‘Yes. I have a duty to find out what is happening,’ I said firmly. ‘It is what the Queen would wish.’
He shook his head. ‘You and the Queen. I just want to go home.’
I RETURNED to my room. A book had been laid on my bed. Toxophilus, by Roger Ascham. I lay down on the bed and opened it. It began with a flowery dedication to the King, and his ‘most honourable and victorious journey into France’. Victorious, I thought. Then why are we poised against a French invasion? And honourable – I recalled what Leacon had said about the waging of war on women and children in Scotland. I leafed through the text. The first part was a dialogue in which Toxophilus – clearly Ascham – described the virtues of archery to an appreciative student. Archery, as an exercise that trained all parts of the body, was contrasted to the risks and dangers of gambling. Ascham praised war: ‘Strong weapons be the instruments with which God doth overcome that part which he will have overthrown.’
I thought back to my childhood. I had tried pulling a bow at our village butts just once, my father had taken me when I was ten with a little bow he had bought for me. My deformity had meant I could not take a proper stance with the bow; my arrow, released, had dropped to the ground. The village boys laughed, and I ran home in tears. Later my father had said, in the disappointed tones I had already come to know, that I was not formed for the art and need not go again.
I took up the book once more, persisting. I passed to the second part, where the dialogue changed to a discussion of the skills and techniques of archery: what to wear, how to stand, the types of bows and arrows – thorough and detailed knowledge.
I laid down the book and went to stand by the open window, looking out on the lawn. What was happening here? Hobbey might be creaming off the profits from felling trees on Hugh’s lands, but there was more to it than that. Yet Hugh seemed to have complete freedom. I knew from long experience that families will sometimes make one member a scapegoat for their troubles, but from what I had seen it was not Hugh but Abigail who had that role here. What was she so frightened of?
TO MY SURPRISE I slept well. A servant woke me at seven as I had asked. Outside the spell of fine weather seemed over; it was cloudy, close and sticky. I dressed once more in my serjeant’s robes. I still had Emma’s cross round my neck, I should give it to Hugh. I remembered Avery saying he wore this gruesome heartstone.
There was a knock at my door. Dyrick stood there. He too had put on his robe, and slicked down his coppery hair with water.
‘Fulstowe says we may have a storm before the day is out. Perhaps you should postpone your ride through the woods.’
‘No,’ I answered briefly. ‘I shall go today.’
He shrugged. ‘As you wish. I came to tell you Mistress Hobbey is better, she is willing to be deposed. Unless, having seen Hugh, you will end this nonsense now.’
‘No,’ I answered. ‘Can you ask Fulstowe to have Barak fetched?’ Dyrick made an impatient sound and turned away.
WE GATHERED again in Nicholas’s study. Abigail was already there, sitting under the portrait of the abbess of Wherwell. She had taken care of her appearance today, her hair was tied up, her face powdered. Lamkin sat on a little rug on her lap.
‘I hope you are feeling better, Mistress Hobbey,’ I began.
‘Better than I was.’ She glanced nervously at Barak and Feaveryear, their quills poised. ‘Then I will begin,’ I said. ‘I wonder, madam, what you thought when your husband suggested buying Hugh and Emma’s wardship.’
She looked me in the eye. ‘I was glad of it, for I could have no more children. I welcomed Hugh and Emma. I had always wanted a daughter especially.’ She sighed deeply. ‘But the children would not let me close to them. They had lost their parents. Yet do not many children lose their parents young?’ Her look had a sort of appeal in it.
‘Sadly they do. I understand Reverend Broughton, the Curteyses’ vicar, opposed the wardship. You and he had words.’
Abigail raised her chin defiantly. ‘Yes. He defamed my husband and me. Everything about the wardship was done properly.’
‘Master Shardlake cannot dispute that,’ Dyrick said. He was watching Abigail carefully, anxious I guessed lest she lose control.
‘It must have been terrible when all the children took smallpox. I understand you took care of David yourself, despite the danger.’
A flash of anger in her face. ‘And neglected Hugh and Emma, is that what you imply? Well, sir, whatever Michael Calfhill may have said, that is not true. I constantly visited Hugh and Emma. But they only wanted to see each other, only each other.’ She lowered her head and I realized she was weeping. Lamkin whined, looking up at his mistress, and she stroked his head as she reached for a handkerchief. ‘I lost Emma,’ Abigail said quietly. ‘I lost the girl I wanted for my daughter. It was my fault, all my fault. God forgive me.’