‘I am going to try and find out what happened at that foundry.’
He shook his head. ‘Fuck it. Listen, I’ll come with you to Portsmouth tomorrow.’
‘No. Go back to London. I’ll find Leacon, maybe he can help me reach West again.’
‘You shouldn’t go alone.’
I looked at him. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Provided we leave as soon as you’ve seen West. If I let you go alone, I fear you’ll stay and land in more danger.’
I smiled. ‘Then – thank you.’
He spoke with a sudden forcefulness; ‘When we get back to London, you have to change. You can’t go on living like this. And nor can I.’ He looked at me hard again, but there was concern as well as censure in his eyes.
I smiled sadly. ‘Leacon said something similar to me. About getting old.’
‘And obsessive. Never more so.’
I took a deep breath. ‘Then it seems that now I need you to guide me. Thank you, Jack.’
WE RETURNED TO the house. I thought, he is right, when we get back it is time I made a life for myself, instead of living through other people’s tragedies. I realized that was what I had been doing for years: there had been so many, brought by the wild changes and conflicts the King had forced on England, perhaps it was my response to the wider madness.
Fulstowe stood in the great hall, looking at the space where the tapestries had been. He turned to me with a hostile look, his fair beard and hair contrasting with his jet-black mourning doublet.
‘Do you know where Sir Quintin and his son are?’ I asked shortly.
‘Departed.’
‘And the family?’
The steward glared at me, any last shred of deference gone. ‘I will not have you trouble them. Not after the state you reduced them to at the inquest.’
‘You should mind your manners, steward,’ I said quietly.
‘I am in charge of this household under Master Hobbey. I say again, I will not have you disturb them.’
‘Where is Master Dyrick?’
‘With Master Hobbey.’
‘We leave tomorrow. Tell Master Dyrick I will need to speak with him before we go.’
He looked relieved at that news. ‘I will. There will be no dinner in the hall tonight. Food will be served to people in their rooms.’ He turned on his heel and walked away.
I went up to my room. Soon after there was a knock at my door and Dyrick entered, his face dark and angry. ‘You will be pleased to know, sir,’ he said, ‘that Master Hobbey is prostrate. And David is much upset.’
‘Not as upset as Master Ettis, I’ll wager.’
I looked at him. I felt guilty for what I believed I had had to do at the inquest, but for Dyrick I felt only anger and contempt. I had believed earlier that, ridiculously unpleasant as he was, he genuinely thought I was treating Hobbey unjustly over Hugh; but after his role in the pursuit of Ettis I knew he was corrupt and cruel.
He sneered. ‘Ettis. Whose wife no doubt will take his place as your client.’
I said, ‘You will be pleased to hear I have authority to accept your offer to end Hugh Curteys’ case on the basis of no costs.’
‘Ah yes, that royal messenger.’ He smiled nastily. ‘And I noticed you and Master Hugh seem no longer to be friends. And after what you made him do this afternoon I imagine he will be as glad to be rid of you as everyone else here.’
‘Oh, it is not over yet, Brother Dyrick,’ I answered quietly. ‘There is the villagers’ case to come. And still a murderer to be found, incidentally.’
‘He has been found.’
‘I do not think even you believe Ettis guilty.’
‘Body of our Lord!’ he burst out. ‘You are the most troublesome fellow I ever encountered!’
‘Calm yourself, Brother.’
‘I will be calm when you and your impertinent clerk leave this house.’
‘And I hope you remain calm when next we meet, at Ettis’s trial or in the Court of Requests. I have your mark now, Dyrick, I see you clearly.’
‘You see nothing. You never have. Master Hobbey and the family, by the way, can I think do without your farewells.’ Dyrick flounced out, closing the door with an ear-splitting bang.
WE ROSE EARLY the following morning. We breakfasted in the kitchen, and said farewell to old Ursula, toiling there as usual, who thanked us for our interest in Hugh. ‘Though you never found why they told that wicked lie about Master Calfhill saying he loved Hugh, did you, sir?’
‘No, Ursula. And without Hugh’s cooperation, I do not think anyone can.’
She looked at me imploringly. ‘You will help Master Ettis, though? He’s a good man. He never killed Mistress Hobbey.’
‘Of course.’ I looked at her seriously. ‘Have you any idea who could have, Ursula?’
‘None, sir. It was a wicked act, for all her strange ways. God pardon her.’
‘Amen. I will not be returning here, but if you hear anything I should know, will you tell Mistress Ettis? She knows how to contact me.’