The Queen spoke again. ‘Come, Bess, you must tell the last part, though I know it is the hardest.’
Bess looked at me, steeled herself. ‘Michael returned from Dorset to visit me at Easter. When he arrived he looked terrible, pale and distracted, almost out of his wits. He would not tell me why, but after a few days he suddenly asked if I knew any lawyers. For what, I asked. To my amazement he said he wished to apply to the Court of Wards for Hugh to be taken from the Hobbeys’ custody.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I told him I knew no lawyers, and asked why he should do this now, after six years. He said it was something not fit for my ears or any woman’s, or man’s either except a judge. I tell you, sir, I began to fear for Michael’s reason. I can see him now, sitting opposite me in the little house I have, thanks to the Queen’s goodness. In the light from the fire his face looked lined – old. Yes, old, though he was not yet thirty. I suggested if he wanted a lawyer perhaps he should visit Master Dyrick. But he laughed bitterly and said he was the last person he should go to.’
‘That is right. If Dyrick was acting for Hobbey in the wardship, he could not act against him in the same matter.’
‘It was more than that, sir. There was anger in Michael’s voice.’
I sensed a new stillness in the room, and glanced over to the windows. The maids-in-waiting had stopped sewing, and were listening as intently as the Queen and I.
‘It occurred to me that on the way back home from Dorset Michael might have visited Hugh. I asked him outright, and he admitted it was true. He had not made an appointment because he feared Master Hobbey might not receive him. He said when he arrived he found that something frightful had been done. He had to find a lawyer whom he could trust, and if he could not he would file the case in court himself.’
‘I wish you had come to me, Bess,’ the Queen said. ‘You could have.’
‘Your majesty, I feared my son was losing his reason. I could not see anything that could have happened to Hugh that would drive Michael to such a state. Shortly afterwards Michael said he had found a lodging of his own. He said he was not going back to Dorset. He – ’At last she broke down, burying her head in her hands and weeping. The Queen leaned over and held Bess close against her breast.
At length she regained her composure. The Queen had given her a handkerchief, which she twisted and squeezed in her hands. She spoke, but with her head bowed so low I was looking at the top of her white coif.
‘Michael moved into lodgings down by the river. He visited me most days. He told me he had filed papers in the Court of Wards by himself and paid the fee. I fancied he looked a little easier then, but in the days that followed that old, drawn look returned. Then several days passed when he did not visit. The following morning the local constable came.’ She looked up, eyes bereft. ‘He told me my son had been found dead in his room, he had hanged himself from a roof beam. He left me a note – I have it. Master Warner said I should bring it with me for you to see.’
‘May I?’
Bess produced a folded scrap of dirty paper from her dress. She passed it to me with a trembling hand. I opened it. Forgive me, Mother, was scrawled on it. I looked up at her. ‘This is Michael’s writing?’ I asked.
‘You think I do not know my own son’s hand?’ she asked angrily. ‘He wrote this, as I told the coroner at the inquest, before the jury and all the curious public.’
‘Come, Bess,’ the Queen said gently. ‘Master Shardlake needs to ask these questions.’
‘I know, your majesty, but it is hard.’ She looked at me. ‘I apologize, sir.’
‘I understand. Was the hearing before the London coroner?’
‘Yes, Master Grice. A hard, stupid man.’
I smiled sadly. ‘That he is.’
‘The coroner asked me if my son had seemed unwell and I said yes, his behaviour had been strange lately. They brought in a verdict of suicide. I did not say anything about Hampshire.’
‘Why not?’
She raised her head and looked at me again, defiantly. ‘Because I had decided to bring that matter to the Queen. And now I have come for justice, by the Queen’s good grace.’ She sat back. I realized there was a thread of steel under Bess’s pain.
I asked quietly, ‘What do you think your son found in Hampshire that could have driven him to kill himself?’
‘God rest and quiet his soul, I do not know, but I believe it was something terrible.’
I did not answer. I wondered if Bess needed to believe that now, had turned pain outwards into anger.