak desk and took a chair behind it, motioning Feaveryear to another stool beside him. The clerk took up a quill that had been laid there, ready sharpened, and dipped it in an inkpot. Copies of Michael Calfhill's application and Dyrick's reply lay on the desk. Dyrick squared them carefully with his hands, then looked at me. His smile was gone.
'Brother Shardlake, it grieves me to see a lawyer of your seniority involved in such a case as this. I would call it frivolous and vexatious were not the man who lodged this garbled bill clearly insane. A suicide, God pardon him. This application will be thrown out, and there will be substantial costs.' He leaned forward. 'Who is to pay them? Has his mother means? I heard she was but some old servant.'
So he had been doing his research. Maybe paying for information from the Court of Wards, perhaps even from Mylling.
'Any costs will be paid according to the law,' I said. It was the same point I had made to Richard Rich. I made a mental note to write to Warner suggesting he find some substantial back pay due to Mistress Calfhill. 'If we lose, that is.'
'You will.' Dyrick laughed, glancing at Feaveryear, who looked up and smiled. I opened my knapsack.
'You should see these depositions, Brother. From Mistress Calfhill and the Curteys family's vicar.' I passed copies across. Dyrick read, occasionally screwing up his nose. Then he passed the papers to Feaveryear with a shrug.
'Is this all you have, sir?' Dyrick spread his arms. 'Insignificant hearsay. This man Calfhill, before hanging himself, made accusations of serious misconduct against my client. Though neither he, nor these depositions—' he leaned across the desk to emphasize the point—'state what this misconduct actually is.'
He was quite right, and there lay our greatest weakness.
'Michael Calfhill made a serious claim—'
'Undefined, unspecified—'
'—sufficient I believe for the court to require further investigation. Remember the Court of Wards' motto. A helper to wards, orphans and widows.'
Dyrick raised his eyebrows. 'And what, sir, would that investigation consist of? Depositions?'
'Perhaps.'
'And who is to be sent to take them? All the way to Hampshire. And how much will that cost? Enough to bankrupt any servant woman.' His voice rose angrily. He frowned, bringing himself under control—or seeming to. It had struck me that everything Dyrick and his assistant did was a performance, though a skilful one.
'It would take a few days,' I said. 'Your client will only have to pay if he loses. And you say he will not. And my client has her own house.'
'Some hovel near the Butcheries, perhaps?'
'You should not cast aspersions on my client, Brother,' I said with asperity. Dyrick inclined his head. 'You should not, Brother,' I repeated. It hurt me to speak now, I had placed too much strain on my throat. 'I see no deposition from your client. Is Master Hobbey in London?'
'No, Brother Shardlake. Master Hobbey is a gentleman with much business in Hampshire. And there is nothing here for him to depose
'Where a child is concerned, any allegation should be investigated.' I thought, so Hobbey is not in London. No time for him to give an order to have me attacked.
'A child?' Dyrick expostulated. 'Hugh Curteys is eighteen. A strong, fit lad; I have seen him when I have visited my client on business. And well cared for, I might add.'
'Still a minor. And under the control and custody of—' I had to break off at a spasm of pain from my throat. I gasped, put my hands to my neck.
'See, Sam,' Dyrick said to Feaveryear, 'Brother Shardlake's words stick in his throat.'
I glared at Dyrick, cursing myself for my weakness. Then I saw the anger in his eyes, fierce as mine. It was
