'Fulstowe told me to get out of the house shortly after you left. But as I was leaving a rider arrived with a letter for you. I hoped it might be more news from London, but I don't recognize the hand.'
He reached into his doublet and pulled out a piece of cheap paper, crudely sealed with wax. My name and 'Hoyland Priory' were scrawled on the front. I opened it.
'Is it from home?' Barak asked eagerly.
I shook my head. 'No.'
The note was in a scrawled hand, it was dated 12 July, the day before, and signed John Seckford, Curate of Rolfswood.
I PASSED BARAK the note. He read it, then handed it back, looking at me hard. 'What the hell does he mean?'
'I don't know.' I paced the room. 'Something serious. I could ride there tomorrow and come back the next day—Wednesday—the coroner won't be here before then.'
He said quietly, 'You're glad we can't go home tomorrow, aren't you?'
'That's not fair,' I answered, all the more hotly because his words had struck home. 'We would have gone but for Abigail's death. How could I know this would happen? And you cannot think I am glad that poor woman was killed. Even though an inquest may reveal what has been going on here.'
'All right. But part of you is still glad, isn't it?'
'Here is a chance to solve both matters.'
'You forget there may be a battle eight miles south of here any day now. And, if we lose, French troops may be marching up that road and in here. It's a fine property for soldiers to loot.'
'That risk we are stuck with. But—' I looked at him—'I will go to Rolfswood alone tomorrow.'
'Oh, I'm coming,' Barak replied in definite tones. 'I'm not staying by myself in this madhouse.'
I KNOCKED ON the door of Hobbey's study. He said quietly, 'Come in.' He was sitting at his desk, watching the sand run through the hourglass. I realized it was the first time I had ever been alone with him. I felt a stab of sympathy. Within two days the secret of his son's illness had been exposed and his wife murdered. He looked bereft.
'Well, Master Shardlake,' he asked with a sigh, 'did you and Master Priddis ride the woods?'
'We did.'
He waved a hand. 'Perhaps you could discuss it with Vincent. I cannot concentrate just now.'
'I understand. Sir, may I express my condolences for your poor wife's death? God rest her soul.'
He lowered his eyes, then said, in a voice suddenly full of emotion, 'Everyone disliked poor Abigail. I know they did. But you should have seen her when I married her, she was so pretty, so light-hearted. If she had not married me—' His voice trailed away.
'How are the boys?' I asked. I thought, in a normal family Hugh and David would have been with Hobbey, they would all have been comforting each other.
'David is in great distress. Fulstowe is with him. And Hugh—' He sighed. 'Hugh is about the house somewhere. Sir Luke is organizing a search of the woodlands, by the way. People from the village are helping, they are much disturbed at the prospect of some madman roaming the woods. Sir Luke suggests none of us leave the house and gardens for now.'
'Has Ettis been taken in for questioning?'
'Yes. He hated this family.' Hobbey frowned. 'Vincent says that if there is no trace of a stranger in the woods, he must be a suspect. Surely that must be right.' He frowned. I thought, Dyrick will be running things here now, Dyrick and Fulstowe between them.
'Well,' I answered quietly, 'it will be up to the coroner when he arrives. The reason I came, Master Hobbey, is to tell you a messenger has brought a letter from the Sussex village where I have another matter in hand. I plan to go there tomorrow, then return the following day to see the coroner. I know he will need to speak to me and Barak as first finders.'
'Very well,' he replied without interest.
I hesitated, aware that what I had to say next should really be said with Dyrick present. But it was eating away at me. 'Last week, sir, I accidentally overheard you and your wife talking in her room. She said she did not want to have the hunt, she indicated she did not think it was safe.'
