The curate nodded. 'I am sorry, only we have been worried. Come in. Wilf has been here most of the morning, hoping you would come—' I caught a whiff of Seckford's breath, and guessed the two old men had already been sharing a drink. He led us into the shabby parlour. Wilf Harrydance rose from a stool. His big dog, which had been lying at his side, got up and wagged its tail. The bright eyes in Wilf 's thin, weathered face were anxious. 'I didn't think you'd come, sir,' he said, 'not after my sons . . . I am sorry for that, they were only trying to protect me—'
'I understand, Wilf.'
'What news of the French?' Seckford asked.
'They are said to be sailing up the Channel towards Portsmouth.'
'God help us all. Please, sit down.'
We sat gratefully on the settle, raising little clouds of dust. 'A drink, sirs?' Seckford asked, reaching for the jug on the buffet.
'Yes, please,' Barak answered. 'We're parched.'
Seckford poured two beers, his hands shaking even more than I remembered. He brought them over, then sat in his chair. Wilf glanced at the curate, who leaned forward. Mildly drunk as he was, there was a new keenness and authority in Seckford's voice.
'After your visit, Master Shardlake, Master Buttress was going all over the town, trying to find out who had been telling you about the fire. He knew you had spoken to me, and came here in a great rage, saying you seemed to be querying his ownership of his house.'
'I did no such thing. I only told him you had told me the old story. I am sorry, I should have let you know before I left.' I looked at Wilf. 'I did not say I had spoken to you.'
'He came to the inn and asked me, though. He knows I've always thought Priddis covered something up at that inquest. I said I had not spoken with you. It made me uneasy, sir.'
Seckford added, 'Master Buttress is a hard man, with much power in this town. Forgive me, sir, but I must ask. Were you really enquiring about the Fettiplace family on behalf of a client looking for relatives?'
I took a deep breath. 'No. Forgive me for misleading you, but I am trying to find out what happened to Ellen Fettiplace, for—personal reasons.'
'You told an untruth, sir.'
'I did. I am sorry.'
'You are not acting for anyone else? Priddis, for example?'
'No, I promise. No one else at all. I can say no more, but I will happily swear on the Bible that I am acting only from personal interest and concern, because of some information that came my way in London indicating that something was indeed covered up at that inquest. But I do not know what, and it may be unsafe to say more. Please, sir, fetch your bible and I will swear.'
'I told you there was more to it,' Wilf said.
'And I told you Master Shardlake was a good man. I believe you, sir, there is no need to swear.' Seckford looked at Wilf, then clasped his hands together. 'You are a lawyer, sir. Am I right, then, that you could take Wilf on as a client, advise him about a certain problem he has, and would then be bound by an oath of confidentiality, as I am in confession?'
'Yes, that is true.' I looked at Wilf. 'But this matter—if is it anything to do with who started the fire at the foundry, I could not keep it secret.'
'It isn't.' Wilf shook his head vigorously. 'It's about something I found.'
Seckford said, 'It concerns the circumstances in which Wilf found it.'
'Then I will do what I can to advise you.'
Seckford said, 'I heard that for a lawyer to be bound to a client money has to pass.'
'That is not strictly true. I can act
'I'd rather money changed hands,' Wilf said firmly. 'In front of Master Seckford.' He reached to the purse at his belt and pulled out a sixpence, an old coin of true silver. 'Is this enough?' he asked.
I hesitated, then reached out and took the coin. 'Yes. There, Wilf, you are my client. By law I may not reveal anything you tell me, to anyone.'
Wilf took a deep breath, then bent to pat the big dog. 'Me and Caesar here, this time of year we go hunting for truffles in the woods. Master Buttress owns the woods now, and everything in them. Though he talks of having them cut down to sell the timber, he's still jealous of his property.'
'You could call what Wilf does poaching,' Seckford said quietly. 'The penalties are severe, and Master Buttress is one to ensure a prosecution. He's a magistrate.'
I said, 'There would need to be evidence.' I looked at Wilf. 'Is there any?'
His eyes bored into mine. 'Yes.' He paused, then continued. 'Two days ago, I took Caesar into the woods. He has a wonderful nose for truffles. I know the foresters' movements, see. I know when they are in another part of the woods.'
'I understand.'
