Heartstone (56 page)

Priddis cackled suddenly. 'You have found your murderer, then?' he called out. 'A village leader, opposed to your enclosure plans. Convenient.'

Sir Luke bridled. 'Ettis is a hot-headed rogue, Master Feodary, and an enemy of this family. He should be questioned.'

Priddis shrugged. 'It matters naught to me. But when the coroner arrives from Winchester he might think efforts would have been better spent checking the movements of everyone on the hunt.'

'That is being done, sir,' Dyrick replied.

'Ettis would not run,' I said. 'He has a wife and three children.'

'Full enquiries will be carried out by the coroner,' Corembeck replied haughtily, 'but in the meantime it will do no harm to secure Ettis.'

'When will the coroner be here?' Dyrick asked Fulstowe.

'Not until the day after tomorrow at the earliest, even if our messenger finds clear roads between here and Winchester, which I doubt.'

Barak looked downcast. As first finders of the body we would have to stay until the inquest. But I could not help feeling pleased. The carapace of mystery around this family would surely crack open now. Then I thought, guiltily, poor Abigail.

Sir Quintin looked at his son. 'Well, Edward, you might as well go and look at Hugh Curteys' property, that is why we are here after all. Unless you and Master Shardlake fear another arrow flying from those woods. Fulstowe tells me someone shot at you too, a few days ago.'

'Yes,' I replied. 'Though it was a warning shot, intended to miss.'

'I am not afraid, Father,' Edward said sharply.

I said, 'We will be riding through a cleared area. The big trees have all been felled; there is nowhere for an archer to hide.' I looked across at Dyrick. 'Will you come?'

'I should stay with Master Hobbey. And, Fulstowe, I want you to give the messenger going to fetch the coroner a letter to my clerk Feaveryear. It must be forwarded to London as fast as possible, I do not care what it costs.'

Edward Priddis looked at me. 'Then I will change my clothes, sir, and we can go.'

B
ARAK HAD BEEN
the first to recover from the awful sight in the glade. He had walked silently over the grass and gently touched Abigail's hand. 'She is still warm,' he said.

I approached the body. Abigail's eyes were wide open, her last emotion must have been sudden shock. I saw that a yellow woodland flower lay beside the body, some of the petals torn off. I thought, she must have picked it as she walked here. I looked at the arrow protruding obscenely from her white brow. The fletches were of goose feather. I remembered the boys had carried peacock and swan, but could not remember if they had had ordinary goose-feather arrows in their arrowbags too. There was hardly any blood, just a small red circle round the arrow shaft.

'We'll have to go and tell them,' Barak said quietly. I could hear, faintly, the murmur of voices just on the other side of the trees. I put a hand on his arm.

'Let us take a minute to look round before this dell is full of people.' I pointed to the trees. 'He shot from that direction. Come, help me see if we can find the place.'

We tried to follow the killer's line of sight. A little way into the trees, an oak blocked my path. I turned; I was looking straight at poor Abigail's body. I glanced down and saw the faint imprint of the sole of a shoe in the soft earth.

'He stood right here,' I said. 'He could have been walking along the road, as we were, and like us caught a glimpse of that bright yellow dress through the trees. Then he walked here silently, put an arrow to his bow and shot her.'

'So it wasn't planned?'

'Not if it happened that way.'

'What if she arranged to meet someone here, and they killed her?'

'That's possible. But she may have come here to get away from all the company, as I did. It can't have been easy sitting with those women, knowing they had probably been told about David.'

Barak looked at the body. 'Poor creature. What harm did she ever really do anyone? She was bad-tempered and rude, but so are many. Why kill her?'

'I don't know. Unless she had other secrets besides David, and someone took the chance to silence her.' I remembered the conversation I had overheard between Abigail and Hobbey. 'She was afraid that something would happen on the hunt. And now it has.'

W
HEN WE WALKED
into the clearing I saw everyone had returned. Hugh and David, with Hobbey, Fulstowe and Dyrick, stood watching with the rest of the party as servants in bloody smocks cut open the stomach of a large doe under Avery's supervision. Five more had been dumped in a heap nearby. The unmaking of the quarry, I remembered they called this.

The dogs had been leashed and were held by the villagers. They pulled forward, panting and wagging their tails. Avery reached deep into the doe's innards and with a hefty tug pulled out a long trail of intestines. He cut them to pieces with a large knife and threw chunks to the dogs; their reward.

I told Fulstowe first, taking him aside. He was shocked out of his normal calm, his eyes opened wide and he stepped backwards, crying, 'What?' in a voice that made everybody turn. Then he collected himself, his face setting in tight lines.

'Best not tell everyone at once,' I said quietly.

