A Murder of Crows: A Sir Robert Carey Mystery by P. F. Chisholm Page B

put that back,” Carey said behind him, “we’re not here for the man’s insight.”
    Dodd was puzzled. “Are we no’? I thocht that was what we were about. Can I no’ nip out that fine gelding in the stables then, the one wi’ the white sock?”
    Carey grinned. “We’re not raiding the man, we’re searching his house for evidence of wrongdoing and I’m certainly not losing my reputation for the sake of a second-rate collection of silver plate and one nag with the spavins. The man has no taste at all.” Dodd scowled. Who cared what the silver plate looked like since it was going to be melted down? And the gelding certainly did not have the spavins and was in fact a very nice piece of horseflesh, as Dodd knew, and probably Carey did as well.
    At the foot of the stairs Enys was anxiously waiting for them. “I had no intention of taking Mr. Vice Chamberlain’s papers…” he began.
    “Of course not,” said Carey breezily. “We came to arrest Heneage but in the course of our search for him we came upon some papers which might possibly relate to treason and which my Lord Chamberlain, as his superior, would naturally wish to know about. We’ll give them back as soon as we can find Heneage himself.”
    He led the way out of the door and along the path to the boat-landing. To the steward he gave a shilling to pay for the damage to the cupboard and to convey his compliments to Mr. Vice Chamberlain—he was sure they would meet soon.
    ***
     
    It seemed a very long row back to Somerset House steps, even though Dodd wasn’t rowing and the current was helping the men sweating at the oars in the warm afternoon sun. Enys remained silent, staring into space, and Dodd had nothing much to say either. Carey watched Enys for a while before remarking, seemingly at venture, “Have you truly seen nothing of your brother for more than two weeks?”
    Enys turned his gargoyle’s face to Carey’s. “Nothing. And he would be back by now. He…he was concerned in something dangerous connected with Heneage, something to do with land, but that’s all I know.”
    Carey handed over the deed he had taken. “Is it real?”
    Enys squinted his eyes, read the deed, and nodded. “Yes, quite in order, a few hides of farmland near Helston. In Cornwall they call them ‘wheals.’”
    “Are these anything to do with the cases you withdrew from?”
    Enys shook his head. “Not this piece of land, no. Were there other deeds there?”
    “Plenty of them.”
    Enys smiled bitterly. “It’s a popular game. Arrest a man for non-payment of recusancy fines, offer to release him in exchange for some land sold at a very low price, and then release or don’t release him, depending how much land you think his family have left. There is nothing, alas, illegal about it.”
    “But you find it dishonourable?”
    Enys shrugged.
    “Are you a Papist?” Carey demanded, voice harsh with suspicion.
    “No sir,” Enys said with a sigh, “but my family were church-Papists and I find it hard to cheat their friends and neighbours.”
    “Are they still Papists?”
    “No sir, all of them are buried in good Protestant graves. My brother is my only living relative apart from my sister.”
    “Was?”
    Enys lifted his hands, palms up. “What else can I think?”
    Dodd nudged Carey’s foot with his boot. “D’ye think…?”
    Carey sighed. “We can but try.”
    ***
     
    The men were very happy to stop off at Westminster steps and have ale and bread and cheese bought for them for their labours. Carey, Dodd, and Enys hurried to the crypt of the little chapel by the court.
    The undertakers had been and the smell was less appalling since the entrails had been taken out and the cavity packed with salt and saltpetre. Now the corpse was wrapped in a cerecloth. Carey lit the candles with a spill from the watchlight.
    Enys swallowed hard, took a deep breath. He had his hands clasped together at his waist as he went forward and Dodd peeled the waxed cloth from the