At last I went to bed and slept deeply. Just before I woke I dreamed of Joan, welcoming me home on a cold dark night, saying I had been away too long. I heaved myself out of bed, then sat thinking. It struck me that if we were not travelling to Portsmouth until Friday, then instead of visiting Rolfswood on the way home, finding some excuse to send Barak on, I should have the opportunity to ride to Sussex while we were here. I estimated the journey at perhaps fifteen miles; I would have to stay overnight to rest the horse.
I heard youthful shouts outside. I opened the window and looked out. Some distance away – I guessed the regulation two hundred and twenty yards – Hugh and David stood shooting arrows at the butts. I watched Hugh loose an arrow. It sped through the air and landed smack in the centre of the target. He seemed as fast and accurate as Leacon’s men.
I would have benefited from a session of the morning exercises Guy had given me for my back, but there was much to be done. So I dressed in my serjeant’s robe and went downstairs. It felt uncomfortable; it was another hot, sticky morning.
The great hall was empty, but I heard Barak’s voice somewhere and followed it to a large kitchen, where he and Feaveryear sat at a table eating bread and cheese, their tones more amicable than I had heard before. The old woman Ursula stood at the big range, sweat on her thin face. Abigail Hobbey’s lapdog, Lamkin, stood by Feaveryear’s feet, gobbling at a lump of cheese. It looked up as I entered, wagging its feathery tail as though to say, see what a lucky fellow I am.
‘Tamasin has a good woman to care for her,’ Barak was saying to Feaveryear, ‘but I cannot help worrying. I imagine her out in her garden, weeding when she should be sitting indoors.’
‘I did not know you were married. I took you for a roistering fellow.’
‘That’s all done now – ah, good morning,’ he said as I came in. Feaveryear stood, bowing briefly.
‘You’ve let me sleep in,’ I said, joining them at table.
‘They only woke me half an hour ago,’ Barak answered cheerfully. ‘And the old need their sleep.’
‘Less of the old, churl.’ Feaveryear looked shocked at our familiarity.
From the kitchen we had a better view through an open window of the boys practising. David was shooting now, leaning back then bending his strong square body forward and loosing his arrow. He too hit the target, though off-centre.
‘This is a beautiful place,’ Feaveryear said. ‘I have never seen the country before.’
‘Never left London?’ I asked.
‘This is my first journey. I wanted to see it. The smells are so different, so clean.’
‘Ay,’ Barak agreed. ‘No rotten meat or sewage stink.’
‘And so quiet. Hard to think that only a few miles away the army is gathering at Portsmouth.’
‘Yes,’ I agreed, ‘it is.’
‘Master Hobbey has made a marvellous house. And a good thing this estate is no longer used to support those nuns mumbling prayers to idolatrous statues,’ Feaveryear added sententiously. The old woman turned and gave him a vicious look.
‘Those lads know what they’re doing,’ Barak said, looking through the window at Hugh and David. David shot again, and I followed the arcing trajectory of the arrow to the target. ‘There,’ I heard him shout, ‘I win! Sixpence you owe me!’
‘No!’ Hugh called back. ‘I shot nearer the centre!’
Feaveryear was looking at the boys too, his face sad. ‘Do you pull the bow at all?’ I asked him.
‘No, sir. God gave me but little strength. I envy those strong lads.’
‘A cosy scene,’ a sneering voice said. We turned to find Dyrick in the doorway, Hobbey beside him. Dyrick too had donned his lawyer’s robe.
‘Who has been feeding that dog?’ Hobbey asked sharply.
‘Me, sir,’ Feaveryear answered nervously. ‘He is such a merry little fellow.’
‘You will be no merry fellow if my wife finds out. Only she feeds him – she thinks he has a delicate stomach. Lamkin, go find Mistress.’ The dog turned and waddled obediently out of the kitchen. Hobbey turned to Ursula. ‘You should not have allowed him to feed Lamkin,’ he snapped.
‘I am sorry sir. I could not see through the steam.’
‘I think you saw well enough. Be careful, goodwife.’ Hobbey turned to me, his voice smooth again. ‘Well, Brother Shardlake, perhaps you could say how you wish to proceed. As you see, Hugh is available now.’
I had decided to interview the others before Hugh, to try and get some sense of this strange family. ‘I thought we might take your deposition first, sir. Then Fulstowe’s and your wife’s.’
Hobbey looked at Dyrick. ‘Is that agreeable to you?’
Dyrick inclined his head. ‘Very well.’
‘Then I will tell the boys they may go hawking this morning; they asked if they might.’ Hobbey took a deep breath. ‘Let us begin. We can use my study.’
‘I wish Barak to be with me, to take notes,’ I said.
‘I have brought some paper and a quill, Master Hobbey,’ Barak said cheerfully. ‘If you could let me have some ink.’
‘We do not need clerks,’ Dyrick snapped.
‘Clerks usually attend when taking depositions, do they not?’ I looked at him levelly. ‘It makes for greater accuracy.’
‘If we must,’ Dyrick said with a sigh. ‘Come, Feaveryear,’ he continued, ‘if Barak is attending you must too. More unnecessary costs for Master Shardlake’s client to pay.’