Heartstone (27 page)

'I've been there, sir. When I finish my apprenticeship I plan to move to Sussex to work. Anyone with skill at the forge can command good money in the blast furnaces. I went to Sussex last year to look for opportunities - there are ironworks everywhere, making everything from arrowheads to decorated firebacks. I went to Buxted, where they cast cannon. What a place.' He shook his head in wonder. 'Dozens of men working in huge buildings. You can hear the noise miles away, but the wages are good.' He bent and picked a blade of grass, slowly tearing it. 'Tess and my parents do not wish me to go.' He looked at me seriously. 'But it is a way for a man like me who cannot write to better himself. Is that not a good thing to do?'

'I suppose so. But for those around you, perhaps not. Though it is easy for me to say.'

'I will do it.' He frowned and picked another blade of grass.

'So we are near the Sussex border?' I asked.

'Yes. The ironworks here in the west are fewer and more old-fashioned, but there is still plenty of work for them.' He turned and looked at me, the light blue eyes in his tanned face anxious. 'Do you not think my idea a good one, sir?'

'I hear the foundries are dangerous places to work.'

'Less dangerous than soldiering,' Llewellyn answered with feeling.

T
OWARDS SIX
the company halted outside the little town of Liphook, where a local man waited beside our allotted meadow. The soldiers marched in and began unloading the tents under Snodin's supervision. The clouds above were still heavy and thick, the air cool, but it was not yet raining. Leacon told us he was sleeping with the company again, but advised us to find an inn; the man whose field it was had assured him there would be heavy rain before the evening was out. Leacon's manner towards me still had that new remoteness, which saddened me.

'You don't let the men into the towns?' I asked him.

'No. Strict orders. They'd just get drunk and there is always someone who will cause trouble.'

'What of Sir Franklin?'

'He'll stay with the men. He believes it's a captain's place, though sleeping in a tent gives him gout. Now I should go and supervise things; I will come into town with the purser later, and try to get some decent food for the men. Meet us in the town square tomorrow morning at seven. Leave your horses in camp if you like,' he said. 'We'll bring them.'

'Seven. A late start, then.'

'I have promised the men a shave before we leave tomorrow morning. One of the recruits is a barber.'

'I could do with one too.'

'For archers it is a point of pride. Long hair and a beard may get in the way if you are drawing arrows at the rate of half a dozen a minute.'

'Perhaps we might meet in Liphook later, for a drink?'

'No, I had best return with the supplies. Goodnight.' He walked away.

L
IPHOOK WAS
small, a village rather than a town, and there were only two inns. As at Cobham, there were carts everywhere. There was only one room at the better inn, which I let Dyrick and Feaveryear take. A small bribe secured Barak and I a little room at the other. Barak flopped down on the bed, sending up a cloud of dust from his clothes.

'I wonder if Dyrick will let Feaveryear crouch praying in their room. Dear God, I hope Master Hobbey doesn't make me share with him.'

'Maybe he will convert you to his saintly ways.'

'Let's hope we find Hugh Curteys happy as a pig in muck.'

'Amen to that.' I stretched my legs. 'God's death, I swear I heard the bones creak.' I hesitated, then said, 'I think I will go for a walk, stretch my legs. And see if I can find a barber.'

Barak looked up in surprise. 'Are you not going to rest?'

'I will be back later.' I went out quickly, uncomfortable that I had not told the truth. I had decided Liphook was a good place to begin my enquiries about Ellen. Having sworn not to involve Barak, I had not mentioned her name since we left London. Nor had he, though I knew he would not have forgotten my intention to investigate her past.

I
DECIDED
to ask first at the larger inn. I paused, though, at a barber's shop in a side street and had a shave. Dyrick, had mentioned earlier that he would look for a barber in Liphook and I found myself hoping he would not find it; let him turn up at Hoyland Priory looking unkempt. I shook my head: his endless competitiveness was infecting me.

The inn parlour was busy and I had to elbow my way to the serving hatch, where a plump, weary-looking man stood handing out mugs of beer. I waited my turn, ordered a beer, then laid a groat on the bar and leaned forward. 'I am looking for information about a place over the Sussex border,' I said quietly. 'Rolfswood.'

He looked at me curiously. 'I come from near there.'

'How far is it?'

'You need to get off the Portsmouth road south of Horndean, then take the road east about five miles.'

'Is it a big place?'

'No. A little market town.' He looked at me curiously. 'What d'ye want at Rolfswood? Not much there since the ironworks went.'

'They work iron there?'

'Used to. There's a small seam to the north. There was a little bloomery furnace in Rolfswood, but since it burned down the ore gets taken east.'

