An old countryman was called. He confirmed he had been with his master that day. Sir Harold, in a bullying tone, got him to confirm he had worked for Ettis for twenty years.
‘So you would have every incentive to say anything to protect your master,’ he said coldly.
Sir Quintin intervened. ‘If he is hanged his property is forfeit to the State, and you will be out on the street.’
‘I – I only speak the truth, Master.’
‘So we would hope, fellow. There are penalties for those who perjure themselves.’
‘Isn’t there anything we can do?’ Barak whispered. ‘That crippled old goat hasn’t any right to question anyone.’ I shook my head.
Sir Harold dismissed the old servant. As he did so, Sir Quintin looked straight at me, raising his eyebrows. He was showing me his power. Sir Harold banged his gavel to quell a fresh outbreak of muttering. I waited till it had died down, then rose to my feet.
‘Sir,’ I said, ‘in fairness, it must be asked whether there were others who might have a motive to kill Abigail Hobbey.’
Sir Harold spread his hands. ‘Who else could have wanted to kill the poor woman?’
I paused. I realized that what I was about to say would be terrible for the Hobbey family, but Ettis had to have justice. I said, ‘I have been here over a week, sir. I fear almost everyone I met disliked Mistress Hobbey. Master Hobbey himself admitted it to be so. There was – an incident, the killing of her dog.’
A fresh murmur spread along the benches, and David turned and looked at me in utter horror. Dyrick and Nicholas Hobbey turned and stared, wide-eyed. Hugh, though, sat looking straight ahead. Hobbey stood up, suddenly connected to the real world again. ‘Coroner, that was an accident.’
Dyrick stood too. He said, ‘And there was certainly an incident with Ettis. He had the insolence to call and argue with Master Hobbey and me in Master Hobbey’s study; Mistress Hobbey came in and gave him hard words. I was there, I heard all.’
Sir Harold said to me, ‘Are you implying a member of her family could have killed her?’
‘I’m saying it is possible.’ I hesitated. ‘I could say more.’
Then Hugh did turn and look at me, fury in his face. I stared back. Hesitantly, he stood up. ‘May I say something?’ he said.
The coroner looked at Sir Quintin. ‘The ward,’ Sir Quintin said.
‘Well, boy?’
Hugh said, ‘Master Shardlake is right, everyone disliked poor Mistress Hobbey. If you were to enquire of all who suffered from her tongue you would be calling many witnesses.’
‘Did you dislike her?’ Sir Harold asked.
Hugh hesitated, then said, ‘I did. Perhaps I was wrong – ’ his voice almost broke – ‘she had been strange, unwell, for many years. When I saw her dead I said, “You deserved this.” But at the same time I placed a flower in her lap, for she made a most piteous sight.’
Sir Harold and Sir Quintin stared at each other, taken aback. ‘Deserved it?’ Sir Harold asked. ‘Why did you say such a thing?’
‘It was how I felt, sir.’
Sir Quintin said sharply, ‘When I spoke with you in Portsmouth last week, you said you had no complaints to make about your life here.’
‘I did, sir, but I did not say I was happy.’
There was the loudest murmur yet from the benches. Then there was an unexpected sound. Nicholas Hobbey had burst into tears. Burying his face in his handkerchief, he rose and walked out of the hall. Dyrick turned to me, his face furious. ‘See what you have done!’
I noticed Fulstowe watching his master. For the first time I saw anxiety in the steward’s calculating face. Did he, like Hobbey, begin to see his world crumbling around him? Or did he have some other reason for anxiety? Ettis, sitting in his chains, looked at Hugh with something like hope.
There was another interruption. David stood, sending his chair crashing over. He pointed at Hugh. ‘You lie,’ he shouted. ‘You are a viper this family has taken to its bosom! You have always envied us because you are not like us, you can never be like us! My father, he loved my mother, and so did I. I did love her!’ He stared round the room, his face anguished.
Sir Harold was looking anxious. He whispered to Sir Quintin. I caught the word ‘adjournment’. Sir Quintin shook his head vigorously, then banged his stick on the floor. ‘Be quiet! All of you!’ He turned to me, his eyes savage. ‘Your behaviour is disgraceful, sir. You are turning this inquest into a circus. You have brought no evidence forward. This whole family, it is clear, is racked by grief. Sir Harold, let us proceed.’
The coroner stared round the room, then asked me, ‘Serjeant Shardlake, have you any evidence associating anyone with the commission of this crime?’
‘No, sir. I say only that given that many had – difficulties – with Mistress Hobbey, and the lack of any proper evidence against Master Ettis, the verdict should be murder by person or persons unknown.’