Sir Quintin's self-control was remarkable. His sharp gaze did not flinch. I wished Edward had been there too, so I could have seen his reaction. 'Well, well,' the old man said. 'Death seems to follow you about, sir.' He changed the subject. 'I trust my son was helpful when you went to visit Master Curteys' woodlands.'
'Indeed.'
'And have you decided to abandon the silly nonsense? I am sure this poor family would be relieved to have one less thing to worry about.'
'I am still considering. I did not expect to see you here again, Sir Quintin.'
He laughed, that strange rusty sound. 'A matter I was due to deal with in Winchester has been cancelled. An assessment of a young ward's lands, but the boy has died. The fellow who took the wardship made a bad investment, and thus we are not required in Winchester till next week. So I decided to stop here on the way, to see the outcome of Mistress Hobbey's inquest. And the local Hampshire coroner is a useless fellow, I may be able to render him some assistance.' He winced and adjusted his body to a more comfortable position. It crossed my mind that he might have come back to discover more about my connection to Rolfswood.
A door opened and Edward entered, dressed like his father in sober black, and accompanied by a small, cross-looking fellow of around sixty in a lawyer's robe. Edward's cold blue eyes narrowed when he saw me. As I bowed I wondered whether this self-contained man could be capable of rape, and reflected that those who keep themselves most under control can be the most dangerous when they lose it.
Sir Quintin raised his good arm and gestured to me. 'This man and his clerk are the first finders of the body, Sir Harold. Serjeant Matthew Shardlake. Serjeant Shardlake, this is Sir Harold Trevelyan, coroner of Hampshire.'
Sir Harold looked at us peevishly. 'So you have returned. As first finders you should have stayed till my arrival. A lawyer should know that. I want to start the inquest tomorrow afternoon. I have enough to do in Portsmouth with these deaths in the galleasses. I don't know what the King was thinking of, filling them with the drunken refuse of London. Still, hopefully this inquest should be quick enough, with a suspect in custody.'
'You may find there are one or two problems with evidence,' I answered sharply.
Sir Harold looked offended. 'Master Dyrick says this Ettis is a rebellious fellow with a grudge against the family. His only alibi is his servant. Well, I'll see for myself later.'
'Has a jury been selected?'
'It has. I authorized Master Hobbey's steward to select some villagers.'
'But loyalties in this village are divided,' I replied forcefully. 'Fulstowe will choose only villagers loyal to Master Hobbey.'
'It is established procedure to use the steward to select jurors. And might I ask, sir, what business it is of yours? I am told you are here to conduct an enquiry into the ward Hugh Curteys' lands. But I am also told you are one of the serjeants at the Court of Requests, so perhaps you have some bias against landowners.'
Sir Quintin cackled from his chair. 'Sir Harold is a major landowner up near Winchester.' I cursed silently. There could be few worse men to conduct this inquest.
Sir Quintin looked at me. 'There is a surfeit of inquests these days. Master Shardlake says there is to be another one, at the town he has just visited in Sussex. Though that one, I fancy, will be slower, with an uncertain outcome. A body found after near twenty years.'
Sir Harold nodded in agreement. 'That will not be a priority for the Sussex coroner.' Priddis exchanged a glance with Edward, who had been watching silently.
'If you will excuse me,' I said, 'I should pay my respects to Master Hobbey.'
HOBBEY WAS IN his study again, with Dyrick, but now it was Dyrick who sat at the big desk, while Hobbey sat in a chair with the picture of the former abbess on his knee, staring at it. He barely looked up as I entered. His face was grey and sunken.
'Well, Master Shardlake,' Dyrick said, 'so you are back. The coroner was quite agitated to find you absent.'
'I have spoken to him. I hear Master Fulstowe has selected a jury from the villagers. Ettis's enemies, I imagine.'
'That is up to the steward. Now, tell me, Brother, have you decided to accept our proposals on costs?'
'I am still considering it,' I answered shortly. 'If the inquest finds that Ettis committed the murder, he will be committed for trial at Winchester. They will have to find a jury of townsmen there. I will be called to give evidence as first finder, and I promise you I will ensure that any trial is fair.'
Dyrick turned to Hobbey. 'You hear him, sir? Now he thinks he can interfere with the trial of your wife's murderer. Was there ever such a fellow?'
Hobbey looked up. He seemed barely interested, sunk in melancholy. 'What will happen will happen, Vincent.' He turned the picture round on his lap, showing us the old abbess, the dark veil and white wimple, the enigmatic face in the centre. 'Look how she smiles,' he said, 'as though she knew something. Perhaps those who say we who have turned monastic buildings into houses are cursed are right. And if the French invade, who knows, they may even burn this house to the ground.'
'Nicholas—' Dyrick said impatiently.
'Perhaps that is why she is smiling.' He turned to me with a strange look. 'What do you think, Master Shardlake?'
'I think that is superstition, sir.'
Hobbey did not answer. I realized he had retreated completely into himself. Dyrick and Fulstowe were in charge here now. And if it took hanging Ettis to end opposition to the enclosure of the village, they would do it, whether he was guilty or not.
SUPPER THAT EVENING was one of the most melancholy meals I have ever attended. Hobbey sat slumped at the end of the table, picking listlessly at his food. Fulstowe stood watchfully behind him, and several times exchanged glances with Dyrick. Hugh sat staring at his plate, oblivious of everyone, including David, who sat next to him. David was unkempt, his doublet stained with food, his pale face furred with black stubble and his protuberant eyes red from crying. Occasionally, he would stare wildly into space, like someone trying to awaken from a horrible dream. Hugh, though, was as neatly dressed as ever, and had even had a shave.
I tried to engage Hugh in conversation, but he made only monosyllabic replies. He was, I guessed, still angry after our conversation about his words over Abigail's corpse. I looked round the table: those sitting there were all men. I wondered if a woman would ever sit here again, in this place which a decade before had housed only women. I stared up at the great west window and remembered my first evening—the hundreds of moths that had come in. There were few this evening; I wondered what had become of them all.
I glanced again at the bare walls. Dyrick said, 'Master Hobbey had the tapestries taken down yesterday. He cannot bear to look at them now.'
'That is understandable.' Hobbey, next to Dyrick, had taken no notice.
Edward Priddis was next to me. He spoke quietly. 'My father says there has been a discovery at Rolfswood. That William Fettiplace did not die in that fire, but ended in the mill pond.' His tone, as always, was quiet and even.
'That is true. I was there when the body was found.' I told him how the body had been exposed when the mill pond dam burst. I saw that on Edward's other side his father was listening intently, ignoring Sir Harold's tale of how some villagers along the coast had accidentally lit one of the beacons while practising what to do if the French landed.
'I suppose the Sussex coroner will have to be brought in to conduct a fresh inquest?' Edward asked.
'Yes. Do you know him?'
'No. But Father does.' Edward leaned across and said loudly, 'Master Shardlake is asking about the Sussex coroner.'
Priddis inclined his head. 'Samuel Pakenham will let such an old matter lie. As I would. He'll get round to it in time.'
'They will want to call you, sir,' I told him, 'as you conducted the first inquest.'
'I dare say. But they won't find anything new, not after twenty years. Maybe Fettiplace killed his workman and then himself. There's insanity in the family, you know: his daughter went mad.' He fixed me with his keen eyes.
