Heartstone (67 page)

‘As I explained to your son, a client was trying to find the Fettiplace family.'

‘And now at some point you will have to trail back to Sussex from London. It does no good to meddle, I always think. Master Dyrick told me meddling landed you in trouble with the King once, at York.'

He leaned back in his seat, his barb delivered, while Dyrick gave me a nasty smile.

THE INQUEST ON Abigail Hobbey was held the following afternoon in the great hall. Outside it was another bright, sunny day, but the hall was shadowed and gloomy. The big table had been set under the old west window. Sir Harold Trevelyan sat behind it, with Edward Priddis on his right, evidently pressed into service to take notes. On his left - in defiance of all procedure - sat Sir Quintin. He surveyed the room, his good hand grasping his stick. The jury, twelve men from the village, sat on hard chairs against one wall. I recognized several who had worked for the hunt. Men who would likely be in Fulstowe's pocket.

Barak and I, Fulstowe and Sir Luke Corembeck sat together. Behind us were some of the servants, including old Ursula, and perhaps twenty people from the village. One was Ettis's attractive wife, her body tense and her face rigid with fear and anger. From the way her neighbours gave her words and gestures of comfort, I guessed they represented Ettis's faction in the village. The jury, I saw, gave them some uneasy glances.

In the front row the Hobbey family sat with Dyrick. David was slumped forward, head in hands, staring at the floor. I saw he was shaking slightly. Next to him Hugh sat bolt upright. When he came in I had looked at him hard, to remind him I remembered what he had said over Abigail's body. On Hugh's other side Nicholas Hobbey still looked dreadful; he watched people coming in with a sort of bewildered wonderment.

Last to arrive was Ettis. I heard a clanking of chains outside, and exchanged a look with Barak; we both knew that sound from the London jails. Two men led Ettis in; the proud, confident yeoman had turned into an unshaven, hollow-eyed figure. He was set roughly on a chair against the wall. Behind me there was muttering among the villagers, and one or two of the jurors looked shamefaced.

‘Silence!' Sir Harold shouted, banging the table with a little gavel. ‘I won't have jangle and talk in my court! Any more noise and I will clear the benches.'

Sir Harold called me first, to give evidence about finding the body. Barak was called next and confirmed what I had said. The coroner then proceeded immediately to call Fulstowe. The steward spoke with cold clear fluency of Ettis's leadership of the faction in the village that wanted to oppose the enclosures, the antipathy between him and the Hobbeys, particularly Abigail, and his known skill as an archer.

‘Yes,' Sir Harold said. ‘And Master Ettis's only alibi is the servant he says was with him marking his sheep. Call him.'

An old countryman was called. He confirmed he had been with his master that day. Sir Harold, in a bullying tone, got him to confirm he had worked for Ettis for twenty years.

‘So you would have every incentive to say anything to protect your master,' he said coldly.

Sir Quintin intervened. ‘If he is hanged his property is forfeit to the State, and you will be out on the street.'

‘I-Ionly speak the truth, Master.'

‘So we would hope, fellow. There are penalties for those who perjure themselves.'

‘Isn't there anything we can do?' Barak whispered. ‘That crippled old goat hasn't any right to question anyone.' I shook my head.

Sir Harold dismissed the old servant. As he did so, Sir Quintin looked straight at me, raising his eyebrows. He was showing me his power. Sir Harold banged his gavel to quell a fresh outbreak of muttering. I waited till it had died down, then rose to my feet.

‘Sir,' I said, ‘in fairness, it must be asked whether there were others who might have a motive to kill Abigail Hobbey.'

Sir Harold spread his hands. ‘Who else could have wanted to kill the poor woman?'

I paused. I realized that what I was about to say would be terrible for the Hobbey family, but Ettis had to have justice. I said, ‘I have been here over a week, sir. I fear almost everyone I met disliked Mistress Hobbey. Master Hobbey himself admitted it to be so. There was - an incident, the killing of her dog.'

A fresh murmur spread along the benches, and David turned and looked at me in utter horror. Dyrick and Nicholas Hobbey turned and stared, wide-eyed. Hugh, though, sat looking straight ahead. Hobbey stood up, suddenly connected to the real world again. ‘Coroner, that was an accident.'

Dyrick stood too. He said, ‘And there was certainly an incident with Ettis. He had the insolence to call and argue with Master Hobbey and me in Master Hobbey's study; Mistress Hobbey came in and gave him hard words. I was there, I heard all.'

Sir Harold said to me, ‘Are you implying a member of her family could have killed her?'

‘I'm saying it is possible.' I hesitated. ‘I could say more.'

Then Hugh did turn and look at me, fury in his face. I stared back. Hesitantly, he stood up. ‘May I say something?' he said.

The coroner looked at Sir Quintin. ‘The ward,' Sir Quintin said.

‘Well, boy?'

Hugh said, ‘Master Shardlake is right, everyone disliked poor Mistress Hobbey. If you were to enquire of all who suffered from her tongue you would be calling many witnesses.'

‘Did
you
dislike her?' Sir Harold asked.

Hugh hesitated, then said, ‘I did. Perhaps I was wrong-'his voice almost broke - ‘she had been strange, unwell, for many years. When I saw her dead I said, “You deserved this.” But at the same time I placed a flower in her lap, for she made a most piteous sight.'

Sir Harold and Sir Quintin stared at each other, taken aback. ‘Deserved it?' Sir Harold asked. ‘Why did you say such a thing?'

‘It was how I felt, sir.'

