Read Online The Sticklepath Strangler (2001) by Michael Jecks - Free Book Online Page A

into an attractive woman.
    He missed them, yes, but he was glad that they were gone. Edith was in so gloomy a temper since the end of the tournament . . . Simon pushed away the unpleasant memory, hoping that back in the
happy, bustling town of Lydford, she would soon forget her misery. Her many admirers would see to that.
    It was better than having them moping here. A castle filled with the retinue of a lord was a loud, exciting place, full of roaring, singing men, and wayward-looking women – not only
whores: Simon had been surprised at the behaviour of some of the well-born married women. However, as the people faded away, Lord Hugh himself departing to visit Tavistock and then distant manors,
taking his stewards, cooks, almoner, ostlers, ushers and bottlers and all the other men of his household with him, the place grew silent. All the local serfs commanded to serve Lord Hugh had
cleared out, and only the small garrison remained. It was as though a burgh had been one day filled with people going about their business, and the next the place was dead: all the inhabitants
struck down by God’s hand.
    A shiver passed up his spine. It was scary to think such things, but he couldn’t help it. He was of a cheerful disposition generally, but he was also a Devonshire man, and that meant he
was cursed with a powerful imagination. His friend Baldwin treated his wilder flights as the ravings of an irrational fool, although he usually mitigated the harshness of his words with an
affectionate grin. Usually, anyway. Sometimes his irritation got the better of him.
    No matter. Simon had been raised in Devon, meeting few strangers, only the occasional traveller, and was accustomed to hearing local stories about the strange things people had seen, the odd
things they had heard. Baldwin could dismiss all this if he liked, but even the priests at Crediton’s canonical church knew of ghosts. When Simon had been a student there, he had heard them
tell tales around the fire of an evening which had frozen the blood in his veins. Terrible stories of phantasms and ghouls, of ghosts which haunted the living, or even
killed
them. Simon
had never seen one himself, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t believe in such things. He’d never seen an angel, but he didn’t need to in order to believe in them.
    The end of the tournament had been a relief, but only now, with the stands pulled down, the castle all but closed, the lands cleared and all the guests gone, could Simon begin to relax. And it
was a marvellous feeling, knowing that at last he could think about packing up his belongings and setting off for home.
    He had reached this conclusion when he saw Sir Roger de Gidleigh cantering towards him. When the knight had drawn to a halt at his side, Simon put out a hand to pat the mount’s neck and
looked up at him. ‘You only left two days ago. Did your wife chuck you out again?’
    ‘Her? She’s probably glad to see the back of me. Doesn’t like me mucking up the place,’ Sir Roger joked. He was a thickset man, strong in the arm and shoulder, but with a
paunch that demonstrated his skill lay more with a knife and spoon than with a sword and spear. For all that, he rode his mount like a man bred to the saddle from an early age. His face was square
and kindly, with warm brown eyes and a tightly cropped thatch of hair which was frosted about the temples – the only proof of his increasing years.
    ‘You mean you’ve come back here without even seeing her?’ Coroner Roger often derided his wife, but in reality Simon knew he was devoted to her. ‘What’s going on,
man? Out with it. This is going to cost me money or time, I can feel it in my bones.’
    ‘Oh no, Bailiff, this won’t cost you. You and your friend have been requested to visit a delightful inn not far from here, that’s all.’
    ‘That sounds painless,’ Simon said suspiciously. ‘When you say “my friend”, do you mean yourself ?’
    ‘I’ll be with you,