'Burned down?' I remembered Ellen's face, her words:
He burned! The poor man, he was all on fire!

'When I was a young man the owner and his assistant were killed. It must be twenty years ago.'

'An accident while they were - what is it - casting?'

The potman took the groat, then leaned over the bar. 'No. It was during the summer, the old bloomery foundries only operate in the winter. What's your interest, sir?'

'Can you remember the names of the people who were killed?'

'I've been gone a long time, but I remember the owner's name: Fettiplace.'

My mind raced. Twenty years ago, the very time Ellen had been attacked and put in the Bedlam. Something else had happened in Rolfswood, as well as the rape. Two people had died.
He burned!

My heart pounded. I turned abruptly from the hatch, and found myself looking straight at Feaveryear, who had been standing behind me, his greasy locks dangling over his sunburned brow.

Three days of irritation with Dyrick's jibes and Feaveryear's sour face boiled over. 'God's death, clerk,' I cried. 'Have you been eavesdropping?'

Feaveryear's mouth dropped open. 'No, sir, I was behind you in the queue. I came in for a beer.'

I looked around. 'Where's Dyrick? You are a spy, clerk!'

'I am not, Master Shardlake.' Feaveryear spoke hotly, his big Adam's apple twitching. 'Master Dyrick wanted to sleep, he sent me out and I came here. On my honour as a Christian, I heard you say something to that man about an ironworks that burned down, that is all.'

He seemed genuinely outraged. I saw how tired he looked, dark rings under his eyes. 'I am sorry,' I said quietly. 'I should not have shouted. Come and sit down.'

Feaveryear followed me reluctantly to a place on a bench. 'I apologize if I was mistaken,' I said. 'I have other business in Sussex, for another client.'

'You are apologizing to me, sir?' He looked surprised. 'Then I thank you.'

There was silence for a moment, then I said, 'The journey has been harder than I expected. The soldiers keep a fast pace.'

His face closed again, went sour and disapproving. 'My master says it is all unnecessary.'

I wondered whether Dyrick had used Feaveryear to spy out our plans before the hearing. Perhaps he had even been to the Court of Wards and bribed Mylling. I remembered the corner boys, the sack over my head. 'Well,' I answered neutrally, 'we shall see what we find.' I looked at him curiously. 'Have you worked for Master Dyrick long?'

'Three years. My father worked in the kitchens at the Temple, he sent me to school and afterwards asked for a place for me as a clerk. Master Dyrick took me on. He has taught me much. He is a good master.' Again that self-righteous look.

'So you sometimes work at the Court of Wards.'

'Yes, sir.' He hesitated then added, 'I see, like many, you think it a bad place.'

I inclined my head.

'Maybe it is, but my master seeks only justice there, as in the other courts where he pleads.'

'Come, Feaveryear. Lawyers take the cases that come to them, just or no.' I remembered my conversation with the Lady Elizabeth.

Feaveryear shook his head firmly. 'My master takes only cases that are just. Like this one. I am a Christian man, sir, I could not work for a lawyer who represented bad folk.' He coloured. 'I do not mean you do that, sir, only that you are mistaken in this cause.'

I stared at him. How could he believe that Vincent Dyrick, of all people, represented only the just? Yet he obviously did. I drew a deep breath. 'Well, Feaveryear, I must go back to my inn, get some food.'

'And my master asked me to find a barber.'

We went out into the street. Dusk was falling, candles lit in the windows. Some of the carters were bedding down in their wagons.

'Probably all going to Portsmouth,' I said. 'Like our company of archers.'

'Poor fellows,' Feaveryear said sadly. 'I have seen the soldiers look at me on the journey, I know they think me a weakling. Yet I think what they may be going to, and pray for them. It is wicked they have no preacher. Most of those men have not come to God. They do not realize that death in battle may be followed by a swift journey to Hell.'

'Maybe there will be no battle. Maybe the French will not land.'

'I pray not.'

I felt a drop of rain on my hand. 'Here it comes.'

'They will get wet in the camp.'

'Yes. And I must get back to my inn. Goodnight, Feaveryear.'

'Goodnight, Master Shardlake.'

'Oh, and Feaveryear, there is a barber's in the next street. Tell your master.'

I
T WAS POURING
with rain by the time I reached my inn, another summer storm. Dressed as I was in only shirt and jerkin, I was soaked through. The man I had bribed to get us a place at the inn invited me to come through to the kitchen and sit by the fire, hoping no doubt for another coin. I was glad to take up the offer; I needed somewhere to think hard about what the man at the other inn had told me.