‘I’m glad you are seeing sense,’ he said.
We were forced to pull aside from the road by a long line of carts rumbling past, well guarded by soldiers. They were covered with tarpaulins, but protruding from the carts’ tails I saw piles of thick fabric, decorated with elaborate, colourful designs in cloth of gold. Barak looked at me. ‘Are they – ?’
‘They look like the royal tents we saw at York.’
Cart after cart rumbled by, heading not for the town but towards the sea.
‘Is the King going to set up camp on the coast?’ Barak asked incredulously.
‘It looks like it. So he’s going to come right to the front line. Well, he never lacked courage.’
‘Even if they land, the French could never hold England.’
‘The Normans did. You’re right, though, the people would resist hard. But if there’s a chance of bringing us back to Rome the Pope will jump behind the French if they gain a foothold. Emperor Charles too perhaps. God’s death,’ I burst out angrily, ‘has there ever been such a tangle?’
‘Lord Cromwell would have been seeking a way out. But the King won’t do that.’
‘Never. He’ll see England drowned in blood first.’
‘Well,’ Barak said more cheerfully, ‘at least back in London you can do something about Coldiron. Thank you,’ he said, ‘for agreeing to go back.’
I nodded in acknowledgement. ‘You worry about Tamasin, don’t you?’
‘All the time,’ he said with feeling.
We rode on, towards Portsdown Hill.
Chapter Twenty-nine
WE ARRIVED AT Hoyland towards seven, exhausted. I washed and combed myself thoroughly to rid myself of the fleas and lice I had picked up, then lay on my bed thinking about Ellen and Hugh. I could see no way out of either impasse.
I was so tired I slept deeply that night. The next day passed peacefully enough. At meals Abigail barely spoke; she seemed listless, defeated. Dyrick was his usual sharp, aggressive self. Hobbey was guarded, Hugh civil enough, seeming indifferent now to my presence. David, though, was in a strange mood, quiet and restive. A couple of times I caught Fulstowe casting sharp looks at the boy. During the day everyone except Abigail was out, making final preparations for the hunt.
In the afternoon I took a walk in the grounds to try and clear my head, for I thought endlessly of Ellen and who could have started that fire, my mind fairly spinning with it all. In Abigail’s garden the flowers drooped in the endless sultry heat.
THAT EVENING came the first of the events that was to change the life of the Hobbey family for ever.
I was sitting at the table in my chamber, trying to work out the costs that might be awarded against us at the next hearing. They were considerable. The light was beginning to fail. I was vaguely aware that outside the boys were at the butts again, I could hear them through the open shutters. Then I heard a sudden anguished cry. ‘No!’
I rose and looked out of the window. To my amazement Feaveryear was running across the lawn. Hugh and David stood looking at him, too far away for me to make out their expressions. Feaveryear ran as though the devil were after him. He disappeared from view, then I heard running footsteps on the stairs, and a frantic knocking on Dyrick’s door.
THE FOLLOWING MORNING, yet another hot, close July day, we all walked to church. Hobbey led the little procession. Abigail was on his arm, in her best clothes but with her head cast down. Then came Dyrick, Barak and I, followed by Fulstowe at the head of the servants. Barak had not wished to go but I had roused him out, saying we should give no cause for criticism. To my surprise, though, Feaveryear was absent.
‘Is young Feaveryear unwell?’ I asked Dyrick. He had been frowning to himself, preoccupied.
He gave me a sharp, sidelong look. ‘I’ve sent him back to London. There was a letter waiting when we returned from Portsmouth, about a case. I sent him back to deal with it early this morning. There’s no point us both wasting our time here,’ he said, as ever making a point against me.
‘We have had no letters. Barak hoped there might be one from his wife.’
‘It came by special messenger from London. It concerns an important case.’
‘I thought I saw Feaveryear running across the lawn last night.’
He gave me another sharp look. ‘I had called him.’
It was a long walk to the church in the neighbouring village of Okedean. Long too, on their one day of rest, for the Hoyland villagers we passed, who had used the priory church when the nuns were there. Ettis, a pretty wife and three children at his side, crossed our path at the end of a country lane. He bowed and stood aside to let us pass. Abigail gave him a look of hatred.