THERE WERE no servants working in the gardens of Hoyland Priory when we rode through the gates. Already Abigail’s flower beds were starting to look neglected. To my surprise, I saw Hugh practising at the butts on his own. He looked at us but made no acknowledgement, bending to string a new arrow to his bow.
As we dismounted, Fulstowe came round the front of the house, neat as ever, with his beard freshly trimmed. His manner was even more proprietorial. He bowed briefly. I asked if there had been any letters.
‘None, sir. But the coroner has got here. He wishes to see you.’
‘Thank you. Could a servant take the horses to the stables for us?’
‘I fear everyone is too busy just now,’ Fulstowe said with a little smile. ‘And now, if you will excuse me.’ He walked away.
‘That fellow’s getting too big for his boots,’ Barak said, then added angrily, ‘Damn it, I need to know how Tamasin fares.’
‘If the King has arrived at Portchester, maybe the roads will be clearer tomorrow.’
He shook his head angrily. ‘I’ll take the horses round to the stables, since nobody else will.’
I went into the great hall. I stopped and stared as I saw the tapestries of the hunting scenes had been removed, leaving the walls blank. Then to my astonishment I saw that old Sir Quintin Priddis was again sitting in the chair by the empty fireplace. He raised the half of his face that was not paralysed in that sinister, sardonic half-smile.
‘We meet again, Master Shardlake. I hear you have been over to Sussex.’
‘I have, sir.’
His blue eyes narrowed. ‘A successful journey?’
I took a deep breath. But he would find out soon enough. ‘I was at Rolfswood, where the Fettiplace family came from. A body has been found in the mill pond there, weighted down, and it seems to be the late William Fettiplace. It appears he was murdered. There will be a new inquest,’ I added.
Sir Quintin’s self-control was remarkable. His sharp gaze did not flinch. I wished Edward had been there too, so I could have seen his reaction. ‘Well, well,’ the old man said. ‘Death seems to follow you about, sir.’ He changed the subject. ‘I trust my son was helpful when you went to visit Master Curteys’ woodlands.’
‘Indeed.’
‘And have you decided to abandon the silly nonsense? I am sure this poor family would be relieved to have one less thing to worry about.’
‘I am still considering. I did not expect to see you here again, Sir Quintin.’
He laughed, that strange rusty sound. ‘A matter I was due to deal with in Winchester has been cancelled. An assessment of a young ward’s lands, but the boy has died. The fellow who took the wardship made a bad investment, and thus we are not required in Winchester till next week. So I decided to stop here on the way, to see the outcome of Mistress Hobbey’s inquest. And the local Hampshire coroner is a useless fellow, I may be able to render him some assistance.’ He winced and adjusted his body to a more comfortable position. It crossed my mind that he might have come back to discover more about my connection to Rolfswood.
A door opened and Edward entered, dressed like his father in sober black, and accompanied by a small, cross-looking fellow of around sixty in a lawyer’s robe. Edward’s cold blue eyes narrowed when he saw me. As I bowed I wondered whether this self-contained man could be capable of rape, and reflected that those who keep themselves most under control can be the most dangerous when they lose it.
Sir Quintin raised his good arm and gestured to me. ‘This man and his clerk are the first finders of the body, Sir Harold. Serjeant Matthew Shardlake. Serjeant Shardlake, this is Sir Harold Trevelyan, coroner of Hampshire.’
Sir Harold looked at us peevishly. ‘So you have returned. As first finders you should have stayed till my arrival. A lawyer should know that. I want to start the inquest tomorrow afternoon. I have enough to do in Portsmouth with these deaths in the galleasses. I don’t know what the King was thinking of, filling them with the drunken refuse of London. Still, hopefully this inquest should be quick enough, with a suspect in custody.’
‘You may find there are one or two problems with evidence,’ I answered sharply.
Sir Harold looked offended. ‘Master Dyrick says this Ettis is a rebellious fellow with a grudge against the family. His only alibi is his servant. Well, I’ll see for myself later.’
‘Has a jury been selected?’
‘It has. I authorized Master Hobbey’s steward to select some villagers.’
‘But loyalties in this village are divided,’ I replied forcefully. ‘Fulstowe will choose only villagers loyal to Master Hobbey.’
‘It is established procedure to use the steward to select jurors. And might I ask, sir, what business it is of yours? I am told you are here to conduct an enquiry into the ward Hugh Curteys’ lands. But I am also told you are one of the serjeants at the Court of Requests, so perhaps you have some bias against landowners.’