‘I have the other.’ It felt horrible, just cloth and bone.
Barak said, ‘One, two, three,’ and we all pulled. Slowly the body of a man rose from the bottom of the pool, the mud sucking at it. The leg I had hold of seemed particularly hard to get out; as it rose slowly from the mud I saw why. A rope was tied round the thigh, a lump of iron on the other end. There was no doubt now: this body had been hidden here.
We hauled the dark, dripping thing to the bank. Caesar strained at his leash, barking. We sat down, taking deep breaths of fresh air, the rain running into our mouths. Then Wilf rose and, gently turned the body over. Producing a rag from his smock, he wiped the mud-encrusted head. It was little more than a skull with skin stretched over the bones, but it still had hair.
He wiped the neck and the collar of what I saw were the rags of a doublet. He bent down and rose with a large button in his hand. He showed it to me, his hand shaking.
‘See, sir, the button hasn’t rotted. See the design, a big square cross. I remember it, these were the buttons Master Fettiplace wore on the doublet he often wore to work. And the hair is fair, as his was. It is him.’ Wilf looked stricken, then he began to weep. ‘Forgive me, this is hard for me.’ Barak put a hand on his shoulder.
‘How did it happen?’ I asked Barak quietly. ‘Ellen said one man burned. That must have been Wilf’s friend Peter Gratwyck. Her father was killed and put in here.’ I looked at the body, but it was too mummified to show any sign of a wound now.
Barak said, ‘If he was killed, why not leave the body in the foundry to burn?’ He leaned close. ‘And who was there? Ellen was, we know, but was anyone else?’
I turned to Wilf. ‘Did anyone from round here, apart from Master Fettiplace and your friend Gratwyck, go missing at the time of the fire? Someone who might have done this and fled?’
Wilf’s face was streaked with mud and tears and rain. ‘No sir,’ he said, ‘nobody.’
Chapter Thirty-four
WILF INSISTED we put Fettiplace’s body under cover, and we placed the desiccated corpse against an inside wall of the ruined foundry, protecting it with loose planks. It was sickening to carry; I feared it might come apart. Afterwards I looked over the cracked mud where the body had lain; already the space, and our footsteps, were filling with rainwater. Then we walked back, sodden and dripping.
‘Now I suppose we have to go to Buttress,’ Barak said quietly, ‘as magistrate.’
‘Yes. He will have to set enquiries in motion, and notify the Sussex coroner.’ I shook my head. ‘Murder follows me on this journey.’
‘The common factor in each is Priddis’s involvement.’ Barak lowered his voice to a whisper, though Wilf was ahead with Caesar. ‘You said Ellen’s signature on the deed conveying the house was forged. Do you think Buttress knows?’
‘He could do. I didn’t like what I saw of him.’
The vicarage came into view. I took Wilf’s arm. ‘You should send for your sons,’ I said gently. ‘You have had a shock.’
He came to himself, looked at me. ‘You’ll say nothing about my poaching?’
‘No. I promised. We shall tell the story as we agreed, that I asked you to show me the old foundry buildings today.’
Seckford had seen us approaching and came into his garden. ‘What did you find?’ he asked apprehensively.
‘The body of Master Fettiplace.’ I took the curate’s soft plump arm, and looked him in the face. ‘Sir, Wilf will need you sober now. We all will.’
He took a deep breath and turned to Wilf. ‘His body will have a Christian burial. I shall see to it.’
We went into the parlour. Seckford spoke with sudden firmness. ‘That jug, Master Shardlake, will you take it out to the kitchen?’
I took his beer to a filthy little room behind the parlour, where flies buzzed over dirty plates. Seckford seemed barely able to care for himself, but once he had cared for Ellen. I returned to the parlour, where Wilf was hunched on the settle. Seckford was in his chair.
‘Master Seckford,’ I said, ‘I think we must go to Master Buttress, now. All four of us.’
‘Will the truth be found?’ he asked. ‘This time?’
‘I hope so. Now listen please, both of you. I beg you to stay quiet about my personal interest. Let Buttress continue to think I have merely been trying to trace family links for a client.’
Seckford looked at me with sudden sharpness. ‘But if you found something out in London, surely that must come out now.’
‘There are reasons I should say nothing yet. Please trust me.’ More than ever now I did not want Buttress, or his allies, to discover where Ellen was – assuming they did not know already. I hoped desperately that I had done enough to protect her, and suddenly wished Wilf had never stumbled on that body. The old man was looking at me doubtfully again.