Heartstone ms-5 Read online

  The boy nodded, looking frightened.

  'Lad,' I asked, 'when did Mistress Abigail leave the clearing?'

  'About twenty minutes ago. I heard her tell Mistress Stannard she needed to go to the pissing place.'

  One of the ladies spoke up. 'She did, but she went in the wrong direction. The appointed place is over there.' She pointed to a little path some way off.

  'Who from the hunting party was back in the clearing by then?' I asked the servant.

  'Hardly anybody, sir. Sir Luke had returned, then Master Avery, who said the stag had turned at bay. I think everyone else came back after Mistress Hobbey left.'

  Mistress Stannard looked at Fulstowe. 'What has happened to her?'

  He did not reply. I said, 'Master Avery, would you come too?' He rose, brushing bloody hands on his smock, and followed us back into the trees.

  * * *

  IN THE DELL bluebottles were buzzing round the wound on Abigail's brow. Corembeck's mouth dropped open. 'Murder,' he breathed. Dyrick for once said nothing, staring at the corpse in horror.

  'I thought it best to keep that quiet for now,' Fulstowe said. 'You, Sir Luke, are the magistrate. What should we do?'

  'Who found the body?'

  I stepped forward. 'My clerk and I.'

  'We must send to Winchester, for Coroner Trevelyan. At once.' Corembeck put a hand to his brow, where sweat stood out.

  'Why is Avery here?' Fulstowe asked me, nodding to the bloodstained huntmaster. 'This is hardly appropriate—'

  'Because he knows these woodlands,' I answered curtly. 'Master Avery, there is something I would show you if you would follow me.'

  I led the way to the place where the half-footprint was. 'Yes,' Avery said quietly. 'He fired from here.' He bent to a branch just in front of me; a twig was broken off, hanging by its stem. 'See, this was in his way. He broke it, quietly enough not to disturb her.' He looked at me. 'I think this man was an experienced archer. Not one of the household servants or the villagers I have been training up. He—well, he hit the centre of his mark.'

  'Thank you.' I led the way back to the glade. Abigail, who had been constantly fidgeting in life, sat horribly still. But as I stepped into the glade I saw someone else had arrived there. Hugh Curteys was in the act of picking up the flower Abigail had dropped. He placed it gently in her lap, then muttered something. It sounded like, 'You deserved this.'

  * * *

  WHEN WE RETURNED to the clearing the stag had been brought in on the cart. It was left with the does, and a long procession of shocked guests and servants filed back to the house. David, still weeping, was supported by his father. Hobbey's face remained blank with shock. Behind them Hugh walked with Fulstowe, saying nothing.

  'It could have been Hugh or David,' Barak said quietly.

  'Or Fulstowe. Why, almost nobody from the hunt was back when Abigail left the clearing.'

  Dyrick fell into step with us. 'Avery's wrong,' he said. 'It could have been someone from the village. So many young men practise archery nowadays. Older ones too. Well, we won't be leaving here tomorrow,' he added bitterly. 'We'll have to wait for the coroner. Me as Master Hobbey's lawyer, you two as first finders. We'll be here till the inquest. Damn it.'

  Did he feel nothing for Abigail? I stared at him. 'I want to see my children,' he snapped.

  You could have done it, I thought, you flounced off alone after Hobbey snapped at you. And you are an archer: you were talking about teaching your son.

  Barak's shoulders slumped. 'I begin to wonder if I'll ever see my child born now,' he said sorrowfully. 'I must write to Tamasin.'

  'And I to Warner.'

  We arrived back at the house. As we approached the steps to the porch, the front door banged open and Leonard Ettis marched out, a frown on his face. He stopped and stared at the procession, the weeping David supported by the pale, shocked Hobbey.

  Fulstowe strode over to Ettis. 'What are you doing here?' he barked.

  'I came to see you,' he retorted. 'To find out if your men still intend to enter our woods this week. Or try to. But there was nobody here but that savage-mouthed old cripple sitting in the hall.'

  'Mind your tongue,' Fulstowe snapped.

  'Oh yes, watch what I say.' Ettis laughed. 'It'll be a different story when I lead the village militia to fight the French.'

  Barak and I exchanged glances. 'Priddis,' I said. 'I had forgotten all about him.'

