Heartstone

His mother continued, 'If Ellen accepted he would bring her and Master Fettiplace to the Hall afterwards. He said a friend would be riding with him. So we made everything ready for his arrival. The ninth of August, a date I remember each year.'

'The date of the fire.'

She gave me a long, considering look, then she went and sat heavily on a stool. She was starting to look very tired. She went on, 'My late husband and I waited at home, the best wine brought out in anticipation of a celebration, though in truth we hoped Philip would arrive alone, that Ellen Fettiplace would have refused him. But the hours passed, it grew dark and still nobody came. We waited and waited. Then, towards midnight, Philip arrived. My poor boy, he had been so happy to be part of the King's court, so full of life and energy. But it had all gone out of him, he looked crushed, bereft—' Mistress West paused—'afraid.'

So, I thought, she turned him down. 'Had she rejected him?' I asked.

Mistress West shook her head. 'No. Philip had not seen Ellen: he knew nothing of the fire. Because something else had happened that had frozen his blood and froze ours when he told us. His friend, Master Shardlake, had betrayed him. During the journey, some miles from Rolfswood, they stopped for a drink at a country inn. There they had an argument. Philip can be fierce when he is provoked. It was nothing, some foolish quarrel about some horses, but the two of them ended on the ground, fighting.'

'Such things happen between young men.'

'After the fight Philip's friend gave him hard words and said he would ride back to Petworth. Later Philip realized he had probably manufactured the quarrel. For shortly after, as he rode on here, Philip found the King's letter was gone. He had had it on his person. And you see, his friend was employed in Queen Catherine's household. She must have learned about the letter somehow, and used this lawyer as one of her spies.'

'So his friend stole a letter from the King to Anne Boleyn?' I asked incredulously. 'To give to Catherine of Aragon? He took his life in his hands.'

'Oh, the Queen would have protected him. She was known for her loyalty to her servants.' I thought, someone else had said that to me: Warner, the current Queen's solicitor. Who would have been a young lawyer in Catherine's service in 1526. My heart began to thud.

'Philip thought at first he had dropped the letter during the fight. He raced back to the inn but there was no sign of it. So he was left with the prospect of returning to court and telling the King it was lost.'

'But it was stolen—'

Mistress West shook her head impatiently. 'My husband told him to say it was lost. Do you not see? Better for the King to think the letter was lost than probably in Queen Catherine's hands already. My husband told Philip not even to tell us the man's name, it would be safer for us if we did not know. But this inquest will enquire about Philip's movements that night and then he must give the name or be a suspect. This man is his alibi.' Then she spoke with some venom: 'Let him pay for his crime at last.'

I said, 'Jesu, that letter could have spoken of the King's intention to marry Anne Boleyn. If Catherine of Aragon had early notice of that, it could explain her refusal to consider a divorce from the start. Madam, if the King learned of your son's lie, even now it could go hard for him.'

Mistress West clasped her hands together. 'Better my son's carelessness be known than risk a charge of murder. I have thought about it all night, Master Shardlake. And I have decided.' She looked at me, waiting for a response. I could see why she did not want Buttress to be the first to hear this story.

'So your son did not see Ellen?'

'No. He stayed the night with us, then rose early the next morning and rode straight back to Petworth. News of the fire had not yet reached us. He told the King the letter had been lost on the journey. He was dismissed, of course. Then a messenger brought him news of the fire. He came home at once, and went to see Ellen, but she would not receive him. My husband and I implored him to leave her alone, but he persisted almost until she was taken away.'

I looked at her. For the first time she dropped her eyes. And I thought, yes, it was you that conspired with Priddis to have Ellen taken to the Bedlam.

She said, 'Philip went to sea, took service on the King's ships. For him it was a matter of honour, he felt he had betrayed the King. He has been at sea ever since. I am sure the King would consider his honourable service if the truth about that letter came out now.'

I looked at her. From my knowledge of the King, I doubted it.

'Since my husband died Philip has left the running of the estate in my hands. It is as though he is punishing himself still for losing that letter, after near twenty years.' She looked at me again with a sad smile. 'And that is the story, Master Shardlake. So you see, my son knew nothing of the fire, of those deaths.'

I made a steeple of my hands. It was a coincidence, to say the least, that the letter had vanished on the night of the fire. Mistress West clearly believed her son's story implicitly, and was perhaps arrogant and self-absorbed enough to think others would too. But there was only Philip's word that the letter and his friend even existed. I remembered him at Portsmouth—he was a haunted man, but haunted only by a lost letter, or something darker? And if there was a friend was he alibi or accomplice?

'Did your son ever say what became of his friend, the lawyer?' I asked. 'If he was allied to Catherine of Aragon, he was backing the losing side.'

She shrugged. 'I do not know. I imagine he changed his loyalties, turned his coat during Queen Catherine's fall. Many did.'

'That is true.'

She took a deep breath. 'Do you think if that story is told now it would help my son?'

I looked at her. 'In truth, madam, I do not know.'

'I would ask one more thing of you,' she said. 'Please do not tell Master Buttress what I have told you. Not just yet. Give my son—give him a chance to acquit himself in the battle that may be coming.'

I thought it would do no harm to keep the matter quiet for the moment. And it would give me time to make my own further investigations.

'Very well. I promise to say nothing yet.'

Her manner had changed completely now, it was almost imploring. 'Thank you. You are a thoughtful man, a neutral party. And perhaps—'

'Perhaps what, Mistress West?'

'Perhaps there is some way, some private way, of dealing with this matter without Philip being shamed at the inquest.'

'What might that be?'

'I do not know. If you could use your influence . . .'

'I will consider,' I answered flatly.

'If you wish to speak further, a message to my house, Carlen Hall, will reach me.'

'And I am at Hoyland Priory, eight miles north of Portsmouth on the Portsmouth road.'

I looked at her, and thought, anxious and afraid for your son as you are, I have no pity for you. When the time comes I will have the story of Ellen's forced removal out of you.

She gave a desolate smile. 'Of course, long before the inquest, my son may have given his life for his country. I think he would prefer to die with honour than live to see the story told.' Her mouth trembled and tears came to her eyes. 'Die for the King, and leave me alone in the world.'

Chapter Thirty-five

AN HOUR LATER we were on the road south to Hoyland. Mistress West had given me much food for thought. Barak's reaction when I told him her story had been instantaneous: 'I don't believe a word. West told his mother that story to keep her quiet. More likely he and his friend attacked Ellen, then his friend disappeared.'

'And the fire, and the murders at the foundry?'