'I must tell Master Hobbey and the boys.'

I looked on as Fulstowe went to Hobbey, then Hugh, then David, speaking quietly to each in turn. Their reactions were entirely different. Hobbey had been watching the unmaking with an indulgent smile, his composure restored after his fall. When Fulstowe told him he stood still for a moment. Then he staggered backwards and would have fallen had not a servant grasped him. He stood, half-supported by the man, staring at Fulstowe as he approached Hugh and David. Hugh frowned, looked unbelieving, but David screamed, 'Mother! My mother!' He reached out his hand in a strange gesture, as though clawing at the air for support, but when Fulstowe reached out to him he batted his hands away, then began weeping piteously.

Everyone was looking at the family now, in puzzlement and fear. The women rose from their cushions. Fulstowe stood and addressed everyone.

'There has been - ' he paused - 'an accident. To Mistress Abigail. I fear she is dead. Sir Luke, would you please come with me?'

There were gasps and exclamations. 'Please,' Fulstowe said, 'Master Dyrick, Master Shardlake, come too.'

I stepped forward. 'Fulstowe, are there any servants who have been on duty waiting on the women the whole morning?'

Fulstowe considered, then pointed to a boy Hugh and David's age. 'Moorcock, you've been here all the time, haven't you?'

The boy nodded, looking frightened.

'Lad,' I asked, 'when did Mistress Abigail leave the clearing?'

'About twenty minutes ago. I heard her tell Mistress Stannard she needed to go to the pissing place.'

One of the ladies spoke up. 'She did, but she went in the wrong direction. The appointed place is over there.' She pointed to a little path some way off.

'Who from the hunting party was back in the clearing by then?' I asked the servant.

'Hardly anybody, sir. Sir Luke had returned, then Master Avery, who said the stag had turned at bay. I think everyone else came back after Mistress Hobbey left.'

Mistress Stannard looked at Fulstowe. 'What has happened to her?'

He did not reply. I said, 'Master Avery, would you come too?' He rose, brushing bloody hands on his smock, and followed us back into the trees.

I
N THE DELL
bluebottles were buzzing round the wound on Abigail's brow. Corembeck's mouth dropped open. 'Murder,' he breathed. Dyrick for once said nothing, staring at the corpse in horror.

'I thought it best to keep that quiet for now,' Fulstowe said. 'You, Sir Luke, are the magistrate. What should we do?'

'Who found the body?'

I stepped forward. 'My clerk and I.'

'We must send to Winchester, for Coroner Trevelyan. At once.' Corembeck put a hand to his brow, where sweat stood out.

'Why is Avery here?' Fulstowe asked me, nodding to the bloodstained huntmaster. 'This is hardly appropriate--'

'Because he knows these woodlands,' I answered curtly. 'Master Avery, there is something I would show you if you would follow me.'

I led the way to the place where the half-footprint was. 'Yes,' Avery said quietly. 'He fired from here.' He bent to a branch just in front of me; a twig was broken off, hanging by its stem. 'See, this was in his way. He broke it, quietly enough not to disturb her.' He looked at me. 'I think this man was an experienced archer. Not one of the household servants or the villagers I have been training up. He - well, he hit the centre of his mark.'

'Thank you.' I led the way back to the glade. Abigail, who had been constantly fidgeting in life, sat horribly still. But as I stepped into the glade I saw someone else had arrived there. Hugh Curteys was in the act of picking up the flower Abigail had dropped. He placed it gently in her lap, then muttered something. It sounded like, 'You deserved this.'

W
HEN WE RETURNED
to the clearing the stag had been brought in on the cart. It was left with the does, and a long procession of shocked guests and servants filed back to the house. David, still weeping, was supported by his father. Hobbey's face remained blank with shock. Behind them Hugh walked with Fulstowe, saying nothing.

'It could have been Hugh or David,' Barak said quietly.

'Or Fulstowe. Why, almost nobody from the hunt was back when Abigail left the clearing.'

Dyrick fell into step with us. 'Avery's wrong,' he said. 'It could have been someone from the village. So many young men practise archery nowadays. Older ones too. Well, we won't be leaving here tomorrow,' he added bitterly. 'We'll have to wait for the coroner. Me as Master Hobbey's lawyer, you two as first finders. We'll be here till the inquest. Damn it.'

Did he feel nothing for Abigail? I stared at him. 'I want to see my children,' he snapped.

You could have done it, I thought, you flounced off alone after Hobbey snapped at you. And you are an archer: you were talking about teaching your son.

Barak's shoulders slumped. 'I begin to wonder if I'll ever see my child born now,' he said sorrowfully. 'I must write to Tamasin.'