I walked down the steps. I took a deep breath, relieved to be away from them all. I breathed in the country scents, grass and the rich fragrance of flowers from Abigail’s garden. I had still not got used to the silence after those days on the road.
There was a footstep behind me, I was sure. I looked round. The only light came from the moon, and a few candles shimmering at the priory windows. I could see nobody, but the lawn was dotted with trees behind which someone could hide. Fear came on me again, the fear that had been with me since the corner boys’ attack, and I realized how much I missed the security of riding with Leacon’s company. I hurried on, turning back every few seconds to signal to anyone looking that they had been heard. I counted along the squat, functional outhouses, knocking heavily on the door of the fourth. It opened and Barak looked out, dressed in his shirt.
‘It’s you. God’s teeth, I thought someone was trying to batter the door down. Come in.’
I followed him inside. A mean little room with a truckle bed in the corner, lit by a cheap, smoky, tallow candle. I took out the letter.
‘News from Tamasin?’ he said, his face suddenly bright.
‘I have had a letter from Guy, he says she continues well.’
Barak tore open the letter and read it. He smiled broadly. ‘Yes, all is well. Tammy says she is doing everything Jane Marris tells her. I’m not sure I believe her, though.’
‘Is not the letter written in Guy’s hand?’ I asked curioulsy.
Barak flushed, then looked at me. ‘Tamasin can barely write, did you not know?’
‘No.’ I was embarrassed. ‘I am sorry, I thought—’
‘Tamasin is a woman of low birth, she was taught little more than to sign her own name.’ His tone was sharp, I had annoyed him. ‘Did Guy tell you how Ellen was?’
‘Guy had not visited her when he wrote.’ He grunted. ‘No Feaveryear for company?’ I asked in an effort to lighten the atmosphere.
‘No, thank heaven. He’s next door. I heard him at his prayers through the wall a while ago.’
‘Well, we cannot grudge him his belief.’
‘I grudge his deference to that Dyrick. He thinks the sun shines out of his arse.’
‘Yes. ’Tis well said that a faithful servant shall become a perpetual ass.’
Barak looked at me closely. ‘Are you all right? You seemed scared when you came in.’
‘I thought I heard someone following me. I was probably mistaken.’ I laughed uneasily. ‘No corner boys here.’
‘We still don’t know who set them on you. Do you think it could have been Hobbey?’
‘I don’t know. He is a hard man for all his civility.’ I shook my head. ‘But there was no time for him to instruct anyone.’
‘What of Hugh Curteys? How does he seem?’
‘Well. I have just dined with the family. I think he would like to go and join the army.’
Barak raised his eyebrows. ‘Rather him than me. When do you think we will get home?’
‘We have to go to Portsmouth on Friday to see Priddis, the feodary. Then we shall see.’
‘Friday? Shit, I thought we would be on the road home by then.’
‘I know. Listen, I want you to help me take the depositions tomorrow, give me your view of these people. And try to make friends with the servants, see what they may have to tell. Quietly – you know how.’
‘That might not be easy. Fulstowe told me not to go to the house unless I was asked for. Haughty fellow. I took a walk by myself in the grounds, greeted a couple of gardeners but only got a surly nod. Hampshire hogs.’
I was silent a moment. Then I said, ‘That family …’
‘What?’
‘They try to hide it, but it breaks through. They are angry and frightened, I think. All of them.’
‘What of?’
I took a long breath. ‘Of me. But I think also of each other.’
Chapter Eighteen
ON RETURNING TO the house I spent two hours going over Hobbey’s accounts. He had given me the books dating back to 1539, the year they had all moved to Hoyland. Everything was clearly recorded in a neat hand that I guessed was Fulstowe’s. Much woodland had been cut down in the last six years, and the payments had accumulated into a considerable sum. Hugh’s land was accounted for separately, and the amount of different types of wood – oak, beech and elm and the prices each had fetched – neatly entered. But I knew well enough that even accounts as clearly set out as these could be full of false entries. I recalled the old saying that there was good fishing in puddled waters. I sat awhile, thinking back to the meal, the terrible tension round the table. There was something very wrong here, I sensed, more than profiteering from a ward’s lands.