For the Love of Old Bones - and other stories (Templar Series) Read Free

to,’ I said. I always like to give a young girl the benefit of the doubt, and it was only fair. ‘But on arriving in the town and seeing how busy and bustling it was, no doubt the poor chit realised that any jobs would be filled by those who have always lived here. Who else would wish to employ a stranger? And after that realisation, what else could she do, I ask you? She needed money for food, for board, and to travel on to somewhere else. Maybe to Exeter? What else could she do but try to sell her body? And I fear that her first client saw her and stabbed her.’
    We were almost at the door of the alehouse as I spoke, and I looked up at the small uprooted bush that dangled over the door. ‘You want to go in here?’
    He grinned at my distaste. ‘I have drunk good ale in here many times before, Coroner. We have to try to discover what happened to the girl when she came in here.’ And so saying, he ducked his head beneath the lintel and entered.
    I need hardly say that I was not used to frequenting such low, mean dwellings, and would have protested at the thought of going inside, but with Sir Baldwin’s servant standing behind me, I felt I had little choice. The man was oddly threatening. With a sense of chagrin, I followed Sir Baldwin.
    Inside there was already quite a collection of rough, brutish men sitting on benches and supping their first whet of the day. All stared as I stood there, my eyes becoming accustomed to the dim light, which wasn’t easy. The room had a small fire, but this early the air was still so chill that the smoke hung heavily above the hearth, and there was only one window in the opposite wall to permit a tiny shaft of sunlight. I heard a soft scrape of metal, as of a knife easing in its scabbard, but before I could move my hand to my own dagger’s hilt, Sir Baldwin’s servant moved past me, his own blade spinning in the air. He caught it and held it by the tip, ready to throw. When I glanced at his face there was an utter deadness to his eyes. They were as cold and unfeeling as a lizard’s. A snake’s. The room was quiet for an instant, and then the men at their tables began to murmur quietly to each other, studiously ignoring we three strangers.
    Sir Baldwin appeared entirely oblivious to the brief tension. He was leaning at the doorway in the farther wall, talking to a tall, grave and lugubrious man.  
    ‘Sir Eustace, this is John, who owns this establishment.’
    The innkeeper barely acknowledged me, beyond a short nod. His attention was fixed on the knight with, or so I felt, a degree of nervousness as well as respect. ‘She did come in here, sir, yes, quite early in the evening. A right pretty little wench she was, too, not much older than my own. Came here asking for a room. Said she’d already been to the inn, but that they charged too much. I said to her, “This is no place for a gentlewoman,” but she insisted. Had tears in her eyes, she did. Almost thought she’d go down on her knees to me. Said she couldn’t afford another place to stay, and begged me to let her have a room.’
    ‘You’ll pardon my agreeing that your house is hardly the sort I would expect a girl to beg to stay in,’ Baldwin noted.  
    The dour face cracked a grin. ‘Sir, it’s not the sort of place I’d expect a girl to look into, let alone walk in!’
    ‘How can you be sure she was a gentlewoman and not merely some hussy?’ I asked, and I must admit that I scoffed. His conviction about her status was ludicrous. As far as he knew, she might have been a whore touting for trade in a new tavern.
    He kept his eyes on Sir Baldwin as though I hadn’t even spoken, the bastard. ‘Her dress was worn and showed some hard use, but I think the dirt was recent. It was good cloth, and her face and hands were clean. Dust from the road had marked her apron and wimple, but her figure was good and full, not skinny from poor food, and her voice was confident enough. Yes, I’m sure she was well-born. As for her