Heartstone (45 page)

I frowned. ‘What is it Abigail is frightened of?'

‘I asked Ettis that. He had no idea. I told him too about that arrow shot at us in the forest. He was pretty sure we disturbed a poacher who wanted to warn us off.'

‘That's a relief.'

‘And I spoke to Ursula. I told her I was in with Ettis, and persuaded her to talk to me. She hates the Hobbeys. Said Master Hobbey told her off about leaving those flowers in the graveyard. Consecrated ground that's been left to rot, she called it. She said Abigail has always been high strung, with a sharp temper, but recently she seems to have withdrawn into herself.' He raised his eyebrows. ‘Ever since she heard you were coming.'

‘What did she say about the boys?'

‘Just that David is a little beast. I got the impression she might know something more, but she wouldn't be drawn. She said Hugh is well mannered, but too quiet for a boy his age. She doesn't like any of them. I asked her if she saw anything the day Michael Calfhill came.'

‘Did she?'

‘Afraid not. That day she was working on the other side of the house.'

‘Damn it.'

‘This place is as full of watchers and factions as the King's court.'

‘Yes,' I agreed. ‘I spoke to Avery on my way in, he said much the same. He used to work at Lewes Priory. Cromwell had it demolished by the same people who demolished Scarnsea, where he sent me after his commissioner was murdered. And do you remember, during the Dark Fire business, that Wentworth household? Another family full of factions and secrets.' I sighed. ‘Strange. I had one of my dreams of drowning last night; they always remind me of what happened in York, and the nightmare of the Revelation murders. Strange how the past revisits you.'

‘I've always tried not to let it.' Barak looked at me keenly. ‘What happened in Rolfswood? Something did, I can tell.'

I met his gaze. He looked tired, from the strain of living in this place combined with anxiety over Tamasin. I was tired too; tired of lies. I needed, self-indulgently perhaps, to tell someone about Rolfswood. So I told him about the fire, and all I had learned from Wilf, Seckford, and Buttress, as well as the threat from Wilf's sons.

‘People are still scared of loose tongues nineteen years later,' he mused. ‘What do you think happened?'

‘Rape.' I looked at him. ‘Perhaps murder. And tomorrow we go to Portsmouth and meet Priddis, who conducted the inquest. I don't think I should mention Rolfswood.'

‘You think he may be linked to people who might endanger Ellen?'

‘Yes. And Philip West is in Portsmouth too. I asked Guy to visit Ellen, and paid Hob Gebons to look after her, but still I fear for her. It is a nightmare tangle. If murder was involved, Ellen's safety has been only provisional for nineteen years. What if she has another outburst and lets out more of what happened? Whoever is paying her fees may decide she is safer out of the way. And if they can afford Bedlam fees and coaches, perhaps they can afford to find a hired killer too.'

‘You shouldn't have started this, in my opinion.'

‘Well, I did,' I snapped. ‘I only learned about the fire and the deaths on the way here.' I grimaced. ‘I swore to myself not to involve you. I am sorry.'

‘For what? You're not going back there, are you?'

‘I don't know.'

‘I think the damage is done now, anyway,' he said bluntly. ‘If this Buttress was involved in what happened I imagine he'd soon tell these West people someone was making enquiries.'

‘Yes. I thought about it all through the ride home. I charged ahead without thinking, I was so keen to get information. I hadn't expected to find that conveyance was forged.' I hesitated. ‘I have been wondering whether to try and seek out this Philip West in Portsmouth.'

‘Having come this far perhaps you should. Leacon may know where we can find him. But be careful what you say to him.'

‘Yes.' I realized that our roles had become reversed, Barak was the one advising me what to do, not to be impulsive. But he did not have my driving need to discover all I could about Ellen, to rescue her somehow. Through guilt for the damage I had done to her, through being unable to return her love.

I sighed, and opened my letters. The first was from Guy. It was dated 6 July, three days before, and would have crossed with the one I sent.

I put the letter down with a sigh. I was greatly relieved Ellen was improved, but her bitterness towards me cut deeply. She was right, it was my clumsiness that had done it. I cut the seal on Warner's letter. To my surprise he had already received mine.

I laid the letter in my lap and looked at Barak. ‘Mylling is dead. Found locked in the Stinkroom. He suffocated.' I passed the letter to him.

‘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?'