C.J. Sansom - Heartstone

'So Hobbey was in debt,' he said when he had read it.

'Yes. But Mylling—he would never have gone into the Stinkroom without leaving that stone to prevent the door closing. He feared the place, it set him wheezing.'

'Are you saying someone shut him in? They'd have had to know he had a weak chest.'

'I can't see him taking any risks with that door.'

'You're not suggesting some agent of Priddis or Hobbey had him killed, are you? And why would they? You'd seen all the papers already.'

'Unless there was something else Mylling knew. And remember Michael Calfhill? He is the second person connected with this case to die suddenly.'

'You were sure Michael's death was suicide.' Barak's voice rose impatiently. 'God's nails, if Hobbey has been defrauding Hugh over the sale of wood, it can't be worth more than a hundred or so a year at most. Not enough to be killing people for, surely, and risking the rope—'

We were interrupted by a knock at the door. Barak threw it open. A young man, one of the Hobbey servants, stood outside. 'Sir,' he said, 'Master Hobbey and Mistress Abigail are taking a glass of wine outside before dinner with Master Dyrick. They ask if you would join them.'

I WENT TO my room, where I washed my face and neck in the bowl of water Fulstowe had sent up, then changed into fresh clothes and went outside. Chairs had been set out beside the porch, and Hobbey, Abigail and Dyrick sat there, a large flagon of wine on a table between them. Fulstowe had just brought out a plate of sweetmeats. Hobbey rose and smiled.

'Well, Master Shardlake.' His manner was at its smoothest. 'You have had a long ride. Come, enjoy a glass of wine and the peace of this beautiful afternoon. You too, Fulstowe, take a rest from your labours and join us.'

Fulstowe bowed. 'Thank you, sir. Some wine, Master Shardlake?' He passed me a cup and we both sat. Abigail gave me one of her sharp, hostile glances and looked away. Dyrick nodded coldly.

Hobbey looked out over his property, his face thoughtful. The shadows were lengthening over the garden. Lamkin was dozing under his tree. In an oak tree nearby a wood pigeon began cooing. Hobbey smiled. 'There,' he said, pointing. 'Two of them, high up, see?'

I looked to where two of the fat grey birds sat on a branch. 'A far different scene from the stinks of London,' Dyrick observed.

'Yes,' Hobbey answered. 'How many days in my office there, looking out at the rubbish on the Thames bank at low tide, did I dream of living somewhere like this. Peaceful, quiet.' He shook his head. 'Strange to think they are preparing for war so near.' He sighed. 'And we will see those preparations tomorrow at Portsmouth. All I have ever aimed for is a peaceful life for me and mine.' He looked at me, real sadness in his face. 'I wish Hugh and my son were not so keen on war.'

'There I agree with you, sir,' I said. I was seeing another side of Hobbey. He was greedy, snobbish, probably corrupt, but he was also devoted to his family and what he had hoped would be a quiet country life. And surely he was not a man to arrange two murders.

'Vincent too had a letter today.' Hobbey turned to Dyrick. 'What news of your wife and children?'

'My wife says my daughters are fractious and miss me.' Dyrick gave me a hard look. 'Fine as your house is, sir, for myself I would fain be back home.'

'Well, hopefully you soon will be.'

'When Master Shardlake allows,' Abigail said with quiet bitterness.

'Come, my dear,' Hobbey said soothingly. She did not reply, only looked down and took a small sip of wine.

'How went your work in Sussex, Brother Shardlake?' Dyrick asked. 'Fulstowe said there were complications.' He smiled, demonstrating he was within the household's network of information.

'It is more complex than I expected. But so many matters turn out that way.' I returned his gaze. 'To have unexpected layers.'

'Some tenant dragging an unfortunate landlord to Requests?'

'Now, Brother,' I answered chidingly. 'I may say nothing. Professional confidentiality.'

'Of course. Why, this poor landlord may come to me for advice.'

'Master Shardlake,' Hobbey asked. 'Do you think you will have completed your business before our hunt?'

'I am not sure. I must see what Priddis has to say.'

Dyrick's face darkened. 'Man, we are surely done. You are dragging this out—'

Hobbey raised a hand. 'No arguments, gentlemen, please. Look, the boys have returned.'

Hugh and David had appeared in the gateway, their big greyhounds on their leashes. David carried a bag of game over his shoulder.

Abigail spoke sharply. 'Those hounds. I've told them to take them in by the back gate—'

Then it happened so quickly that none of us had time to do more than stare in horror. Both hounds turned their long heads towards Lamkin. The little dog got to his feet. Then his greyhound's leash was out of David's hand, flying out behind the big dog as it ran straight at Lamkin with huge, loping strides. Hugh's hound pulled forward, jerking the leash from his hand too. Lamkin fled from the dogs, running towards the flower garden with unexpected speed, but few animals on earth could have outrun those greyhounds. David's hound caught the little spaniel just inside the flower garden, lowering its head then lifting it with Lamkin in its mouth. I saw little white legs struggling, then the greyhound closed its jaws and the spaniel's body jerked, blood spurting. The greyhound loped back to David and dropped Lamkin, a limp pile of blood and fur, at its master's feet. Abigail stood, hands clawing at her cheeks. A terrible sound came from her, less a scream than a wild keening howl.

David and Hugh stared down at the bloody mess on the ground, which the dogs had started to pull apart. David looked shocked. But I had seen the tiny flicker of a smile as he let go the leash. Hugh's face was composed, expressionless. I thought, was this something they both planned, or only David?

Abigail's grief-stricken wail stopped abruptly. She clenched her fists and marched across the lawn, the hem of her dress making a hissing sound on the grass. David stepped back as Abigail raised her fists and began pummelling at his head. She screamed, 'Evil, wicked brute! Monster! Why do you torment me? You are no normal creature!'

David lifted his arms to protect his face. Hugh stepped forward and tried to pull Abigail away, but she slapped his arm down. 'Get away!' she screamed. 'You are as unnatural a creature as he!'

'Abigail!' Hobbey shouted. 'Stop, in heaven's name! It was an accident!' He was trembling. I exchanged a glance with Dyrick. For once we were in the same position, not knowing whether to intervene.

Abigail turned to us. I have seldom seen such anger and despair in a human face. 'You fool, Nicholas!' she yelled. 'He let go the leash, the evil thing! I have had enough, enough of all of you! You will blame me no more!'

Fulstowe walked quickly towards Abigail and took her by the arm. She turned and smacked him hard on the cheek. 'Get off me, you! Servant! Knave!'

Hobbey had followed the steward. He seized Abigail's other arm. 'Quiet, wife, in God's name quiet yourself!'

'Let go!' Abigail struggled fiercely. Her hood fell off, long grey-blonde hair cascading round her shoulders. David had backed against a tree. He put his head in his hands and began to cry like a child.

Suddenly Abigail sagged between Nicholas and Fulstowe. They let her go. She raised a flushed, tear-stained face and looked straight at me. 'You fool!' she shouted. 'You do not see what is right in front of you!' Her voice was cracking now. She looked at Fulstowe and her husband, then at Hugh and the weeping David. 'God give you all sorrow and shame!' she cried, then turned her back on them and ran past Dyrick and me into the house. There were servants' faces at every window. Hobbey went to David. The boy collapsed in his arms. 'Father,' I heard David say in an agonized voice.