Heartstone (32 page)

WE PASSED THROUGH what had once been the doors leading into the church. Inside was a curious smell, dust and fresh wood overlaying a faint, lingering tang of incense. The south transept had been converted into a wide staircase leading to the old conventual buildings, while the old nave had been transformed into an impressive great hall, the ancient hammerbeam roof exposed. The walls were bright with tapestries of hunting scenes. The old windows had been replaced by modern mullioned ones, and new ones had been added, making the hall well lit. A cabinet displayed bowls of Venetian glass and vases of beautifully arranged flowers. At the far end of the hall, though, the old west window remained, a huge arch with its original stained glass showing saints and disciples. Below it a large dining table was covered with a turkey cloth. An elderly woman servant was laying out tableware. A fireplace had been installed against one wall. This conversion would have taken time and much money; the tapestries alone were worth a considerable amount.

‘You have done more work since I last came, Nicholas,' Dyrick said admiringly.

‘Yes,' Hobbey answered in his quiet voice. ‘The west window needs plain glass put in, otherwise all is done save for that wretched nuns' cemetery.'

‘I saw what looked like headstones by the far wall,' I said. ‘Next to the butts.'

‘The locals will not pull them down for us. No matter what we offer.' He shook his head. ‘Superstitious peasants.'

‘Played on by that rogue Ettis,' Abigail said bitterly. I looked at her; she seemed strung tight as a bow, her clasped hands trembling slightly.

‘I will get someone from Portsmouth, my dear, as soon as things are quiet again there,' Hobbey answered soothingly. ‘I see you admire my tapestries, Master Shardlake.' He stepped over to the wall, Dyrick and I following. The tapestries were exceptionally fine, a series of four making up a hunting scene. The quarry was a unicorn, startled from its woodland lair in the first tapestry, chased by horsemen in the second and third, while in the last, in accordance with ancient legend, it had halted in a clearing and laid its horned head in the lap of a young virgin, who sat smiling demurely. But her allure was a trap, for in the trees around the bower archers stood with drawn bows. I studied the intricate weave and beautifully dyed colours.

‘They are German,' Hobbey said proudly. ‘Much of my trade was along the Rhine. I got them at a good price, they came from a merchant bankrupted in the Peasant Wars. They are my pride and joy, as the garden is my wife's.' He ran the flat of his palm almost reverently over the unicorn's head. ‘You should see how those villagers look at my tapestries when they come here for the manorial court. They stare as though the figures would leap off the wall at them.' He laughed scornfully.

The boys had come close, David looking at the archers poised to shoot the unicorn. ‘Hard to miss at that range,' he said dismissively. ‘A deer would never let you get that close.'

I remembered how Hugh's and David's hands had felt callused. ‘Do you boys practise at the butts outside?'

‘Every day,' David answered proudly. ‘It is our great sport, better even than hawking. The best of manly pastimes. Is that not so, Hugh?' He slapped Hugh on the shoulder, hard I thought. I noticed a suppressed anxiety in David's manner. His mother was watching him, her eyes sharp.

‘It is.' Hugh looked at me with that unreadable gaze. ‘I have a copy of Master Ascham's new-printed
Toxophilus
that he presented to the King this year. Master Hobbey gave it to me for my birthday.'

‘Indeed.' The book the Queen had told me Lady Elizabeth was reading. ‘I should like to see that.'

‘Have you an interest in archery, sir?'

I smiled. ‘An interest in books, rather. I am not built for the bow.'

‘I shall be pleased to show you my copy.' For the first time Hugh's face showed some animation.

‘Later, perhaps,' Hobbey said. ‘Our guests have been on the road five days. Hot water waits in your rooms, sirs, let it not get cold. Then come down and join us. I have told the servants to prepare a good supper.' He snapped his fingers at the old woman. ‘Ursula, show Masters Dyrick and Shardlake to their rooms.'

She led us upstairs, into a corridor through whose arched windows I saw the old cloister, set to more flowerbeds and peaceful in the lengthening shadows. Ursula opened the door to a large guest room with a canopied tester bed. A bowl of water steamed on a table beside three letters.

‘Thank you,' I said.

She nodded curtly. Behind her in the doorway, Dyrick inclined his head. ‘You see how well Master Curteys is?' he said.

‘So it would seem. On first impression.'

Dyrick sighed, shook his head and turned to follow Ursula. I closed the door, crossed quickly to the bed and picked up the letters. One was addressed to ‘Jack Barak' in a clumsy hand. I opened the other two. The first, from Warner and dated three days before, was brief. He apologized again for being unable to send one of his men to accompany us, and said the King and Queen would be leaving for Portsmouth on July 4th - yesterday, so they were already on their way. He said they hoped to arrive on the 15th, and would stay at Portchester Castle. He had set enquiries in train about Hobbey's financial history, but had nothing to report yet.