  'It was the hunt today.' Fulstowe looked narrowly at Ettis. 'Surely you had not forgotten that?'

  'I thought you might be back and this matter can't wait. We need an answer from you.' He looked over the little crowd, stared again at Hobbey and David. 'Has something happened?'

  'Mistress Hobbey is dead,' Fulstowe replied bluntly.

  Ettis stared. 'What?'

  'Shot dead with an arrow by an unknown assailant. Which way did you come to the house, Ettis?'

  The yeoman's eyes widened. 'You—do you accuse me?'

  Corembeck stepped forward. 'Which way did you come, Ettis?'

  Ettis glared at him. 'From the village.'

  'Not through the woods?'

  'No!'

  'Alone?' Fulstowe asked.

  Ettis took a step forward and for a moment I thought he would strike the steward. Then he turned and marched away down the drive. Dyrick looked meaningfully at Corembeck.

  We walked into the hall, where Priddis and his son sat waiting. Fulstowe told them what had happened. I saw the old man's eyes light up with greedy curiosity. For him, I realized, this was an unexpected piece of excitement.

  * * *

  I WENT UPSTAIRS to change for my ride with Edward Priddis. I felt guilty now for wanting to stay. Barak wanted so much to return to Tamasin. Looking out of the window, I remembered, sadly, Feaveryear and the two boys practising at the butts. David and Hugh had both disappeared to their rooms when we returned; I did not know who, if anyone, was with them.

  When I went back downstairs Sir Quintin was still ensconced in his chair by the fireplace with his son, watching all that was going on with horrible amused interest. I asked Barak to stay in the great hall, and listen to all that was said. Edward rose and we went to fetch the horses. As we rode out, Edward's manner was cool and distant, but civil enough.

  'This is a terrible thing for you to find here,' I said.

  He nodded seriously. 'These are strange and dreadful times.'

  'What news of the French in Portsmouth?' I asked.

  'They say their fleet has been sighted off the Sussex coast. People are becoming fearful.'

  'Yes, there is much fear underneath people's show of confidence.'

  'Nonetheless,' he said firmly, 'we must face whatever comes.'

  I studied him. Edward had bushy eyebrows like his father, and a firm, obstinate set to his mouth. 'I believe your father knows Sir Richard Rich,' I said.

  He gave me a wintry smile. 'Yes, he is an old acquaintance. We met and had a talk with him at the Portsmouth Guildhall. The day you brought Hugh Curteys there. I hear the merchants who have overcharged the army or provided bad food come to Sir Richard Rich in fear and trembling. I imagine he will soon cut through their excuses about having to charge more because of the new coinage. Sir Richard learned the art of interrogation under a master. Cromwell. But you will know that.' Again that wintry smile, a piercing look from those blue eyes.

  'Rich spoke of me?'

  Edward smiled coldly. 'A little. He asked my father about the case you have on down here. He said you can become—very strongly involved with your clients.'

  'No bad thing in a lawyer, surely, Brother.' I inclined my head, hiding the anxiety I felt at Rich's continued interest in me.

  'True.'

  'Did you qualify at Gray's Inn, like your father?'

  'I did. I worked on official service in London for a while. After a few years I came back to Winchester, to help Father in his work.'

  'You must do the bulk of it now, I hazard.'

  'Oh, Father still hold
s the reins. I am but his trusty steed.' I caught a note of bitterness. Are you waiting to succeed him? I wondered.

  'Look over to your right, Brother,' I said. 'Those are Hugh Curteys' lands that were cleared some years ago.'

  We came to a halt, near the area of cleared woodland Barak and I had seen on our ride. New trees, little more than saplings, stood amid thick undergrowth and the mossy stumps of old trees. It was hot, still and quiet. I said, 'I think there was more oak in this land than the accounts allow.'

  'And the evidence for that?' Edward asked sharply.

  'The fact the uncleared area of woodland to the south has a great deal of oak.'

  'The soil may be different.'

  'It looked very similar when I rode through it a few days ago.'

  'The day an arrow was shot at you?' He looked at me curiously.

  'Yes. Everyone thought it was a poacher. But after today I wonder.'

