Heartstone (4 page)

There was an angry tone, different from the usual haggling, in the many arguments going on up and down the market. At a vegetable stall a fat, red-faced woman stood waving one of the testoons in the stallholder's face, the white wings of her coif shaking with anger.

'It's a shilling!' she yelled. 'It's got the King's majesty's head on it!'

The weary-looking stallholder slapped his hands down and leaned forward. 'It's nearly half copper! It's worth eightpence in the old money, if that! It's not my fault! I didn't make this evil coinage!'

'My husband got paid in these! And you want a penny a bag for these scabby things!' She picked up a small cabbage and waved it at him.

'The crops have been damaged by the storms! Don't you know that? It's no good coming to me making moan!' The stallholder was shouting now, to the delight of some ragged urchins who had gathered round with a skinny dog, which stood barking at them all. The woman threw the cabbage down. 'I'll find better somewhere else!'

'Not for one of those dandyprats, you won't!'

'It's always those at the bottom that suffer,' she said. 'Poor people's work is all that's cheap!' She turned away and I saw tears in her eyes. The dog followed her, jumping and barking round her ragged skirts. Straight in front of me she turned and aimed a kick at it. Genesis stepped back, alarmed.

'Have a care, goodwife!' I called out.

'Pen-pushing lawyer,' she yelled back. 'Robed hunchback leech! I warrant you don't have a family half starving! You should be brought down, the King and all of you!' She realized what she had said and looked round, afraid, but there were no constables nearby. She walked away, an empty bag slapping at her skirt.

'Quiet, good horse,' I said to Genesis. I sighed. Insults about my condition still felt like a stab in the guts after all these years, but I felt humbled too. For all that I, like other gentlemen, might rail against the taxes, we still had money to put food on the table. Why, I thought, do we all put up with the King squeezing us dry? The answer, of course, was that invasion was a worse fear.

I passed down the Poultry. At the corner of Three Needle Street half a dozen apprentices in their light blue robes stood with hands on their belts, looking round threateningly. A passing constable ignored them. Once the plague of the authorities, the apprentices were now seen as useful extra eyes against spies. It was such a gang of youths that had sacked Guy's shop. As I passed beyond the city wall again at Bishopsgate I wondered bitterly whether I was going to a madhouse, or coming from one.

I
HAD FIRST MET
Ellen Fettiplace two years before. I had been visiting a client, a boy incarcerated in the Bedlam for religious mania. At first Ellen had seemed saner than anyone else there. She had been given duties caring for some of her easier fellow patients, towards whom she showed gentleness and concern, and her care had played a part in my client's eventual recovery. I had been astonished when I learned the nature of her malady - she was utterly terrified of going outside the walls of the building. I had myself witnessed the wild, screaming panic that came over her if she were made even to step over the threshold. I pitied Ellen, all the more when I learned she had been incarcerated in the Bedlam after she was attacked and raped near her home in Sussex. She had been sixteen then; she was thirty-five now.

When my client was discharged Ellen asked if I would visit her and bring news of the outside world, for she had almost none. I knew no one else visited her, and agreed on condition she would let me try to help her venture outside. Since then I had tried any number of strategies, asking her to take just one step beyond the open doorway, suggesting I and Barak hold her on either side, asking if she could do it with closed eyes - but Ellen had procrastinated and delayed with a guile and persistence more than equal to mine.

And gradually she had worked that guile, her only weapon in a hostile world, in other ways. At first I had promised only to visit her 'from time to time', but as skilfully as any lawyer she had manipulated the phrase to her benefit. She asked me to come once a month, then every three weeks as she was so famished for news, then every two. If I missed a visit I would receive a message that she was taken ill, and would hasten round to find her sitting happily by the fire soothing some troubled patient, having made a sudden recovery. And these last few months it had dawned on me that there was another element in the problem, one I should have seen earlier. Ellen was in love with me.

P
EOPLE THOUGHT
of the Bedlam as a grim fortress where lunatics groaned and clanked their chains behind bars. There were indeed some who were chained and many who groaned, but the grey-stone exterior of the long, low building was quite pleasant looking. One approached across a wide yard, which today was vacant except for a tall, thin man dressed in a stained grey doublet. He was walking round and round, staring at the ground, his lips moving quickly. He must be a new patient, probably a man of means who had lost his wits and whose family could afford the fees to keep him here, out of the way.

I knocked at the door. It was opened by Hob Gebons, one of the warders, a big bunch of keys jangling at his belt. A stubby, thickset man in his fifties, Gebons was no more than a jailer; he had no interest in the patients, to whom he could be casually cruel, but he had some respect for me, for I stood up to the Bedlam's keeper, Edwin Shawms, whose cruelty was not casual. And Gebons could be bribed. When he saw me he gave me a sardonic smile, showing grey teeth.

'How is she?' I asked.

