Heartstone

'Tired, that is all. The King slept badly last night and called me to talk with him. Often now he cannot sleep from the pain from his leg.'

'You do not know how difficult life is for the Queen just now,' Warner said angrily. 'Why do you think the King has left her here today? I will tell you,' he went on. 'Because if, which God forbid, he should be killed or captured in these next few days, the Queen will be Regent for Prince Edward as she was when the King went to France last year, and she will have to deal with all of them. Gardiner, Norfolk, the Seymours, Cranmer. And Rich.' He moved a step closer to his mistress, protectively. 'These last two years she has kept her patronage of you as unobtrusive as she can, lest the King remember your past encounter and be annoyed. And now you stay in Hampshire against her wishes, you come swaggering in here, making ridiculous accusations against me—'

The Queen looked up and now she was smiling faintly. She put her hand on Warner's sleeve. 'Come, Robert. Swaggering is something Matthew does not do. Leave us to talk, just for a few moments, then take Matthew out and he can make haste straight back to London.'

Warner bowed deeply to the Queen, then walked stiffly away without another look at me. The Queen nodded to the maids-in-waiting and they stepped to the shade of the doorway. She looked at me, the half-smile still on her face.

'I know you meant well, Matthew. But never forget that, as the Gospels tell us, the road to Hell is paved with good intentions.'

'I am sorry. Sorry that I accused Master Warner, and sorrier that you have cause to be angry with me.'

She looked at me intently. 'Do you see that I have cause? After you disobeyed me?'

'Yes. Yes, I do.'

She nodded in acknowledgement, then looked down at her dog. 'Do you remember that day at Hampton Court?' she said in a lighter tone. 'The Lady Elizabeth was with us. She liked your answers to her questions, she told me later. I think you made a friend there. She does not like everyone, I can tell you.'

'I have remembered it too, these last weeks. You told me she was reading Roger Ascham's Toxophilus. It is a great favourite of Hugh Curteys' too. He lent it to me. I confess I found it a little—self-satisfied.'

'I have met Master Ascham. He—he is one who does swagger.' She laughed. 'But he is a learned man. The Lady Elizabeth has expressed a wish to correspond with him. She is such a remarkable child. Master Grindal is teaching her well, he is one of those who believes a woman may learn anything as well as a man. That is good. I often wish I had had a better education.' She smiled again, and a little merriment came to her eyes. 'Though I wish Elizabeth would not swear like a boy. I tell her it is not ladylike.' The Queen looked round the little garden; sunlight came through the trees, making patterns on the ground as the breeze shifted the branches. Birds sang softly. 'This is a peaceful little place,' she said wistfully. 'Tell me, what is Hugh Curteys like?'

'He is somehow—unreadable. But he still mourns his sister.'

Her face clouded again. 'Many in England may be in mourning before long. I wish the King had never—' she cut herself short, biting her lip, then reached out and touched my hand. 'I am sorry I was vexed, Matthew. I am tired.'

'Should I leave you, your majesty?'

'Yes. I may go to my chamber and rest. But I pray God we may meet again, safe, in London.'

I bowed and stepped to the door. I was full of gratitude for her forgiveness, and deeply sorry now for my accusations against Warner. I might have gained a friend in little Lady Elizabeth, but I had lost one, too. Then I frowned. Something was nagging at my mind. Something the Queen had said about Elizabeth. The maids-in-waiting moved aside to let me pass, dresses rustling. Inside, Warner waited, his manner still cold and hostile.

'Robert,' I said, 'I apologize again—'

'Come, you should leave, now.'

We went back up the stairs I had descended in such fear. 'Master Warner,' I said when we reached the top. 'There is one last question I would ask, if you will?'

'Well?' he asked roughly.

'Something you said to me at Hampton Court. You said the Queen was like Catherine of Aragon, utterly loyal to her servants.'

'Do not worry,' he said contemptuously, 'the Queen will stay loyal to you.'

'I did not mean that. It was something else you said, that Catherine of Aragon had her faults. What did you mean by that?'

'It is simple enough. She was another like you, sir, who would not let go when sense and even decency indicated she ought. When the King first said he wished to divorce her, the Pope sent her a message. That I did know of, as her lawyer. The Pope, to whom Catherine of Aragon's ultimate loyalty lay as a Catholic, suggested that in order to resolve the problems that were beginning to tear England apart, she should retire to a nunnery, which in canon law would allow the King to marry again without a divorce.'

'That would have been a neat answer.'

'It would have been the best answer. She was past childbearing age; the King would not bed with her anyway. She could have kept her status and honours, lived an easy life. And her daughter Mary that she loved would have kept her place in the succession rather than being threatened, as she was later, with execution. So much blood and trouble would have been spared. And the irony is Catherine of Aragon's obstinacy meant that England split from Rome; the last thing she wanted.'

'Of course. I see.'

Warner smiled tightly. 'But she believed God desired her to stay married to the King. And as often happens, God's will and her own chimed nicely. So there you are, that is where obstinacy may lead. Fortunately, our present Queen has a strong sense of realism. Stronger than some men, for all that she is a weak woman.'

He turned on his heel, and led me away. And with his last words it came to me, like a click in the brain. I understood now what had happened at Hoyland, what the secret was that everyone had known and concealed. Warner turned and looked at me in surprise as I released a sound that started as a sigh but ended as a groan.

* * *

AN HOUR LATER Barak and I were riding north along the London road. When I arrived at the inn I had been moved by the relief on his face. I told him Warner was innocent and that I had received a deserved rebuke from the Queen.

'Well,' he said, 'I did warn you.'

'Yes. You did.'

As we rode on I was silent; Barak probably thought I was in a chastened mood, but I was thinking hard, turning everything over since that flash of revelation as I left the Queen, afraid I might be building another castle in the air. But this time everything fitted tightly. And it would be easy to find out, very easy.

I said quietly, 'I want to call in at Hoyland on the way. Just briefly.'

For a second I thought he would fall from his saddle. 'Hoyland? Have you gone stark mad? What sort of welcome do you think you'll get?'

'I know now what it was that the Hobbeys were keeping quiet. What caused poor Michael Calfhill such distress when he came, and why Feaveryear left.'

'Jesus Christ, another theory.'

'It is easy to test. It should only take half an hour. And if I am wrong no harm will be done, and we can be on our way.'

'Do you think you know who killed Abigail?' he asked sharply.

'I am not sure yet. But if I am right, the killer came from within the household not the village.' I gave him a pleading look. 'Maybe I am wrong, but if I am right Ettis may be proved innocent. Half an hour. But if you want, ride on and find a bed in Petersfield.'

He looked down the dusty, tree-shaded road, then at me, and to my relief he shook his head and laughed. 'I give up,' he said. 'I'll come. After all, it's only the Hobbeys we have to face this time.'

Chapter Forty-one