  'A madman roaming these woods,' Edward mused. He glanced apprehensively at the distant trees.

  'Sir Luke seems to think he has his suspect.'

  'He may be wrong. Perhaps some deserter from the army is in hiding out in the trees. He tried to kill you, then came across poor Mistress Hobbey. He may have wished to rob her.'

  'I do not believe she had a purse with her. The family would have noticed if one was gone.'

  'Still, you will forgive me if I say I would like to keep the inspection brief.'

  'This area is quite open, and we are out of bowshot from the trees. I suggest we ride through the cleared area, look at how many oak stumps we can see.'

  'If you insist.' Edward looked across at the treeline, about five hundred yards away. He was nervous; I wondered whether pride had made him accede to his father's suggestion that we still make this ride. We rode on, guiding the horses carefully.

  'I gather your family comes from near Rolfswood,' I said casually. I had decided to see what I could find out. Edward Priddis was clever, and a smooth talker, but I sensed he lacked his father's strength of character.

  'That is so. Though my father moved to Winchester when he became feodary of Hampshire.'

  'Do you ever visit there now?'

  'Not since my mother died ten years ago, God rest her. It was her family who came from those parts. Do you have connections there, Serjeant Shardlake? I do not recall hearing your name before.'

  'I have a client who thought he may have family in Rolfswood. He asked me to visit, see if I could trace them. I went there a few days ago.'

  'Did you find them?' Edward smiled pleasantly, though his eyes were keen as ever.

  'No. But I stayed overnight, learned of a tragedy there nineteen years ago. A foundry burned to the ground, the founder killed with one of his assistants. The founder's daughter went mad afterwards. Their name was Fettiplace, that is the name my client was looking for. Your father was coroner then, I believe.'

  Edward considered. 'I remember it vaguely. I was not at home then, I had started at Cambridge. I did a degree before going to Gray's Inn,' he added proudly. 'I seem to remember my father helped the girl, who went mad.'

  'That was good of him,' I said neutrally. I thought, I have seen enough of your father to see there is no shred of charity in him. I remembered Reverend Seckford telling me how Priddis had supervised Ellen's forced removal from her place of safety.

  'He is not as hard as people think,' Edward said stiffly. 'He does a difficult job.'

  'There is another family I heard of, that you may know. The Wests.'

  'Oh yes, they are important landowners. Mistress West has always ruled the roost around Rolfswood. Did you meet her too?'

  'I only heard of her and her son. He is an officer on the King's ships now. Philip West. He would have been about your age.'

  'I met him once or twice when I was a boy. But I returned seldom after I went to Cambridge. You seem to have made detailed enquiries, Brother Shardlake.'

  'It was an interesting story.'

  Edward brought his horse to a halt and surveyed the landscape. 'In truth, sir, I think it impossible to tell what trees once grew here. The old trunks are all overgrown. And we are approaching a little too near the treeline for my comfort.'

  'Look at the new young trees growing up,' I answered quietly. 'Fully half must be oaks. And see all the high old oaks in the forest ahead.'

  Edward made a show of looking carefully, though I was sure he had noticed everything I had. Then he turned to me, and asked quietly, 'What do you wish to achieve from this case, Master Shard-lake?'

  'Justice for Hugh Curteys. It is clear to me this land was mainly forested with oak, though Master Hobbey's accounts show oaks as barely a quarter of the trees felled.'

  'Yet Hugh Curteys himself said, at the Guildhall, that he is quite content.'

  'He is a young man with no head for business. And when these woods were felled he was a child.'

  'So you would go back to the Court of Wards and ask for what—restitution? It would take great time, Brother, and expense, trouble to a whole family, including Hugh, that has just suffered a great tragedy. A surveyor would have to be paid for, and he would likely find nothing conclusive. Consider, Master Shardlake, is it worth it? Especially when Master Hobbey has offered to be more than reasonable over costs.'

  'You know of his offer?'

  'Brother Dyrick told me, just before we left.' He raised his heavy eyebrows. 'He seems greatly fumed with this matter.'

  I met his gaze. You and your father took a cut of those profits, I thought. But I had already decided to accept Dyrick's offer. Without Hugh's support I could do nothing. But there was no need to commit myself just yet as we had to stay here anyway. 'I will think more on it,' I said.

