Heartstone

'I have, sir.'

'Looks like someone's been at your neck,' he said. 'Some poor defendant had enough of being dragged through the courts?'

'No, just some common thieves, after money like all rogues. Thank you for your welcome, Master Shawms. It is always warm greetings at the Bedlam.'

'It's hard work for those who have to labour here. Eh, Hob?' He glanced sharply at Gebons.

'That it is, sir.'

'She is in the parlour. And you can tell her either to get old Emanuel to sign a receipt for his clothes, or sign it on his behalf. Tell her to bring it to me, and my inkpot.'

* * *

IN THE PARLOUR Ellen was doing what she did best, talking reassuringly to a patient, her voice calm and encouraging. It was the tall, thin man I had seen in the courtyard on my previous visit. They sat at the large, scarred old table, a quill and inkpot between them. Ellen was studying a paper, while the new patient clutched a bundle close to his chest and looked across at her apprehensively. As I entered, they both looked up. Ellen's face was transfigured by a delighted smile. The patient, though, dropped his bundle onto the table, stood and waved a frantic hand at me. 'A lawyer!' he shouted. 'They've sent a lawyer, they're going to put me in the Marshalsea prison!'

'No, Emanuel,' Ellen said, grasping his shoulder. 'This man is my friend, Master Shardlake. He has come to see me.' She spoke with pride.

'I've paid all I can, sir,' Emanuel told me, wringing his hands. He backed away, becoming more agitated. 'My business is gone, all I have are the clothes I stand in and those in this bundle. The court allowed me those, they sent them—'

I raised a hand soothingly. 'I have come to see Ellen, sir. I know nothing of you—'

'You deceive me. Even the King deceives me, his silver is not real. I have seen it. All my true silver is taken.'

'Palin,' Ellen called, as Emanuel dodged her grasp and made for the door. The young man entered and caught him firmly. 'Come on, matey,' he said. 'Come and lie down. No one's after you.' He strong-armed a weeping Emanuel away. I turned to Ellen. She was staring at my neck with a horrified look.

'Matthew, what happened?'

'An attempt at robbery. I am quite safe,' I added, making light of it.

'Thank you for coming again. It has scarce been four days.' She smiled once more.

'There was something I wished to speak to you about. But Shawms said something about signing a paper for him.'

'Yes, it is this, a receipt for Master Emanuel's poor belongings. He will not sign it, so I must.' She did so, signing her name with an elegant round hand, proof she had had some education.

She returned the paper and inkpot to Shawms's office, and then I followed her down the long corridor to her chamber. She wore the same light-blue dress as on Wednesday, and I noticed it was threadbare in several places. We passed the chamber of the fat old gentleman who had a delusion that he was the King. His door was half-open, and one of the keepers was replacing the rushes on the stone floor, a rag over his face against the smell, for the old ones, heaped in a corner, stank mightily. The old man sat on a commode, a tattered curtain for a robe and his paper crown on his head. He stared stonily ahead, ignoring the common mortals who passed.

We entered Ellen's room. As usual, she sat on her bed and I stood. 'Poor Master Emanuel,' she said sadly. 'He was a prosperous gentleman until last year, a corn merchant. He accepted payment for a large load in new coins just after the last debasement and made a great loss. He tried to hide it by borrowing and now his business has gone. His wits, too.'

I looked at her. 'You care about the patients, don't you, Ellen?'

'Someone has to care for those nobody else cares for.' She smiled sadly.

'At the moment I am trying to help a young man in that position.' I hesitated. 'And to do so I may have to go away for a short while.'

She sat up at that, an anxious look on her face. 'Where? For how long?'

'To Hampshire, to take some depositions. A week, perhaps a little more.'

'So far? I will be alone.' Her voice became agitated.

'I have a case in the Court of Wards. Representatives often have to travel to where the ward lives.'

'I have heard Wards is an evil place.'

I hesitated, then said quietly, 'It is where orders of lunacy are kept as well.' I drew a deep breath. 'I had to go there on Thursday. About this case. I also—I also asked the clerk if your records were filed there.'

For the first time since I met her Ellen looked at me with anger. Her face seemed to change, somehow flatten and harden. 'How could you?' she asked. 'You had no right to look at papers about me. No right to see those things.' She shrank back, curling her hands into fists in her lap.

'Ellen, I only wished to ensure there was a proper record for you.' A lie.

Her voice rose, cracking and breaking with rage. 'Did you laugh? Did you laugh at what you read?'

'Ellen!' I raised my own voice. 'There was nothing to read! There is no record of you there.'

'What?' she asked, her voice suddenly dropping.

'You are not registered as a lunatic.'

'But I must be.'

I shook my head. 'You are not. You should never have been sent here at all.'

'Will you tell Shawms?' Now her voice was small, frightened. In an instant all her long trust in me seemed to have gone. I raised a hand soothingly.

'Of course not. But, Ellen, they must know already. I would like to protect you, Ellen, help you. But to do that I have to find out how you came here, what happened. Please tell me.'

She did not reply, just looked at me with terrible fear and distrust. Then I said something which showed how little, even then, I understood her. 'Ellen, the way to Portsmouth passes near the Sussex border, near the town of Rolfswood, where I know you come from. Is there anyone I could visit there who might help you?'

At the mention of Rolfswood Ellen's bosom heaved as though she were fighting for breath. Then she began not to shout but to scream hoarsely. 'No! No!' Her face reddened. 'They were so strong!' she shouted. 'I could not move! The sky above—it was so wide—so wide it could swallow me!' The last words were a shriek of pure terror.

'Ellen.' I took a step towards her, but she shrank away, pressing herself into the wall.

'He burned! The poor man, he was all on fire—'

'What?'

Her eyes were glassy now, I realized she was not seeing me, nor the room, but something terrible in the past.

'I saw his skin melt, turn black and crack!' she howled. 'He tried to get up but he fell!'

There was a crash and the door flew open. Shawms entered, furious looking. Behind him were Palin and Hob Gebons. Palin held a coil of rope in one hand.

'God's nails!' Shawms shouted. 'What the hell's going on here?' Ellen stared at them and instantly became quiet, quaking against the wall like a poor mouse trapped in a corner by a cat. Shawms grasped my arm in a meaty hand and pulled me away.

'It's all right,' I said. 'She's only frightened—' And then, when it was far too late, I stretched out a hand to her, but she did not even see me as she shrank away from Hob and Palin. Hob looked at me over his shoulder, fiercely, and shook his head. Shawms jerked my arm again, pulling me to the door. I resisted, and he bent close, speaking quietly and savagely. 'Listen to me, master hunchback. I'm in charge here. You come out of this room, or I'll have Hob and young Palin put you out, none too gently. Want Fettiplace to see that, do you?'

There was nothing I could do. I let him lead me outside, leaving Hob and Palin to stand guard over Ellen as though she were a dangerous animal rather than a desperate, helpless woman. Then Shawms slammed the door on them, pulled the little square viewing window shut, and turned to face me. He was breathing hard.