Read Online Heart of the Country by Tricia Stringer - Free Book Online

shelves and the large trunk he’d stashed in the back. Then right in front of him, in the middle of the wagon, the pile of new men’s shirts and trousers moved. Some kind of animal had buried itself in his goods. He reached across and began lifting the clothing away, then lurched back as an apparition in human form began to rise from underneath.
    He covered his nose and mouth with his hand. The smell was unbearable and the being so ugly he would have thought he’d trapped a ghoul if he believed in such nonsense.
    â€œHelp me.” The voice was feeble.
    Septimus didn’t move. He couldn’t comprehend how this female – he could see more of her now – had got into his wagon, or when. The head was a mass of matted hair, caked in mud and possibly blood, if the congealed stains down the side of the face were any indication. The eyes were swollen slits, the nose was at an odd angle and the mouth was a mangled mess.
    He winced and watched in horror as a filthy hand reached towards him. “Septimus,” she croaked.
    He gasped. How did this creature know his name?
    â€œHelp me, please. It’s … Harriet.”
    Septimus gasped again. “Harriet?”
    But as he spoke she slowly sank back into the pile of clothing.
    â€œNo,” Septimus bellowed. Those clothes were part of his new money-making venture. He didn’t want the filthy creature spoiling them. He pulled on her arm but she didn’t move.
    â€œHarriet.” He tugged more fiercely and then gagged as the smell enveloped him again. It was a mix of human and animal, putrid and overpowering.
    He flung back the good clean clothes she’d burrowed under. Her dress was torn and caked in mud. He picked up one of the hessian bags he kept for carrying animals he trapped and used it to grip Harriet and lift her from the wagon. She didn’t move or murmur as he laid her at his feet. He poked her with the toe of his boot but there was no response. Someone had done her over good and proper from the look of her and somehow she’d got into his wagon.
    Septimus looked around. He was a long way from anywhere but he suddenly felt vulnerable. There was no way he was going to take the rap for the little slut’s death. He took the bag and wrapped it around her then lifted her up. She felt barely heavier than one of the sacks of flour he had stashed in the wagon. He walked towards the stream then thought better of dumping her close to where he was camped. Further along, the water trickled and disappeared into large flat rocks. He jumped from one to the other then the stream dropped away and he looked down into the large pool of water that had formed below: the perfect spot. He stretched out his arms and let the body roll off the bag. There was a satisfying splash as it hit the water. In the dim light, Septimus turned and retraced his steps.
    Close to his camp he heard the sounds of something scrabbling in his trap.
    Good, he thought. There’d be something to roast for his evening meal while he cleaned up his wagon.
    A small furry creature with a long tail ran around in the cage. Perhaps a stew would be better, possum stew. There’d be plenty of time for it to cook. He would probably have to wash some of the shirts and trousers and rearrange the wagon. Septimus wrapped the animal in the bag, slit its throat then set about preparing his meal and cleaning out the wagon. He decided to leave washing the clothes till morning, seeing as it took till full dark just to move boxes and barrels around and scrub the filth from the boards. He gave no further thought to Harriet.
    A crackling sound penetrated his sleep. Septimus was instantly awake. He lay perfectly still in the cosy bedroll he had created for himself, but opened one eye a slit. The fire was flaming gently in the hollow he had created last night. His brain registered the flames, which should be coals now, not fingering skywards with a steaming billy beside. There was