Heartstone (58 page)

‘Be quiet,' Hobbey snapped. Dyrick's face darkened and he looked as though he were about to say something, but then he turned and stalked away down the path, just as Avery reappeared with Fulstowe and David. David looked at the stag, the arrow stuck deep in its chest. Fulstowe stepped close. ‘A fine shot,' he said admiringly. ‘We should raise cups to Master Hugh tonight. He deserves the heartstone as a new trophy.'

‘Had the stag run on to us,' David said sulkily, ‘I would have got him. It should have been my kill.'

‘God's death, boy,' Hobbey snapped. ‘It knocked Master Shardlake and I over. It could have hurt us badly! Fulstowe is right, you should be congratulating Hugh.'

David's eyes widened. I had never heard Hobbey shout at his son before. David cried out, ‘Oh yes, Hugh is always better than me! At everything. Hugh, Hugh, Hugh!' He glared at me. ‘Hugh that the hunchback thinks so badly treated.'

‘Go home!' Hobbey pointed at his son with a trembling finger.

David muttered an obscenity and crashed away into the wood, clutching his bow. I glimpsed angry tears on his face. Hobbey turned to Fulstowe in time to catch him smiling at the exhibition. His eyes narrowed. ‘Go, steward,' he said. ‘Meet the cart and tell them to get this stag loaded up.'

‘Yes, sir,' Fulstowe said, an ironic touch in his voice. He too walked away.

‘Agh, my hands,' Hobbey said. ‘I need to find some dock leaves. Avery, come with me, you know these woods.'

Avery's eyes narrowed at being addressed like a household servant; nonetheless he accompanied Hobbey down the path. Barak and I were left alone with the dead stag. The birds, driven from the scene by all the clamour, slowly returned to their roosts, and their song began again.

‘This'll be some story to tell Tammy when I get home,' Barak said.

‘Dyrick offered me a deal on costs before the hunt,' I said quietly. ‘If we leave tomorrow after Priddis's visit, each side will pay their own. I think it's because of David. I think I must accept.' I sighed. ‘The mysteries of this house will have to be left to themselves.'

‘Thank God for that.' Barak looked at me, a rueful smile on his face.

Creaking wheels sounded on the path. Half a dozen men guided the big cart we had seen at the clearing down the lane. It was dripping blood from the does and fauns, which must already have been taken to the clearing.

‘Come on,' I said. ‘I'm all right now. Let's go.'

We rode slowly down the path, the servants with the cart doffing their caps as we passed them. It was further than I had realized. My arm throbbed painfully.

I was thinking we must be at the glade soon when Barak touched my shoulder. ‘Look,' he said quietly. ‘What's that? Through there?'

‘Where?' I looked through the trees. ‘I can't see anything.'

‘Something bright, like clothing.' He dismounted and walked into the wood. I dismounted too and followed, then almost walked into him from behind as he came to a dead stop.

‘What is it? -'

I broke off at the extraordinary scene before us. Ahead of us was the little dell I had found that morning, with the fallen log leaning against a tree. For a second my mind whirled, for it seemed I was seeing the unicorn hunt on the tapestry in Hobbey's hall brought to life. A woman with long fair hair sat on the log, her back against the tree, arms folded on her lap. She stayed quite silent, not moving at our appearance. The images were mixed up and for a second I thought I saw a unicorn's horn projecting from her brow. Then I realized what was really there. Abigail Hobbey, pinned to the tree behind her by an arrow through her head.

THE UNQUIET DEAD

BARAK AND I sat at the end of the big dining table in the great hall of Hoyland Priory. Fulstowe, Dyrick and Sir Luke Corembeck stood talking in low, intent voices under the old stained-glass window. Sir Quintin Priddis sat on a chair by the empty fireplace, his good hand on his stick and the dead white one in his lap, watching them with a cynical smile. Behind him Edward Priddis stood in his dark robe, his expression serious. They had been sitting in the hall when we returned from the discovery of Abigail's body.

‘Ettis had every reason to hate her,' Fulstowe was saying. ‘He had suffered from her tongue; he knew my poor mistress was strong against his defiance.'

‘She faced him when he was shouting at my client in his own study a few days ago,' Dyrick agreed. ‘I was there.'

Fulstowe nodded grimly. ‘I know him well as a troublemaker. He is the only one with the fire and recklessness to risk his neck. Sir Luke, I beg you, use your authority as magistrate to have him brought back here. Question him; find out where he was today.'

Sir Luke scratched a plump cheek, then nodded. ‘That would perhaps be a reasonable step, until the coroner arrives. I can get my servants to bring him in. There is a cellar at my house where we can keep him.'

Priddis cackled suddenly. ‘You have found your murderer, then?' he called out. ‘A village leader, opposed to your enclosure plans. Convenient.'

Sir Luke bridled. ‘Ettis is a hot-headed rogue, Master Feodary, and an enemy of this family. He should be questioned.'

Priddis shrugged. ‘It matters naught to me. But when the coroner arrives from Winchester he might think efforts would have been better spent checking the movements of everyone on the hunt.'

