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?’