'Merry as a spring lamb, sir, since you sent word you were coming. Up till then she thought she had the plague. Shawms was furious watching her sweat - and she did sweat - thinking we'd be quarantined. Then your message came and within an hour she was better. I'd call it a miracle if the Church allowed miracles now.'

I stepped inside. Even on this hot summer's day the Bedlam felt clammy. On the left was the half-open door of the parlour, where some patients sat playing dice round a scratched old table. On a stool in a corner a middle-aged woman was weeping quietly, a wooden doll clutched firmly in her hand. The other patients ignored her; here one quickly got used to such things. To the right was the long stone corridor housing the patients' rooms. Someone was knocking on one of the doors from the inside. 'Let me out!' a man's voice called.

'Is Keeper Shawms in?' I asked Hob quietly.

'No. He's gone to see Warden Metwys.'

'I'd like a word after I've seen Ellen. I can't stay more than half an hour. I have another appointment I must keep.' I reached down to my belt and jingled my purse, nodding at him meaningfully. I slipped him small amounts when I came, to ensure Ellen at least had decent food and bedding.

'All right, I'll be in the office. She's in her room.'

I did not need to ask if her door were unlocked. One thing about Ellen, she was never, ever, going to run away.

I walked down the corridor and knocked at her door. Strictly, it was improper for me to visit a single woman alone, but in the Bedlam the usual rules of conduct were relaxed. She called me in. She was sitting on her straw bed, wearing a clean, blue dress, low-cut, her graceful hands folded in her lap. Her narrow, aquiline face was calm, but her dark-blue eyes were wide, full of emotion. She had washed her long brown hair, but the ends were starting to frizz and split. It is not the sort of detail you notice if you are attracted to a woman. Therein lay the problem.

She smiled, showing her large, white teeth. 'Matthew! You got my message. I have been so ill.'

'You are better now?' I asked. 'Gebons said you had a bad fever.'

'Yes. I feared the plague.' She smiled nervously. 'I was afraid.'

I sat on a stool on the other side of the room. 'I long for news of the world,' she said. 'It has been more than two weeks since I saw you.'

'Not quite two, Ellen,' I answered gently.

'What of the war? They won't tell us anything, for fear it may unsettle us. But old Ben Tudball is allowed out and he saw a great troop of soldiers marching past . . .'

'They say the French are sending a fleet to invade us. And that the Duke of Somerset has taken an army to the Scottish border. But it is all rumour. Nobody knows. Barak thinks the rumours come from the King's officials.'

'That does not mean they are untrue.'

'No.' I thought, she has such a sharp, quick mind, and her interest in the world is real. Yet she is stuck in here. I looked at the barred window onto the yard. I said, 'I heard someone down the corridor banging to be let out.'

'It's someone new. Some poor soul that still believes they are sane.'

The atmosphere in the room was musty. I looked at the rushes on the floor. 'These need changing,' I said. 'Hob should attend to it.'

She looked down, quickly scratched at her wrist. 'Yes, I suppose they do.' Fleas, I thought. I'll get them too.

'Why do we not go and stand in the doorway?' I suggested quietly. 'Look out at the front yard. The sun is shining.'

She shook her head, wrapping her arms round her body as though to ward off danger. 'I cannot.'

'You could when I first knew you, Ellen. Do you remember the day the King married the Queen? We stood in the doorway, listening to the church bells.'

She smiled sadly. 'If I do that you will press me to go outside, Matthew. Do you think I do not know that? Do you not know how afraid I am?' Her voice took on a bitter note and she looked down again. 'You do not come to visit me, then when you do you press and cajole me. This is not what we agreed.'

'I do visit you, Ellen. Even when, as now, I am busy and have worries of my own.'

Her face softened. 'Have you, Matthew? What ails you?'

'Nothing, not really. Ellen, do you really want to stay here for the rest of your life?' I hesitated, then asked, 'What would happen if whoever pays your fees were to stop?'

She tensed. 'I cannot speak of it. You know that. It upsets me beyond bearing.'

'Do you think Shawms would then let you stay out of charity?'

She flinched a little, then said with spirit, looking me in the face, 'You know I help him with the patients. I am good with them. He would keep me on. It is all I want from life, that and - ' She turned away, and I saw tears in the corner of her eyes.

'All right,' I said. 'All right.' I stood up and forced a smile.

Ellen smiled too, brightly. 'What news of Barak's wife?' she asked. 'When is her baby due?'

I
LEFT HER
half an hour later, promising to be back within two weeks -
within
two weeks, not
in
two weeks, she had nudged our bargain in her favour again.

Hob Gebons was waiting for me in Shawms's untidy little office, sitting on a stool behind the desk, hands folded over his greasy jerkin. 'Had a good visit, sir?' he asked.

I closed the door. 'Ellen was as usual.' I looked at him. 'How long is it she's been here now? Nineteen years? The rules say a patient can only stay in the Bedlam a year, and they're supposed to be cured within that time.'

'If they pay, they stay. Unless they make a lot of trouble. And Ellen Fettiplace don't.'