I turned eagerly to Guy's letter, written on the same day, in his small neat handwriting:

I folded the letter. Despite what he said, I had already decided to visit Rolfswood on the way home; I felt I must. I sighed and went to look out of the window. I could see the little cemetery, a jumble of stones set amidst unkempt grass. I thought, Dyrick is right, Hugh is glowing with health. And Nicholas Hobbey's tone had never varied from urbane politeness. He hardly seemed the man to have set those corner boys on me. But something was wrong here, I felt it.

A SUBSTANTIAL SUPPER was served in the great hall. Dusk was falling and candles were lit in sconces round the chamber. Hobbey sat at the head of the table, Hugh and Dyrick on one side and David and Abigail on the other. I took the remaining chair, next to Abigail. The steward stood behind Hobbey, presiding as servants brought in the food, their footsteps clicking on the worn, decorated tiles of the old church. Apart from Ursula, most were young men. I wondered how many servants the Hobbeys would keep; a dozen perhaps.

I was conscious of a wheezy, snuffling noise beside me. I looked down and saw what seemed like a bundle of fur on Abigail's lap. Then I saw two small button eyes staring up at me with friendly curiosity. It was a little spaniel, like the Queen's dog, but very fat. Abigail smiled down at it with an unexpectedly tender expression.

‘Father,' David said in a disgusted tone, ‘Mother has Lamkin on her lap again.'

‘Abigail,' Hobbey said in his quiet even voice, ‘please let Ambrose take him out. We do not want him climbing on the table again, do we?'

Abigail allowed Fulstowe to take the dog, her eyes following as he carried it from the room. She glanced at me, a flash of something like hatred in her eyes. Fulstowe returned and stood behind his master again. Ursula set down an aromatic bowl of ginger sauce. Dyrick studied the food with an anticipatory smile. Hugh stared ahead, his face expressionless.

‘Let us say grace,' Hobbey said.

IT WAS A splendid meal, cold roast goose with rich sauces and fine red wine in silver jugs. Dyrick and I, both hungry, set to eagerly.

‘How are things in London?' Hobbey asked. ‘I hear the currency has been debased again.'

‘It has. It is causing much confusion and trouble.'

‘I am glad I moved to the country. How was your journey? We have had storms here, but I know they were worse in London. I worried the roads would be muddy, and full of the King's traffic coming to Portsmouth.'

‘So they were,' Dyrick agreed. ‘But we were lucky, thanks to Brother Shardlake. We met up with an old client of his, a petty-captain of a company of archers, who let us ride with them. A blast from his trumpeteer and everyone moved out of the way.'

I saw Hugh turn and look at me intently. ‘A grateful client?' Hobbey asked with a smile. ‘What did you win for him?'

‘The freehold of some land.'

He nodded, as though that was what he had expected. ‘And they were heading for Portsmouth?'

‘Yes. Country lads from Middlesex. One wants to go to London to be a playwright.'

‘A country soldier writing plays?' Hobbey gave a little scoffing laugh. ‘I never heard such a thing.'

‘I believe he composed the rude ditties the soldiers sang on the road,' Dyrick said. ‘Saving your presence, Mistress Abigail.' Abigail smiled tightly.

‘Country lads should stay at the plough,' Hobbey said firmly.

‘Except when they are called to defend us all?' Hugh asked quietly.

‘Yes. When they are full grown.' Hobbey's look at his ward was suddenly severe.

Dyrick said, ‘More men are marching south. And the King and Queen are coming to Portsmouth to review the ships, I hear.'

Hugh turned to me. ‘The soldiers were archers, sir?'

‘Yes, Master Curteys. Their skill with a bow had to be seen to be believed.'

‘You should see Hugh and I practising at the butts,' David said, leaning across his mother. ‘I am the stronger,' he added proudly.

‘But I am the one who hits the mark,' Hugh countered quietly.

‘I was a fine archer in my youth,' Dyrick said complacently. ‘Now I am teaching my son. Though I thank God he is only ten, too young to be called up.'

‘Master Shardlake will not want to see you boys practising that dangerous sport,' Abigail said. ‘One of the servants will end with an arrow through his body one of these days.'

Hugh turned cold eyes on her. ‘Our only risk of being shot, good mistress, is if the French land. They say they have over two hundred ships.'

Hobbey shook his head. ‘All these rumours. A hundred, two hundred. What a tumult. Three thousand men have been levied in north Hampshire and sent to Portsmouth. Hoyland village, like all the coastal villages, is exempt from recruitment, with the men kept in the militia ready to march to the coast when the beacons are lit.'

‘They are recruiting heavily in London,' Dyrick said.

‘I accompanied our local magistrate on a review of the village men. For all that some of them are ruffians, they are stout fellows who will make good fighting men.' Hobbey's face took on a preening expression. ‘As lord of the manor I have had to supply them with harness. Fortunately the nuns had a store of old pikes and jacks, even a few rusty helmets, to meet the manor's military obligations.'