C.J. Sansom - Heartstone

'You are wrong,' he said.

'I rode your lands with Edward Priddis today. I believe Master Hobbey has been falsifying his accounts. Probably in league with Sir Quintin. I think they may have robbed you of hundreds of pounds.'

An expression of contempt crossed his face. 'When will you realize, sir, I care naught, one way or the other? And now, Master Shardlake, please leave me alone.'

ON THE RIDE we saw more supply carts heading south, carrying everything from carpenters' equipment to pikes and helmets. We pulled in to allow another company of archers to pass. I wondered how Leacon's company was faring, whether they had been on board the ships yet.

Around noon we turned into the road to Sussex. We stopped for some food at the inn I had visited on my previous journey. 'You've been very quiet,' Barak said to me over his beer. 'You have that inward expression you wear when something bites at you.'

'I am thinking I have done little but make enemies since I came to Hoyland.' I told him of my talk with Hugh, and of Hobbey saying I was his nemesis. 'Hobbey set me wondering whether, if I had never come, Abigail might still be alive.'

'Something was likely to happen to that family sooner or later. They are all as mad as a box of frogs.'

'Who killed Abigail, Jack? Hobbey was right—everyone disliked her—but to murder her?'

'They'll set Ettis up for it if they can.'

'I think Dyrick is considering just that possibility. But there's no evidence.'

'Juries get rigged in these country places. If you want to do something useful, see the inquest is handled lawfully.'

'Yes. And you are right about the family. Their relationships are so—distorted—I cannot help thinking someone in that house killed her.'

'But who?'

'Fulstowe has a lot of power there for a steward. When servants have power over an employer it is usually because they know a secret. One they would not wish to risk through an unstable woman blurting it out.'

'But what secret?'

'I don't know.' I looked at him. 'Thank you again for coming with me.'

'Truth to tell, if I was there I would only be pacing around waiting for another messenger. I'm famished for news of Tamasin.'

'Maybe even the royal messengers are finding it hard to get through.'

'If only I could get home,' he said with sudden intensity.

I smiled sadly. 'Is it not strange how even in death, poor Abigail seems to be a nuisance to everyone? She was killed by an archer of some skill. But that covers so many possibilities. The boys, Fulstowe, Ettis. Even Dyrick said he was once a skilled archer and is teaching his children.'

'But not Hobbey?'

I shook my head. 'He does not have the skill or the—the passion, that is the word. It was a passionate, angry act. Someone who knew he would be hanged if he were caught but, at the moment he saw her at least, did not care.'

'Not old Ursula then. She hated Abigail all right, but I can't see her pulling a bow.'

'Now you are being foolish.' I drained my mug of beer. 'Come, we should be back on the road.'

'Only trying to lighten your mood a little. God knows we could both do with it.'

IT WAS MID-AFTERNOON when we reached Rolfswood. The clouds had thickened; it looked as though another summer rainstorm was on the way. The little town presented the same sleepy aspect it had before. I pointed out Buttress's house. 'That was once Ellen's. He got it cheap. He's a friend of Priddis, or was.'

'Could he be paying Ellen's fees at the Bedlam as part of some deal?'

I shook my head. 'The house is not worth that much.' I pointed over the fields to the church. 'Seckford lives in the vicarage there.'

Barak squinted at the building. 'Looks tumbledown.'

'It is. So is he, I'm afraid.'

He said quietly, 'There's a woman looking at us from the doorway of that inn.'

I glanced across. The old woman who had introduced me to Wilf was standing in the doorway, arms folded, looking at us coldly.

'That's the woman who introduced me to Wilf Harrydance. I don't think I'm popular here either. I doubt we'll get rooms there tonight.'

'Then where will we sleep? It's been a long ride.'

'Maybe Seckford can help us. Come, we follow that path to the church.'

We rode up to the vicarage and tied the horses up outside. They were tired and dusty, as were we. As we walked up the path, I looked at the cherry tree and wondered if Seckford still kept to his resolution not to drink before the shadows reached a certain length. I knocked on the door and heard the old man's shuffling steps. He opened it, and his plump face broke into a look of relief. 'You came, sir,' he said. 'Thank God.' He saw Barak and asked sharply, 'Who is this?'

'My assistant.'

The curate nodded. 'I am sorry, only we have been worried. Come in. Wilf has been here most of the morning, hoping you would come—' I caught a whiff of Seckford's breath, and guessed the two old men had already been sharing a drink. He led us into the shabby parlour. Wilf Harrydance rose from a stool. His big dog, which had been lying at his side, got up and wagged its tail. The bright eyes in Wilf 's thin, weathered face were anxious. 'I didn't think you'd come, sir,' he said, 'not after my sons . . . I am sorry for that, they were only trying to protect me—'

'I understand, Wilf.'

'What news of the French?' Seckford asked.

'They are said to be sailing up the Channel towards Portsmouth.'

'God help us all. Please, sit down.'

We sat gratefully on the settle, raising little clouds of dust. 'A drink, sirs?' Seckford asked, reaching for the jug on the buffet.

'Yes, please,' Barak answered. 'We're parched.'

Seckford poured two beers, his hands shaking even more than I remembered. He brought them over, then sat in his chair. Wilf glanced at the curate, who leaned forward. Mildly drunk as he was, there was a new keenness and authority in Seckford's voice.

'After your visit, Master Shardlake, Master Buttress was going all over the town, trying to find out who had been telling you about the fire. He knew you had spoken to me, and came here in a great rage, saying you seemed to be querying his ownership of his house.'

'I did no such thing. I only told him you had told me the old story. I am sorry, I should have let you know before I left.' I looked at Wilf. 'I did not say I had spoken to you.'

'He came to the inn and asked me, though. He knows I've always thought Priddis covered something up at that inquest. I said I had not spoken with you. It made me uneasy, sir.'

Seckford added, 'Master Buttress is a hard man, with much power in this town. Forgive me, sir, but I must ask. Were you really enquiring about the Fettiplace family on behalf of a client looking for relatives?'

I took a deep breath. 'No. Forgive me for misleading you, but I am trying to find out what happened to Ellen Fettiplace, for—personal reasons.'

'You told an untruth, sir.'

'I did. I am sorry.'

'You are not acting for anyone else? Priddis, for example?'

'No, I promise. No one else at all. I can say no more, but I will happily swear on the Bible that I am acting only from personal interest and concern, because of some information that came my way in London indicating that something was indeed covered up at that inquest. But I do not know what, and it may be unsafe to say more. Please, sir, fetch your bible and I will swear.'

'I told you there was more to it,' Wilf said.

'And I told you Master Shardlake was a good man. I believe you, sir, there is no need to swear.' Seckford looked at Wilf, then clasped his hands together. 'You are a lawyer, sir. Am I right, then, that you could take Wilf on as a client, advise him about a certain problem he has, and would then be bound by an oath of confidentiality, as I am in confession?'