Sir Quintin said sharply, ‘When I spoke with you in Portsmouth last week, you said you had no complaints to make about your life here.'

‘I did, sir, but I did not say I was happy.'

There was the loudest murmur yet from the benches. Then there was an unexpected sound. Nicholas Hobbey had burst into tears. Burying his face in his handkerchief, he rose and walked out of the hall. Dyrick turned to me, his face furious. ‘See what you have done!'

I noticed Fulstowe watching his master. For the first time I saw anxiety in the steward's calculating face. Did he, like Hobbey, begin to see his world crumbling around him? Or did he have some other reason for anxiety? Ettis, sitting in his chains, looked at Hugh with something like hope.

There was another interruption. David stood, sending his chair crashing over. He pointed at Hugh. ‘You lie,' he shouted. ‘You are a viper this family has taken to its bosom! You have always envied us because you are not like us, you can never be like us! My father, he loved my mother, and so did I. I did love her!' He stared round the room, his face anguished.

Sir Harold was looking anxious. He whispered to Sir Quintin. I caught the word ‘adjournment'. Sir Quintin shook his head vigorously, then banged his stick on the floor. ‘Be quiet! All of you!' He turned to me, his eyes savage. ‘Your behaviour is disgraceful, sir. You are turning this inquest into a circus. You have brought no evidence forward. This whole family, it is clear, is racked by grief. Sir Harold, let us proceed.'

The coroner stared round the room, then asked me, ‘Serjeant Shardlake, have you any evidence associating anyone with the commission of this crime?'

‘No, sir. I say only that given that many had - difficulties - with Mistress Hobbey, and the lack of any proper evidence against Master Ettis, the verdict should be murder by person or persons unknown.'

‘That is for the jury to decide. Sit down, or I will hold you in contempt.'

There was nothing more I could do. Sir Harold called no other witnesses. The jury was sent out. They soon returned with their verdict. Murder - it could be nothing other than that, of course - by Leonard Ettis, yeoman of Hoyland, who would now be held in custody in Winchester jail till the next assizes in September.

As he was led out Ettis looked at me again in appeal. I nodded once, vigorously. In front of me Hugh sat straight as a stock again, his back rigid. Beside him David still wept quietly. Fulstowe came across, took David's arm, and led him from the hall. I had failed to widen the inquest's investigation, at terrible cost to the family. Now nothing further would happen for months. I put my head in my hands. The room was clearing. I heard the tap of Sir Quintin's stick as he came down the hall. The tapping stopped beside me. I looked up. Sir Quintin seemed exhausted, but triumphant too. Edward was supporting him. Sir Quintin leaned slowly down, and spoke quietly. ‘There, Master Shardlake. See what happens when people are awkward at inquests.'

WE FILED OUT OF the hall into the sunshine. The jurors walked down the drive in a group, while most of the villagers gathered round Ettis's wife. She had broken down and stood sobbing. I walked across to her.

‘Mistress Ettis,' I said quietly.

She looked up and wiped her face. ‘You spoke up for my husband,' she said quietly. ‘I thank you.'

‘I can do little now, but I promise, when he comes to trial at Winchester, I will ensure all is fairly done. There is no actual evidence against him,' I added encouragingly.

‘What should we do about going to Requests about our woodlands, sir? My husband would want us to continue.'

Behind me I saw Dyrick and Fulstowe standing on the steps, watching. I looked round the villagers; some seemed cowed, but many had a defiant aspect. I said, loudly, ‘I think it vital you lodge your case. You must not let what happened today intimidate you from taking action. I think that was partly the intention; I do not consider a jury can convict Master Ettis. Appoint someone else from the village to lead you until he is freed.' I took a deep breath, then added, ‘Send the papers to me, I will fight the case for you.'

‘Listen to my master,' Barak added approvingly. ‘Fight back.'

Mistress Ettis nodded. Then everyone turned at the sound of approaching hoofbeats. A messenger in royal livery was riding fast up the drive. He came to a halt at the steps, dismounted, and approached Fulstowe. They spoke briefly, then the messenger went inside. The steward hesitated, then walked down the steps to us. Dyrick stayed where he was. I had, reluctantly, to admire Fulstowe's courage; there were near twenty villagers there, in hostile and angry mood, but he marched straight up to me. ‘Master Shardlake, that messenger has a packet of letters for you. He is waiting in the kitchen.' He turned to the villagers. ‘Go, all of you, unless you wish to be arrested for trespass.'

One or two men glared back at him. One called out, ‘You sure that mad boy didn't kill his mother?'

‘Ay,' another added. ‘He's possessed by a demon, that one.'

‘No!' Mistress Ettis spoke up. ‘He is but a child, leave him alone!' Then she said loudly to Fulstowe, ‘It is not the boy that has sent my husband to jail, it is you.' She pointed to Dyrick. ‘And that black crow!'

There was fresh murmuring. A man bent down, picked up a pebble from the driveway, and shied it at Dyrick. He jumped aside, then turned and ran into the house. The group laughed.

I raised my hands. ‘Go! Do not make a disturbance! And make no trouble for the jurors in the village. Lodge your complaint with me at Lincoln's Inn!' I looked at Fulstowe. ‘Now, master steward, I will see this messenger. Come, Barak.'

THE MESSENGER was sitting at the kitchen table, where Ursula had given him some beer with bread and cheese. He stood and bowed at our entrance, then handed me a packet of letters. I opened it: inside was a letter addressed to me in Warner's writing, one from Guy, and a third for Barak, which I handed to him. ‘Thank you, fellow,' I said to the messenger. ‘How far have you come?'