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?'
'Yes, that is true.' I looked at Wilf. 'But this matter—if is it anything to do with who started the fire at the foundry, I could not keep it secret.'
'It isn't.' Wilf shook his head vigorously. 'It's about something I found.'
Seckford said, 'It concerns the circumstances in which Wilf found it.'
'Then I will do what I can to advise you.'
Seckford said, 'I heard that for a lawyer to be bound to a client money has to pass.'
'That is not strictly true. I can act
'I'd rather money changed hands,' Wilf said firmly. 'In front of Master Seckford.' He reached to the purse at his belt and pulled out a sixpence, an old coin of true silver. 'Is this enough?' he asked.
I hesitated, then reached out and took the coin. 'Yes. There, Wilf, you are my client. By law I may not reveal anything you tell me, to anyone.'
Wilf took a deep breath, then bent to pat the big dog. 'Me and Caesar here, this time of year we go hunting for truffles in the woods. Master Buttress owns the woods now, and everything in them. Though he talks of having them cut down to sell the timber, he's still jealous of his property.'
'You could call what Wilf does poaching,' Seckford said quietly. 'The penalties are severe, and Master Buttress is one to ensure a prosecution. He's a magistrate.'
I said, 'There would need to be evidence.' I looked at Wilf. 'Is there any?'
His eyes bored into mine. 'Yes.' He paused, then continued. 'Two days ago, I took Caesar into the woods. He has a wonderful nose for truffles. I know the foresters' movements, see. I know when they are in another part of the woods.'
'I understand.'
'It's early for truffles yet, and I don't usually go anywhere near the old foundry. It's full of sadness for me, that place. I remember how it was, busy, the mill wheel turning. I hate seeing those ruins—' Wilf broke off, took a swig of beer, then said bitterly, 'But this time I went up there. I'd heard the mill pond had broken through the dam, after the storms of rain and hail in June, but I hadn't wanted to go and see. But you asking about what happened at the foundry, it brought it all back, and I decided to take Caesar that way and take a look at the place.'
'I see.'
Wilf wiped his mouth and went on. 'No one had attended to the mill pond since the fire. Those gates were bound to give way eventually. Well, when I went up there they had: the mill pond had quite drained away, only silt left at the bottom, which with the warmer weather this month has dried and shrunk. It was a strange, sad sight, the empty pond with the ruins by the broken dam. Then Caesar ran out onto the dried mud, began sniffing and digging at something sticking out of it.' He closed his eyes briefly, then continued.
'I called him, but he wouldn't come, he was worrying at what looked like a tree root. In the end I took off my shoes and walked over to get him. The dried mud was only a crust over softer stuff: once I sank in almost to my knees, but I made it over to Caesar. Then I saw what he was worrying at.' The old man paused and took another swig of beer. 'It was an arm, a human arm, all withered but preserved by the silt. There's a whole body down there. So then I came to Master Seckford.'
'Who do you think it was?' I asked urgently.
'I don't know. You couldn't tell.' He fell silent.
Barak said, 'Someone could have fallen in the pond over the years since the foundry went.'
Wilf shook his head. 'It was in the middle of the pond. Someone took that body out there in a boat—there used to be a little rowing boat—and dropped it in.'
I asked, 'Could a swimmer not have drowned in there sometime?'
'The body's clothed, sir. There's what looks like the remains of a doublet sleeve on the arm.'
