‘I suspect Master Hobbey had already discovered that.’
‘There seemed nothing else I could do,’ Broughton said, spreading his arms wide. ‘I talked to Michael. To be fair to Hobbey, Michael said the children were well taken care of, their needs looked after. But he said Hugh and Emma had no affection from Hobbey or his wife.’
‘That happens often enough in wardship cases.’
‘There was more to it than that. Michael feared Nicholas Hobbey planned to marry Emma to their son, and so unite their Hampshire lands.’
‘That would be David Hobbey.’
‘Yes. I saw him as I left the house that day. He was in the hallway outside, I am sure he had been listening at the door. He gave me an impertinent stare, a strange look for a child, something – triumphant about it.’
‘He would have been – what – twelve then?’
‘Yes. As ill favoured a boy as I have ever seen. Squat, fat-faced. Dark like his father, a wispy moustache already growing on his lip.’ Broughton stopped, raising his hands. ‘I am sorry, I should not have said that. He was only a child.’
‘Almost a man now,’ Barak observed.
I said, ‘Unfortunately, to arrange such a marriage would be within Master Hobbey’s rights once he had the wardship.’
Broughton shook his head in disgust. ‘It is ungodly. The sacrament of marriage turned to a bargain. And Michael said – he told me David had put his hands on Emma. In a way he should not. Hugh had fought him over it.’
‘So Michael’s mother told me too. But then Emma died.’
‘God rest the poor child. By then the wardships had been granted and Michael had moved with the children to the Hobbeys’ house, out of the parish. I only saw him once more after that, when he came to tell me Emma had died and he had been dismissed.’ Broughton shook his head. ‘He said Abigail Hobbey showed no sadness at her funeral, looked on coldly as Emma was buried. I thought I saw despair in Michael’s face then. And from what you say it seems I was right.’ Broughton looked at me earnestly. ‘Does this help you, sir?’
I thought. ‘Only a little, I fear. Is there anyone else in your congregation who knew the family?’
He shook his head. ‘Not well. It was only I that took an interest in the wardship. People do not like to interfere in such matters. But there was one thing I discovered. There were rumours that Master Hobbey was in debt.’
‘Then how could he afford to buy the wardship? And he had just bought a monastic house and was having it converted.’
Barak grunted. ‘Hoped to get Emma’s share of the Curteys land by marrying her to his son. If so, he got a bad bargain.’
Broughton looked alarmed. ‘He still has the right to make a marriage for Hugh. What if he plans to marry him to someone unsuitable? That could be what Michael discovered.’
I nodded thoughtfully. ‘Possibly. Sir, I would be grateful if you could come to the hearing on Monday. At least you could testify you were unhappy with how matters were handled.’ I needed every scrap of evidence I could bring. But there was still nothing a good lawyer for the other side could not easily dismiss. I got up, wincing at my stiff back. Broughton rose too.
‘Sir,’ he said. ‘You will see justice done? Right whatever wrong is being done to Hugh?’
‘I will try. But it will not be easy. I will send Barak back tomorrow to prepare a deposition for you. It must be lodged with the Court of Wards before the hearing.’
‘God will not suffer injustice to children,’ Broughton said with sudden passion. ‘Our Saviour said, “Any wrong done unto these little ones is done also to me.” ’ He quoted the Bible in a fierce voice; but then I saw he was crying, tears running down his creased face. ‘I am sorry, sir,’ he said. ‘I was thinking of Michael. A suicide. In Hell. It is so – harsh. But God has decided that is where suicides must go and how can we question God?’ Faith and desperation showed equally in his face.
‘Justice may be tempered with mercy,’ I ventured. ‘That is an important principle, in earthly law at least.’
Broughton nodded, but did not speak again as he led us outside. ‘What time should I come on Monday?’ he asked as we parted at the church door.
‘The hearing is set for ten, the Court of Wards at Westminster. If you could come early.’
Broughton bowed and returned to the dim interior of the church. As we walked through the lych gate Barak turned to me. ‘Justice? He won’t see that in the Court of Wards.’ He gave a bitter laugh. ‘Only harsh judgement, like he says God gives.’
‘If Michael Calfhill deserves to be in Hell, perhaps even the Court of Wards’ judgement is better than God’s. Come, let’s change the subject. We are talking heresy in the street.’