‘That is being done, sir,' Dyrick replied.

‘Ettis would not run,' I said. ‘He has a wife and three children.'

‘Full enquiries will be carried out by the coroner,' Corembeck replied haughtily, ‘but in the meantime it will do no harm to secure Ettis.'

‘When will the coroner be here?' Dyrick asked Fulstowe.

‘Not until the day after tomorrow at the earliest, even if our messenger finds clear roads between here and Winchester, which I doubt.'

Barak looked downcast. As first finders of the body we would have to stay until the inquest. But I could not help feeling pleased. The carapace of mystery around this family would surely crack open now. Then I thought, guiltily, poor Abigail.

Sir Quintin looked at his son. ‘Well, Edward, you might as well go and look at Hugh Curteys' property, that is why we are here after all. Unless you and Master Shardlake fear another arrow flying from those woods. Fulstowe tells me someone shot at you too, a few days ago.'

‘Yes,' I replied. ‘Though it was a warning shot, intended to miss.'

‘I am not afraid, Father,' Edward said sharply.

I said, ‘We will be riding through a cleared area. The big trees have all been felled; there is nowhere for an archer to hide.' I looked across at Dyrick. ‘Will you come?'

‘I should stay with Master Hobbey. And, Fulstowe, I want you to give the messenger going to fetch the coroner a letter to my clerk Feaveryear. It must be forwarded to London as fast as possible, I do not care what it costs.'

Edward Priddis looked at me. ‘Then I will change my clothes, sir, and we can go.'

BARAK HAD BEEN the first to recover from the awful sight in the glade. He had walked silently over the grass and gently touched Abigail's hand. ‘She is still warm,' he said.

I approached the body. Abigail's eyes were wide open, her last emotion must have been sudden shock. I saw that a yellow woodland flower lay beside the body, some of the petals torn off. I thought, she must have picked it as she walked here. I looked at the arrow protruding obscenely from her white brow. The fletches were of goose feather. I remembered the boys had carried peacock and swan, but could not remember if they had had ordinary goose-feather arrows in their arrowbags too. There was hardly any blood, just a small red circle round the arrow shaft.

‘We'll have to go and tell them,' Barak said quietly. I could hear, faintly, the murmur of voices just on the other side of the trees. I put a hand on his arm.

‘Let us take a minute to look round before this dell is full of people.' I pointed to the trees. ‘He shot from that direction. Come, help me see if we can find the place.'

We tried to follow the killer's line of sight. A little way into the trees, an oak blocked my path. I turned; I was looking straight at poor Abigail's body. I glanced down and saw the faint imprint of the sole of a shoe in the soft earth.

‘He stood right here,' I said. ‘He could have been walking along the road, as we were, and like us caught a glimpse of that bright yellow dress through the trees. Then he walked here silently, put an arrow to his bow and shot her.'

‘So it wasn't planned?'

‘Not if it happened that way.'

‘What if she arranged to meet someone here, and they killed her?'

‘That's possible. But she may have come here to get away from all the company, as I did. It can't have been easy sitting with those women, knowing they had probably been told about David.'

Barak looked at the body. ‘Poor creature. What harm did she ever really do anyone? She was bad-tempered and rude, but so are many. Why kill her?'

‘I don't know. Unless she had other secrets besides David, and someone took the chance to silence her.' I remembered the conversation I had overheard between Abigail and Hobbey. ‘She was afraid that something would happen on the hunt. And now it has.'

WHEN WE WALKED into the clearing I saw everyone had returned. Hugh and David, with Hobbey, Fulstowe and Dyrick, stood watching with the rest of the party as servants in bloody smocks cut open the stomach of a large doe under Avery's supervision. Five more had been dumped in a heap nearby. The unmaking of the quarry, I remembered they called this.

The dogs had been leashed and were held by the villagers. They pulled forward, panting and wagging their tails. Avery reached deep into the doe's innards and with a hefty tug pulled out a long trail of intestines. He cut them to pieces with a large knife and threw chunks to the dogs; their reward.

I told Fulstowe first, taking him aside. He was shocked out of his normal calm, his eyes opened wide and he stepped backwards, crying, ‘What?' in a voice that made everybody turn. Then he collected himself, his face setting in tight lines.

‘Best not tell everyone at once,' I said quietly.

‘I must tell Master Hobbey and the boys.'

I looked on as Fulstowe went to Hobbey, then Hugh, then David, speaking quietly to each in turn. Their reactions were entirely different. Hobbey had been watching the unmaking with an indulgent smile, his composure restored after his fall. When Fulstowe told him he stood still for a moment. Then he staggered backwards and would have fallen had not a servant grasped him. He stood, half-supported by the man, staring at Fulstowe as he approached Hugh and David. Hugh frowned, looked unbelieving, but David screamed, ‘Mother! My mother!' He reached out his hand in a strange gesture, as though clawing at the air for support, but when Fulstowe reached out to him he batted his hands away, then began weeping piteously.