Heartstone полностью

I have had word from the man I sent to enquire about Nicholas Hobbey. I ensured he was discreet. Apparently Hobbey indeed suffered greatly through poor investments in the continental trade seven years ago, just at the time he was buying the house and woodland in Hampshire. He ended in debt to moneylenders in London. My guess would be he bought the wardship of those children in the hope he could bind their lands to his through marriage, and make illicit profit from their woodland in the meantime to pay his creditors. Sir Quintin Priddis I believe, even more than most feodaries, is known for corrupt dealing and would help them cook the accounts.

There is a strange piece of news from the Court of Wards. The senior clerk, Gervase Mylling, has been found dead in their records office, which I am told is a damp underground chamber full of vile humours. He shut himself in there accidentally some time on Tuesday evening, and was found dead on Wednesday morning, the day you left. Apparently he had a weak chest and was overcome by the foul air. I had to go to court on her majesty's business that day and all the lawyers were talking of it. Yet they say he was a careful fellow. But only God knows when a man's hour may strike.

Her majesty asks me to send you her good wishes. She hopes your enquiries progress. She thinks it would be a good thing if you were to be on your way back to London as soon as you can.

Your friend,

Robert Warner

I laid the letter in my lap and looked at Barak. 'Mylling is dead. Found locked in the Stinkroom. He suffocated.' I passed the letter to him.

'So Hobbey was in debt,' he said when he had read it.

'Yes. But Mylling—he would never have gone into the Stinkroom without leaving that stone to prevent the door closing. He feared the place, it set him wheezing.'

'Are you saying someone shut him in? They'd have had to know he had a weak chest.'

'I can't see him taking any risks with that door.'

'You're not suggesting some agent of Priddis or Hobbey had him killed, are you? And why would they? You'd seen all the papers already.'

'Unless there was something else Mylling knew. And remember Michael Calfhill? He is the second person connected with this case to die suddenly.'

'You were sure Michael's death was suicide.' Barak's voice rose impatiently. 'God's nails, if Hobbey has been defrauding Hugh over the sale of wood, it can't be worth more than a hundred or so a year at most. Not enough to be killing people for, surely, and risking the rope—'

We were interrupted by a knock at the door. Barak threw it open. A young man, one of the Hobbey servants, stood outside. 'Sir,' he said, 'Master Hobbey and Mistress Abigail are taking a glass of wine outside before dinner with Master Dyrick. They ask if you would join them.'

I WENT TO my room, where I washed my face and neck in the bowl of water Fulstowe had sent up, then changed into fresh clothes and went outside. Chairs had been set out beside the porch, and Hobbey, Abigail and Dyrick sat there, a large flagon of wine on a table between them. Fulstowe had just brought out a plate of sweetmeats. Hobbey rose and smiled.

'Well, Master Shardlake.' His manner was at its smoothest. 'You have had a long ride. Come, enjoy a glass of wine and the peace of this beautiful afternoon. You too, Fulstowe, take a rest from your labours and join us.'

Fulstowe bowed. 'Thank you, sir. Some wine, Master Shardlake?' He passed me a cup and we both sat. Abigail gave me one of her sharp, hostile glances and looked away. Dyrick nodded coldly.