Heartstone

* * *

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.'

There was silence round the table for a moment. I thought of Leacon's men repairing the musty old jacks they would have to fight in. Hobbey looked at me, eyes glinting sharp in the candlelight. 'I believe you are personally acquainted with the Queen, Master Shardlake.'

'I have that privilege,' I answered carefully. 'I knew her majesty when she was still Lady Latimer.'

Hobbey spread his hands, smiling coldly. 'I, alas, have the patronage of no high personages. I have risen only to be a country gentleman.'

'All credit to you for that, sir,' Dyrick said. 'And for your fine house.'

'These smaller religious houses can be turned to fine residences. The only disadvantage is that this one was also used as Hoyland parish church, so we have to go to the next parish on Sundays.'

'With all the oafs from the village,' Abigail added tartly.

'And our status means we need to go each Sunday,' Hobbey added in a weary tone. Clearly, I thought, this is no religious family.

'How many nuns were here, Nicholas?' Dyrick asked.

'Only five. This was a subsidiary house of Wherwell Abbey, in the west of the county. I have a picture of the last abbess but one in my study, I will show you tomorrow.'

'Her face all wrapped up so tight in her wimple,' Abigail said with a shudder.

'They used to send disobedient nuns here,' David said. 'Ones that had had monks' hands at those wimples, and elsewhere—'

'David, fie, for shame,' his father said. But he spoke mildly, giving his son an indulgent look.

Hugh said quietly, 'Some nights, sitting here, I seem to hear faint echoes of their prayers and psalms. Just as we still faintly smell the incense.'

'They deserve no sympathy,' Hobbey said flatly. 'They lived as parasites on the rents from their woodland.' I thought, as you do now.

'They would be able to make fine profits today,' Dyrick said. 'The price wood is fetching.'

'Yes. This is the time to sell, while the war is on.'

'There will be good profits from your land and Master Hugh's too,' I observed.

Dyrick raised his eyebrows at me. 'Master Hobbey is laying up a fine store of money for Hugh.'

'You are welcome to see my accounts,' Hobbey said.

'Thank you,' I answered neutrally, knowing those could be doctored.

'For when I am twenty-one, a grown man,' Hugh said quietly, then laughed, a bitter little sound. Abigail sighed deeply. I thought, that woman is wound so tight she could explode.

Hobbey passed the wine around. Dyrick placed his hand over his cup. 'I will have no more, thank you,' he said. 'I prefer to keep my mind sharp.' He looked at me meaningfully.

'What happened to the nuns when they left?' I asked.

'They got good pensions.'

'Old Ursula was one of the nuns' servants,' Abigail said. 'She wishes they were back, you can see it in her.'