  He shrugged. 'Very well. Even so, I think you know you must settle. And now may we go back? I am anxious Father does not get overtired.'

  'Very well.'

  As Edward turned his horse I caught him smiling secretively, sure the case was over.

  * * *

  WHEN WE RETURNED the house was still and hushed, old Priddis sitting alone by the empty fireplace. He looked up. 'Well, Edward,' he asked, 'is all well with the woodlands?'

  'Master Shardlake and I have had a sensible discussion.'

  Sir Quintin gave me a long stare, then grunted. 'Help me, Edward, I would get up.'

  Edward helped the old man to his feet. Sir Quintin stood, breathing heavily, his useless arm swinging by his side. The whiteness of his withered hand reminded me of poor Abigail's dead face, and I had to suppress a shudder.

  'I have had enough of this place,' Sir Quintin said pettishly, 'everyone in such a state. I want to get away.'

  'Very well,' Edward answered soothingly. 'I will prepare the horses. By the way, Father,' he added lightly, 'Master Shardlake has visited Rolfswood. He was talking of that tragedy at the foundry—you remember, when you were coroner?'

  Sir Quintin's eyes narrowed and he looked at me hard for a moment. Then he waved his good hand and said, 'I barely remember it, it was an age ago. I have dealt with so many cases in my life. Come, Edward, help me outside.' He leaned forward, staring into my face. 'Goodbye, Master Shardlake. I hope you will see the sense in letting this matter drop. These people have enough trouble, it seems to me.'

  I went up to my room, stood looking out of the window at the butts. I had learned nothing from the Priddises. I felt helpless frustration and anger. There was a knock on the door, and Barak came in. He seemed anxious.

  'How are the family?' I asked. 'None of them was in the great hall.'

  'Fulstowe told me to get out of the house shortly after you left. But as I was leaving a rider arrived with a letter for you. I hoped it might be more news from London, but I don't recognize the hand.'

  He reached into his doublet and pulled out a piece of cheap paper, crudely sealed with wax. My name and 'Hoyland Priory' were scrawled on the front. I opened it.

  'Is it from home?' Barak asked eagerly.

  I shook my head. 'No.'

  The note
was in a scrawled hand, it was dated 12 July, the day before, and signed John Seckford, Curate of Rolfswood.

  Master Shardlake,

  I am sorry to trouble you, but old Master Harrydance has been to see me. He has found something dreadful, that concerns the matter we talked of. We ask you please to come and help us. We are in sore fear about what to do.

  Chapter Thirty-two

  I PASSED BARAK the note. He read it, then handed it back, looking at me hard. 'What the hell does he mean?'

  'I don't know.' I paced the room. 'Something serious. I could ride there tomorrow and come back the next day—Wednesday—the coroner won't be here before then.'

  He said quietly, 'You're glad we can't go home tomorrow, aren't you?'

  'That's not fair,' I answered, all the more hotly because his words had struck home. 'We would have gone but for Abigail's death. How could I know this would happen? And you cannot think I am glad that poor woman was killed. Even though an inquest may reveal what has been going on here.'

  'All right. But part of you is still glad, isn't it?'

  'Here is a chance to solve both matters.'

  'You forget there may be a battle eight miles south of here any day now. And, if we lose, French troops may be marching up that road and in here. It's a fine property for soldiers to loot.'

  'That risk we are stuck with. But—' I looked at him—'I will go to Rolfswood alone tomorrow.'

  'Oh, I'm coming,' Barak replied in definite tones. 'I'm not staying by myself in this madhouse.'

  * * *

  I KNOCKED ON the door of Hobbey's study. He said quietly, 'Come in.' He was sitting at his desk, watching the sand run through the hourglass. I realized it was the first time I had ever been alone with him. I felt a stab of sympathy. Within two days the secret of his son's illness had been exposed and his wife murdered. He looked bereft.

  'Well, Master Shardlake,' he asked with a sigh, 'did you and Master Priddis ride the woods?'

  'We did.'

  He waved a hand. 'Perhaps you could discuss it with Vincent. I cannot concentrate just now.'

  'I understand. Sir, may I express my condolences for your poor wife's death? God rest her soul.'