Heartstone (51 page)

'I am Philip West, assistant purser on the
Mary Rose
. What does a lawyer want with me?'

I bowed. 'I am Serjeant Matthew Shardlake. I regret to trouble you now, sir, but I am trying to trace someone. For a client.' I studied West's face. If he was around forty now he had aged far beyond his years. His small, deep-set brown eyes were searching, his whole bearing that of a man burdened with responsibility.

'Who do you seek? Quick, man, I have little time.'

I took a deep breath. 'A woman from Rolfswood. Ellen Fetti-place.'

West's shoulders sank, as though I had placed a final, unbearable burden upon them. 'Ellen?' he said quietly. 'What is this? I have not heard of her in nineteen years. Then two days ago I saw Priddis riding in the town, or what is left of him. And now you come.'

'I have a client who is seeking relatives; he heard there was a family called Fettiplace in Rolfswood. I have come to Hampshire on business and I called in there.'

West was looking at me intently now. 'So you do not know whether she is still alive?'

I hesitated. 'No.' I felt as though each lie was drawing me further into a bog. 'Only that after the accident her reason was affected, and she was taken away to London.'

'Then you have come to me with this, now, for no other reason than someone's fool curiosity?' West's voice rose in anger.

'My client, I am sure, would help Ellen if he knew where she was.'

'And he is called Fettiplace? Does he not know others of that name in London? Does he know nothing of her?' He frowned, his eyes searching me hard.

'No, sir. That is why he seeks relatives.'

West sat down on the bench I had vacated, looked away and shook his head a couple of times as though trying to clear it. When he spoke again his tone had changed completely. 'Ellen Fettiplace was the love of my life,' he said with quiet intensity. 'I was going to ask her to marry me, despite - ' He did not finish the sentence. 'On the day of the fire I rode over from Petworth to tell her father my intentions. I was with the King's court, which was on summer Progress at Petworth. Master Fettiplace said he would support the match if Ellen agreed. I had asked him to meet me in private, Ellen was not present. He agreed to the match. Duties meant I had to ride back to Petworth that night, but I planned to travel back and see her two days later, make my proposal. It is not a thing one wants to rush.'

'No.'

'But next day a message arrived at Petworth from the curate, telling me about the fire and that Master Fettiplace was dead.'

'Reverend Seckford? I spoke with him when I went to Rolfs-wood.'

'Then he will have told you Ellen refused to see me after the fire?'

'Yes. Or anyone else. I am sorry.'

West seemed to want to talk. 'Ellen liked me, I knew that. But I was not sure she would have me. She would not want to lose her precious independence. Her father allowed her too much.' He hesitated a long moment, then said, looking at me with haunted eyes that reminded me of Leacon, 'She was - wilful. She needed someone to master her properly.' He spoke with a sort of desperate sincerity.

'You think women should be mastered?'

Anger flared in West's face again. 'You presume, sir.'

'I apologize.'

He continued quietly, 'What happened to her, it broke me. I never saw her again. So I went to sea. Is that not what men do when their hearts are broken?' He gave a humourless smile, a rictus showing strong white teeth that seemed to split his brown face in two. He collected himself. 'Your friend should leave this be. Ellen was taken away to London, she may be dead by now.'

'I know Sir Quintin Priddis conducted the inquest, and afterwards arranged for her to be taken away. In fact I have business with him, in his capacity as feodary of Hampshire.'

'Have you spoken with him about this?' West asked sharply.

'No.'

'Then I advise you not to, and to tell your friend to leave this alone. There were things about that fire it is better not to go into, especially after all this time. Priddis did right: it was better Ellen was taken away.'

'What do you mean?'

He did not answer directly. 'How much did Seckford tell you about Ellen?'

'He told me her father indulged her, yes, but also that she was good and loving before the fire.'

'People outside families often do not see what goes on behind closed doors.'

I thought of the Hobbeys. 'That is true.'

