Read Online Death and the Chapman by Kate Sedley - Free Book Online

them in the morning. I tried to keep my mind on such mundane things in order to stop myself shaking. The dream was still so vivid in my mind that I could sense the lingering aura of evil and it took all my strength of will not to wake one of the others.
    After a while I lay down again, but this time sleep eluded me completely, The truth was, I did not want to lose consciousness in case the dream returned. The fire was nothing now but a dim glow on the hearthstones and the room was growing cold. Yet still there was no slacking of the darkness and there were many hours to go before dawn.
    Above my head, a board creaked, once, twice, three times. At first I thought it was nothing more than the beams settling, the way they do in houses at night when it begins to get chilly. But then I realized that someone was moving about, padding across the room directly overhead. At any other time, in any other circumstances, I should have taken no notice. There are many reasons why people leave their beds at night, and it was none of my business. But because my nerves were stretched to breaking-point, because I needed the reassurance that someone else in the house was awake besides myself, because I needed to shake off the effects of my nightmare and, above all, because I have always suffered, and still do, from an insatiable curiosity, I got silently to my feet and tiptoed across to the kitchen door. Carefully lifting the latch, while keeping a wary eye on my sleeping companions, I stepped through into the darkness of the hall beyond. All was quiet now, and when one of the wall hangings bellied in the draught, I nearly jumped out of my skin. Getting a grip on myself, I moved stealthily towards the staircase spiralling upwards into the gloom of the second storey, and set a foot cautiously on the lowest tread. To my relief, it did not creak and I crept up, cat-footed, until my head was on a level with the first landing. A door into one of the bedchambers was standing ajar, and as my eyes were by now thoroughly accustomed to the darkness, I was able to make out the outline of a handsome four-poster bed. No great feat of deduction was needed to know that this must be the Alderman‘s room, nor that it was probably he who had been moving about.
    I suddenly realized that if anyone were to find me there, stealing around the house like a thief in the night, it would look bad for me. And rightly so. I had kindly been offered shelter, and was abusing the Alderman’s hospitality by spying on him and his family. And for no good reason; nothing that I could even explain to myself.
    Yet I made no attempt to go, lowering my weight to sit on a stair and continuing to peer over the top one. After a moment or two, there came the whisper of voices and then another noise which sounded like kissing. Seconds later, Marjorie Dyer, in a billowing white nightshift, appeared in the doorway like a voluminous ghost and softly closed the bedchamber door behind her. She tiptoed past me, only inches from my face, and vanished up the second flight of stairs to her own room in the attics.
    The blood rushed into my face, and I cursed myself roundly for a Peeping Tom. What more natural than that the widowed Alderman should find comfort of a sort with his housekeeper, who was also his cousin? I felt deeply ashamed of myself and began easing my way downstairs. How could I have been so foolish as to imagine that anything sinister was happening? I blamed the nightmare, although it was difficult to understand why I had been so frightened. It now seemed nothing more than an unpleasant dream.
    Affairs in the kitchen were exactly as I had left them; Ned still sound asleep in his corner, sucking his thumb; Rob drunkenly snoring. Neither had awakened to miss me, and I resumed my place near the almost dead fire, resting my head on my pack and wrapping myself in my cloak for warmth. I had no trouble this time in dropping off, with no fears of my dream recurring, and was once more on the