Heartstone

Aragon, he was backing the losing side.'

She shrugged. 'I do not know. I imagine he changed his loyalties, turned his coat during Queen Catherine's fall. Many did.'

'That is true.'

She took a deep breath. 'Do you think if that story is told now it would help my son?'

I looked at her. 'In truth, madam, I do not know.'

'I would ask one more thing of you,' she said. 'Please do not tell Master Buttress what I have told you. Not just yet. Give my son—give him a chance to acquit himself in the battle that may be coming.'

I thought it would do no harm to keep the matter quiet for the moment. And it would give me time to make my own further investigations.

'Very well. I promise to say nothing yet.'

Her manner had changed completely now, it was almost imploring. 'Thank you. You are a thoughtful man, a neutral party. And perhaps—'

'Perhaps what, Mistress West?'

'Perhaps there is some way, some private way, of dealing with this matter without Philip being shamed at the inquest.'

'What might that be?'

'I do not know. If you could use your influence . . .'

'I will consider,' I answered flatly.

'If you wish to speak further, a message to my house, Carlen Hall, will reach me.'

'And I am at Hoyland Priory, eight miles north of Portsmouth on the Portsmouth road.'

I looked at her, and thought, anxious and afraid for your son as you are, I have no pity for you. When the time comes I will have the story of Ellen's forced removal out of you.

She gave a desolate smile. 'Of course, long before the inquest, my son may have given his life for his country. I think he would prefer to die with honour than live to see the story told.' Her mouth trembled and tears came to her eyes. 'Die for the King, and leave me alone in the world.'

Chapter Thirty-five

AN HOUR LATER we were on the road south to Hoyland. Mistress West had given me much food for thought. Barak's reaction when I told him her story had been instantaneous: 'I don't believe a word. West told his mother that story to keep her quiet. More likely he and his friend attacked Ellen, then his friend disappeared.'

'And the fire, and the murders at the foundry?'

'Maybe Ellen's father, and Gratwyck, came on them when they were attacking Ellen. Maybe she had refused to marry West and it maddened him. There was a fight and Gratwyck and Master Fettiplace got killed. And there never was a letter.' He looked at me. 'That would put Ellen in the clear for you.'

'Well, whether you are right, or West's story has truth in it, clearly now he holds the key to what happened. Either way I think Mistress West bribed Priddis to get a verdict of accidental death at the inquest. She may have been paying Ellen's fees at the Bedlam ever since.'

'If so, Philip West will already know where she is.'

I nodded slowly. 'And if he was responsible for all that happened, guilt may have driven him to the King's ships. To look for danger and death.'

'He may find those very soon.'

'But who was his friend who rode with him that day and then vanished?' I frowned. 'If that story was a lie, it was a dangerous one. The King would have been angered if he heard a junior courtier had put such a story about. And the timing sounds right—1526, when the King was lusting after Anne Boleyn, but no one had any inkling yet he planned to marry her. There is only one way to find out,' I said decisively. 'I am going back to Portsmouth, to ask West.'

Barak stared at me. 'You can't! It's the fifteenth of July, the King's supposed to arrive today. To say nothing of the French fleet sailing towards us. For Jesu's sake, you can set these enquiries in motion when we return to London.'

I met his gaze. 'West may no longer be alive by then.'

'I thought you were starting to see things in proportion,' Barak said. 'You can't go back to Portsmouth now.'

'It may be the only way to get the truth. And I have had a thought, one I do not like. About who West's friend might have been.'

'Who?'

'Master Warner has been in the service of the Queen's household since Catherine of Aragon's time, and he is a lawyer. He has survived five changes of Queen. He is about the right age.'

'I thought he was your friend.'

'Friends have betrayed me before.'

'Queen Catherine Parr trusts him.'

'Yes. And she has good judgement. But there would not be many lawyers of his age in the Queen's household. And he said once that our present Queen was the kindest to her servants since Catherine of Aragon.'

Barak considered. 'Edward Priddis would have been a young lawyer in London around that time. So would Dyrick, come to that.'

'And Dyrick worked in the royal service. And Priddis said he was in London for a while, but not what he did there.'

'If he was involved, his father would have a real incentive to cover things up.'

We turned at the sound of wheels creaking loudly. Two large carts passed us, each drawn by four straining horses and loaded with boxes of iron gunballs; new cast, no doubt, in the Wealden furnaces.

'I hope we have some letters when we get back to Hoyland,' Barak said. 'It's about time.'

* * *

THERE WERE no servants working in the gardens of Hoyland Priory when we rode through the gates. Already Abigail's flower beds were starting to look neglected. To my surprise, I saw Hugh practising at the butts on his own. He looked at us but made no acknowledgement, bending to string a new arrow to his bow.

As we dismounted, Fulstowe came round the front of the house, neat as ever, with his beard freshly trimmed. His manner was even more proprietorial. He bowed briefly. I asked if there had been any letters.

'None, sir. But the coroner has got here. He wishes to see you.'

'Thank you. Could a servant take the horses to the stables for us?'

'I fear everyone is too busy just now,' Fulstowe said with a little smile. 'And now, if you will excuse me.' He walked away.

'That fellow's getting too big for his boots,' Barak said, then added angrily, 'Damn it, I need to know how Tamasin fares.'

'If the King has arrived at Portchester, maybe the roads will be clearer tomorrow.'

He shook his head angrily. 'I'll take the horses round to the stables, since nobody else will.'

I went into the great hall. I stopped and stared as I saw the tapestries of the hunting scenes had been removed, leaving the walls blank. Then to my astonishment I saw that old Sir Quintin Priddis was again sitting in the chair by the empty fireplace. He raised the half of his face that was not paralysed in that sinister, sardonic half- smile.

'We meet again, Master Shardlake. I hear you have been over to Sussex.'

'I have, sir.'

His blue eyes narrowed. 'A successful journey?'

I took a deep breath. But he would find out soon enough. 'I was at Rolfswood, where the Fettiplace family came from. A body has been found in the mill pond there, weighted down, and it seems to be the late William Fettiplace. It appears he was murdered. There will be a new inquest,' I added.