West clasped his hands together, began wringing them slowly. 'Ellen was a woman of fierce moods and passions. She used to throw pots and vases at her father when she was angry.' He hesitated again. 'There were other things she did, too, that I learned of later.'

I felt a chill run down my back. 'What things?'

'When she was younger, if she was angry, she used to set fires sometimes out in the woods. One of my family's servants told me about it after the foundry fire - he knew one of the foresters.' West closed his eyes. 'So you see, sir, though I loved her I knew it was important she be not indulged too much. I can prove nothing, but I think that night when Master Fettiplace told Ellen of my proposal she became angry, and something happened. I do not know what.'

'You mean Ellen set that fire, killed two people?' I asked incredulously. 'How could a woman alone have done that?'

'God's death, sir, how should I know? I have never been able to puzzle it out. But two men died. So tell your friend to leave this matter alone. There are no more Fettiplaces in Rolfswood. Now leave me to try and save this country from invasion.'

West stood abruptly, gave me a final hard look, then turned and marched back to the infirmary building. Everyone else was gone now save for a groom who stood silently waiting, holding the reins of a horse. I stayed on the bench, my mind in turmoil.

Chapter Twenty-eight

I
RODE BACK
through Portsmouth with a head full of dark thoughts. It had never occurred to me that Ellen herself might have started the fire. Could West's hints be true? I had not liked him, he had a harshness and bitterness in him, but clearly whatever happened at Rolfswood had weighed hard on him ever since. My heart sank further as I remembered Ellen's words:
He burned! The poor man, he was all on fire - I saw his skin melt, turn black and crack!
That could be consistent with her causing the fire. But it did not prove it. And there were her other words:
They were so strong! I could not move! The sky above - it was so wide - so wide it could swallow me!
I remembered Reverend Seckford saying she had had a torn dress, grass stuck to it.

I was drawn back to the present by angry shouts in front of me. A dozen men, barefoot in the dusty street, sailors perhaps, had stepped into the road and were shouting insults at four foreigners passing on the other side of the street. They were barefoot too, dressed in patched, worn shirts and jerkins. A carter behind me pulled up sharply to avoid hitting the Englishmen.

'Fucking Spanish dogs!' one shouted. 'Can't that ape Emperor Charles even give you decent clothes?'

'Why should we serve with dirty papists? You're from that bunch shipwrecked in Devon last winter, ain't you, that the King took into service? You couldn't even sail a fucking ship properly!'

The four Spaniards had halted. They glared back at their tormentors, and one of their number stepped into the road facing the Englishmen. '
Cabron!
' he shouted angrily. 'You think we wan' serve on your ships! Our
capitanes
make us!'

'Cappytanis! What's a fucking cappytanis?'

'I fight with Cortes in the New World!' the Spaniard shouted, 'Against the Mexica! Heathen dogs like you!'

Both groups were reaching for their knives now. Then half a dozen soldiers in half-armour, the corner guards, appeared and stepped between the two groups, swords drawn.

'Enough! You're blocking the King's highway!'

Casting fierce looks at each other, the two groups moved on. The soldiers waved the traffic back into motion.

I was now almost parallel with the Guildhall. Two men stood talking animatedly outside, both in lawyers' gowns, the elder resting his weight on a stick. Sir Quintin and Edward Priddis. I was not close enough to hear them, but Edward's expression was worried, a far cry from his air of cold superiority at our meeting. His father seemed to be trying to reassure him. Edward saw me and fell silent at once. I made a bow from the saddle. They bowed back, coldly and formally.

I
RODE THROUGH
the city gate to the camp. The smell of urine and ordure seemed stronger than ever. A queue waited outside a barber's tent; the men who came out were close shaved, their hair cropped. Nearby a group had formed a ring around two soldiers, stripped to the waist, who were wrestling. I saw Barak among those watching, standing beside Carswell. Both had been shaved and Carswell's hair was cut to a short fuzz like Hugh and David's. I dismounted and led the horse over to them.

'What did this West have to say?' Barak asked curtly. I could tell he was still angry with me.

