Seckford came to my rescue. ‘We must trust Master Shardlake, Wilf. Do not say more than you have to in dealing with people like Buttress, eh, Master Shardlake?’
‘Exactly.’ I felt a rush of gratitude for Seckford’s trust. He stood, went over to Wilf and patted his arm. ‘We can call at the church on the way, I will write a note for the verger to take to your sons.’
AN HOUR LATER I sat again in Master Buttress’s well-appointed parlour. There was a fresh vase of flowers on the table, their scent cloying. Seckford sat beside me, his plump cheeks sweating a little, while Barak and Wilf stood behind us. Buttress had offered chairs only to Seckford and me, though Wilf looked shocked and ill.
Buttress himself walked up and down the room, hands clasped behind his broad back, as I told him of the discovery in the pond. When I had finished he ran a big hand through his grey curly hair, thinking. Then he came and stood looking down at me.
‘What I do not understand, Master Shardlake,’ he said with blustering aggression, ‘is why you went ferreting about at the foundry. When you came before your concern seemed to be in querying my right to this house.’
‘I did not imply anything of the sort, sir. I merely wished to see if there was an address for Mistress Fettiplace on the deeds. You agreed to show the document to me.’ I had not questioned his ownership of the property, but the guilty, I thought, easily take alarm. Buttress, I realized, was quite a stupid man.
He grunted, little brown eyes narrowing. ‘In my experience, when a lawyer asks to see a conveyance it is usually because he wishes to query the title.’
‘Then I apologize if I caused you unnecessary concern. I see I must have done, since Master Seckford and Goodman Harrydance tell me you made enquiries about my visit afterwards.’
‘But why ride back all this way to look at the ruins of that foundry?’
‘I had a day without business in Hampshire, and felt like a ride. Master Seckford had told me Goodman Harrydance knew the site.’
‘And all this because you have a client interested in tracing family links. Who is this client, anyway?’
‘You know I cannot answer that, sir. It would be a breach of professional confidentiality.’
‘You’ll have to tell the Sussex coroner when he gets here.’ Buttress’s eyes continued to probe mine a moment longer, then he turned away and made an irritated gesture. ‘I suppose now I must arrange for the remains to be fetched back to Rolfswood. It’s market day tomorrow – this will be a rich piece of gossip for the goodwives. And I must write to the Sussex coroner at Chichester. Though heaven knows when he will be able to get here. Well,’ he continued, looking round the four of us, ‘at least there is no urgency. Master Fettiplace was in that pond nineteen years; it won’t hurt him to wait a little longer.’
‘With respect, sir,’ I said, ‘this is still a newly discovered murder. Sir Quintin Priddis’s old verdict of accidental death was clearly wrong.’
‘Ay.’ Wilf spoke up boldly. ‘I always said that first inquest was not done properly.’
Buttress leaned his heavy body forward, glaring into the old man’s face. ‘Are you accusing one of the region’s leading men of incompetence? Watch your step, old nid-nod.’
‘Goodman Harrydance is upset,’ Seckford said placatingly.
Buttress turned his baleful look on him. ‘I know you and this other old fool like a drink together, Master Curate. More than one. And I hear your services have a papist flavour. Don’t provoke me into making life difficult for either of you.’
‘Sir,’ I said. ‘I protest. You are the magistrate, it is not fitting you should bully witnesses.’
Buttress’s face darkened, but he kept his control. ‘I brought Goodman Harrydance to order for insulting the former coroner. And Master Seckford is no witness to anything. He did not accompany you to the foundry.’
Seckford said quietly, ‘I am, though, a witness to the state of mind of Mistress Fettiplace after the foundry burned down, and to the fact she was hurried away by Master Priddis himself.’
I winced, wishing he had not drawn attention to Ellen’s disappearance. I said, mildly, ‘If she witnessed a murder, that could explain her state of mind.’
‘And what,’ Buttress asked, rounding on me, ‘if the death was suicide? What if Master Fettiplace, for some reason we do not know, set the fire, killed his man, then rowed out to the middle of the pond, tied a lump of iron round his leg, and drowned himself? Such things happen; there was a silly village girl a couple of years ago got herself with child and drowned herself in a local pond.’
I suddenly thought of Michael Calfhill, swinging from that rope in his lodgings. I said, ‘Then surely the empty boat would have been found floating in the pond next morning.’
‘Maybe it went unnoticed; everyone was concerned with the fire.’
‘Why should Master Fettiplace have killed himself?’ I asked.