Heartstone (Matthew Shardlake #5)(127)

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.’



BARAK 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.’



WHEN 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.