Heartstone (Matthew Shardlake #5)(135)

‘I don’t know. You couldn’t tell.’ He fell silent.

Barak said, ‘Someone could have fallen in the pond over the years since the foundry went.’

Wilf shook his head. ‘It was in the middle of the pond. Someone took that body out there in a boat – there used to be a little rowing boat – and dropped it in.’

I asked, ‘Could a swimmer not have drowned in there sometime?’

‘The body’s clothed, sir. There’s what looks like the remains of a doublet sleeve on the arm.’

‘Mary help us,’ Seckford said. He rose and headed for the buffet.

‘No, sir,’ I said to him sharply. ‘Please, we should stay sober.’

Seckford hesitated and looked longingly at the jug, but made himself come and sit down again. He looked at me. ‘Wilf was afraid of reporting it, sir, you see. Because he’d been poaching. His dog had dug up some truffles on the way, and he’d be hard put to explain what he was doing in the woods. That is our problem. And there are footprints in the mud now, going out to where the body is.’

‘I see.’

Seckford said carefully, ‘What we thought, sir, is that you could say you came back here today to make more enquiries, and got Wilf to agree to take you to the foundry to look at it. Then the dog can find – what it found.’ He smiled uneasily.

‘You are asking my master to perjure himself,’ Barak said.

Seckford met his gaze. ‘It may be Wilf’s only hope.’ He looked at me. ‘He would not have gone up there but for your visit. And you, sir, wanted to discover what happened there. Well, finding the body would put you at the centre of any new enquiry. You could tell them what you told us, that you were seeking members of the Fettiplace family for a friend.’

I leaned back, sighing. Again I had set out on an enquiry in good faith, with the aim of helping someone in trouble, and brought more trouble to everyone involved. Yet Seckford, it seemed, still trusted me.

‘I’ll take you there now, show you,’ Wilf said eagerly. ‘Then you could say afterwards that you asked me to go there today. You’re my only hope,’ he added desperately. ‘My sons agree.’

I looked at Barak. He shook his head, spread his hands.

‘I’ll do it,’ I told Wilf. ‘Take me to the foundry now, show me and we’ll pretend we’ve just found the body.’

Wilf let out a long sigh of relief and smiled at the curate. ‘You were right about him, Master Seckford. He’ll save me.’



SECKFORD REMAINED behind. I was not sorry, for he would have slowed us down, and I had a horrible anxiety that someone else might find the body in the meantime. I saw the old fellow reach for his jug as we headed for the door. Outside, Wilf pointed to a path which led up into woodland. I was hungry, dusty, my legs tired beyond measure. But this had to be done now.

We followed Wilf into the woods, the dog at his heels. The sky was very dark; it could start raining at any moment.

‘What the f*ck are we getting into this time?’ Barak muttered.

‘Something that should have been dealt with a long time ago. But no secret lasts for ever.’

He shook his head. ‘This one might have, if that dog hadn’t gone digging. You realize there’ll be another inquest. You’ll be first finder again. Only this time you’ll have set that up.’

‘I couldn’t leave that old man in the briars. But you don’t have to come, you don’t have to be involved in this.’

‘That woman saw us riding together through the town. They’ll be asking later who was with you.’

‘You are right. I’m sorry.’

‘It looks like murder again, doesn’t it?’

‘Yes, Jack, it does.’

We followed Wilf along an overgrown path between the trees, alongside the large stream that ran through the town. This would have been a pretty scene in other circumstances. ‘This stream fed the mill,’ Wilf called over his shoulder. ‘Here, Caesar!’ He called to the dog, which had got a little ahead and seemed impatient. He stopped, running a hand over his bald brown pate. ‘I walked this way to work for many years,’ he said quietly. ‘It was so busy then, carts coming down here with loads of iron. We come to the foundry first, the pond’s behind.’

We reached the clearing where the foundry had stood just as heavy drops of rain began to fall. All that was left was a pile of low ruins, jagged remnants of wooden walls, black and burned, festooned with ivy. At one end the smashed remains of a water-wheel leaned against a tall, round structure with rooks’ nests on top. The furnace chimney no doubt. Beyond the ruined building I glimpsed a long, rectangular expanse of brown mud, through the centre of which the stream now ran. Large overgrown mounds stood on the banks. ‘What are those?’ I asked Wilf, pointing.

‘Slag heaps.’

Seeing the empty pond, the dog tried to dart ahead. Wilf reached out and put a hand on its collar. ‘We’ll need to find something to dig with,’ he said. He led us into the ruins through a gap in the broken walls. Inside, the wide stone floor was covered with weeds. At one end stood the old furnace shed. The walls had almost gone but the big stone furnace stood blackened but untouched, a dark hole at the bottom: no doubt the hatch through which the semi-molten iron was collected. Wilf began picking among the rubbish on the floor. Barak and I stood looking around. The rain had started to come down steadily, pattering on our heads and on the stone floor.