'Something that shook me. I'll tell you later.' I turned to Carswell. 'We should return to Hoyland now. I would like to say farewell to Captain Leacon. Do you know where he is?'

'Talking with Sir Franklin in his tent. I don't think they'll be long.'

I looked at the wrestlers. One was a big stocky fellow in his twenties, the other, I saw, was Tom Llewellyn. He had a powerful chest and shoulders for one so young. As I watched Llewellyn managed to throw his opponent on the ground, where he lay panting. Some cheered, others looked morose. Many had the big leather pouches in which they carried their belongings at their waists, and various small items were taken out and handed over. Carswell's neighbour gave him a double-sided nit comb, the thin side black with dead lice, and a tiny bone spoon.

'What's that?' I asked, pointing to the spoon.

'Ear-wax scoop,' Carswell answered cheerfully. 'Useful stuff for waxing your bows.' He threw a cloth to Llewellyn, who wiped his sweating chest. 'Well done, lad.'

'See who's next,' Barak murmured. 'This should be interesting.' I saw that Sulyard and Pygeon had stepped into the ring. They glared at each other as they removed jerkins and shirts. Sulyard was bigger, and his body looked to have a raw-boned strength; but Pygeon, though stringy, had not an ounce of fat on him. Sulyard put his hands on his hips and turned to the crowd. 'We won't be long - those who've put bets on lop-ears get ready to lose your stakes!'

Pygeon did not reply, only stared at Sulyard. He shook his arms to loosen them, then shifted his weight from foot to foot to get his balance. He was taking this seriously. Sulyard grinned at him. 'We should have our own bet, lop-ears,' he said loudly. 'Tell you what, if I win I'll have that rosary you use to say Hail Mary on the quiet. His family are our village recusants, lads!'

'And if I win,' Pygeon shouted, 'I'll have your brigandyne.'

Sulyard looked taken aback. Several in the crowd laughed. Someone shouted, 'Take the bet, Sulyard, as you're so sure of winning.'

Barak said to Carswell, 'Bet you a half groat Sulyard wins.'

'Done.'

The fight went on for ten minutes, Sulyard's thrusting power against Pygeon's unexpected strength. I realized Pygeon meant to tire Sulyard out. Slowly the camp bully weakened. In the end Pygeon put him down, not with a throw but with a steady, powerful movement that made his stringy muscles stand out. The taller man's legs buckled, and then Sulyard was on the ground, panting heavily. Pygeon smiled, savouring his triumph.

'Shake hands and share a loving cup!' Carswell called out.

Pygeon looked down at Sulyard. 'Fetch the brigandyne to me when you are recovered,
Master
.' He picked up his clothes and walked away. The gamblers who had lost - most of them - reached ruefully for their bags. Barak paid over the half groat. I saw that Leacon had come out of his tent, accompanied by Sir Franklin and Snodin. They stood talking.

'Come, Jack,' I said, 'the afternoon wears on. We must say farewell to Leacon and return to Hoyland.'

Barak raised a hand to the soldiers. 'Farewell, lads, I must return my master to our gracious hosts!'

'You're picking up Carswell's style of humour,' I told him as we walked away.

'No, 'tis my own.'

As we approached Leacon I saw he too had had a barbering. The whiffler Snodin was talking loudly and angrily, 'Milk bellies that can't do without beds. Simpering, mumping weaklings--'

'All right, Snodin,' Sir Franklin said testily. He stared at me as I approached. 'Sir Franklin, I am sorry to interrupt, but I would say goodbye to Master Leacon - '

Sir Franklin waved a hand impatiently. 'A moment. Snodin, send a message about the deserters to Sir William Paulet. He must alert the shires to look for them.'

'Yes, Sir Franklin. The fools,' Snodin burst out with sudden emotion. 'Why did they do it? I trained those men, I know them.' He looked at Sir Franklin. 'Will they hang if they're caught?'

'The King has ordered every deserter to be hanged.'