P. Chisholm - A Murder of Crows

“Was yer man not tried?”

After a pause Lord Hunsdon said reluctantly, “Obviously not, Sergeant.”

“So what was Richard Tregian actually doing?” asked Sir Robert, leaning his elbows on the table. Nobody had touched any of the elaborate sweet dishes, but Dodd, who had a less delicate stomach, reached for a pippin and started munching it. He liked apples and you didn’t get many of them on the Borders because raiders kept cutting or burning orchards down. “Buying land from cash-strapped fellow-Papists and then selling them on to a courtier or two? Or informing on Papists and getting a cut from the lands when they were confiscated?”

Lady Hunsdon shook her head. “I don’t see Richard informing-and even if he did, he wouldn’t last very long in Cornwall. They don’t like blabbermouths there. I would say it was the first. He may even have been an agent, using his principal’s money and then taking a cut.”

“Well there’s nothing treasonous about that,” boomed Lord Hunsdon. “Perfectly legitimate thing to do, I use agents myself. Keeps the prices down a bit.”

“My lord, I dinna understand,” Dodd put in. Lord Hunsdon looked enquiringly at him. “Only, this land was to be sold? To somebody wi’ plenty o’ money at court?”

“Probably. That’s where the money tends to be.”

“Ay, so why would they buy it? Cornwall’s a powerful long way and…”

“It might be the tin. It’s quite a fashion at Court now to start mining works and similar on your land if there’s anything there to be mined.”

“Is tin worth so much?”

“Not really,” put in Lady Hunsdon, “There’s more of it in Spain and easier to get at.”

Something Dodd had heard in a long drinking session with a miner from Keswick tickled his memory. “There’s tin, so is there gold as well?” The Hunsdons were watching him thoughtfully. “Only that would make sense of poor land being worth buying on the quiet until ye could take the gold out.”

“If there is it would belong to the Crown anyway,” said Hunsdon. “You’d need a license.”

“All the more reason for keeping it quiet until ye could take out the gold for yersen.”

“Hmm.”

“Well the obvious candidate for his principal is Heneage,” pointed out Sir Robert, “and that would explain his ending up on a scaffold if Heneage didn’t want to pay him.”

“I doubt it,” said Hunsdon. “Heneage could simply have delayed payment until Richard Tregian got tired of asking or went to jail. There would be no need to kill the man.”

“And why did he do it like that,” Dodd asked, which was the main question on his mind. “Why be so complicated? Even in London it canna be hard for a man wi’ Heneage’s power to slit his throat and drop him in the Thames and nae questions asked?”

Nobody said anything.

The steward knocked on the door, came in, and whispered in Lord Hunsdon’s ear.

“Oh. Ah. Yes, of course. We will see him in the large parlour. I believe your lawyer has arrived, Sergeant.”

“Ay.”

“In the meantime,” Hunsdon summed up with weary distaste, “we shall keep this matter as quiet as possible until we can discover what really happened. The final decision on any action to be taken will, of course, be mine although I may be forced to take the matter to my sister.” There was a warning tone in his voice and yes, he was glaring directly at his wife.

“Of course my lord,” she said, “Naturally.”

Carey closed his eyes briefly and seemed to be praying while Dodd fought down the urge to snicker. After all, it was hardly a laughing matter. Still the blandly respectful look on Lady Hunsdon’s face as she lowered her eyes to her meekly clasped hands was very, very funny to Dodd. Lord Baron Hunsdon seemed quite satisfied and nodded approvingly. “I knew you would understand, my love.”

Carey caught Dodd’s eye and one eyebrow flicked infinitesimally upwards. However Dodd was ready for it and his mouth drew down and his face settled in its normal scowl.

With Hunsdon leading his wife out, they processed to the large parlour where Lord and Lady Hunsdon were seated on two well-carved arm chairs that teetered on the edge of being presumptuous thrones. Hunsdon’s bore the lions of England carved into the wood while his lady’s was padded with tawny velvet. They had stopped short of a cloth of estate, though.

Following Carey’s lead, Dodd sat down on a bench at the side of the room and watched as James Enys came in, wearing a good if out-of-fashion green wool suit and his Utter Barrister’s monkish black cloth robe hanging from his shoulders. He took off his velvet cap and bowed low to both the Hunsdons. He was already sweating with nerves. Lady Hunsdon made a noise that sounded a little like “Tchah!” and stared down her nose at the lawyer.

“Mr. Vaughan, good of you to come,” said Hunsdon, was politely elbowed by his wife, and coughed. “Enys, yes, of course.”

Enys bowed again.

“I understand you are willing to take the brief on behalf of Sergeant Henry Dodd of Gilsland here against his honour Mr. Vice Chamberlain Sir Thomas Heneage?”

“Ah…yes m’lord.” Enys’s voice was quite light but firm and pleasant to listen to. It carried easily. Dodd noticed he was holding the lapels of his gown with his thumbs under the material in a way which made him look combative but was probably designed to stop his hands shaking.

“Despite Mr. Vice Chamberlain having frightened off all of your legal brethren?”

A faint smile crossed Enys’s ugly face. “Ah…yes m’lord.”

“Why?” asked Hunsdon bluntly. “Have you no wish for preferment?”

“There is no chance whatsoever that Mr. Vice will ever offer it to me. Whereas you, my lord Chamberlain, have a reputation for dealing justly and I have no doubt but that you will be my good lord, whatever the result of the litigation.”

It was prettily put and Lord Hunsdon beamed and expanded slightly. Lady Hunsdon leaned forward.

“We can’t help you if you end in Chelsea with that devil Topcliffe questioning you.”

Enys shrugged. “I am a good loyal subject of Her Gracious Majesty, I attend Divine service every Sunday, and my brother fought and was wounded in the Netherlands.”

“If you go against Mr. Heneage as things are at the moment you may find that these things do not protect you,” put in Carey.

Enys shrugged again. “I may die of plague tomorrow if God wills it.”

“Hm.” Hunsdon leaned an elbow on the arm of his chair and tapped his teeth. Lady Hunsdon had fixed Enys with a gimlet blue stare which would certainly have had Dodd sweating. However, the young man seemed to have calmed somewhat. He took a breath to speak.

“My lord, my lady, may I be quite frank with you?”

Hunsdon nodded while his lady only narrowed her eyes.

“Obviously, you will be wondering if I am in fact Heneage’s man.”

Hunsdon smiled; his lady remained grim.

“Also, obviously, there is very little I can do to convince you that this is not the case since any test of my truthfulness you could think of, Mr. Heneage could circumvent. Here is my tale. Immediately after I was called to the Bar and whilst I was still in pupillage a year ago, I was approached by a man of business, a solicitor of some fame, and asked if I would take some cases in King’s Bench dealing with forfeitures of Papist land and other property dealings. Knowing no more than that Mr. Vice Chamberlain was the principal and that he was high in the counsels of our most worshipful Sovereign Lady, I naturally agreed. I took the cases, drafted the pleadings, and appeared in the initial hearings.”

He sighed. “At this point I found that all was not as it seemed and that I could not appear for Mr. Heneage without lying to the court and going utterly against mine honour.”