‘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?’
‘I am not sure. I must see what Priddis has to say.’
Dyrick’s face darkened. ‘Man, we are surely done. You are dragging this out—’
Hobbey raised a hand. ‘No arguments, gentlemen, please. Look, the boys have returned.’
Hugh and David had appeared in the gateway, their big greyhounds on their leashes. David carried a bag of game over his shoulder.
Abigail spoke sharply. ‘Those hounds. I’ve told them to take them in by the back gate—’