The Casebook of Newbury & Hobbes Read Free Page B

loosened his collar and opened the back door to let in some fresh air. The place stank.” She took another swig of her tea, which, Black decided, must have been tepid by this point. “The cold air seemed to bring him round a bit and his coughing subsided. I got him up and walked him through here, to the kitchen, where I cleaned him up. At first he was all apologetic, a bit sheepish, like, but he thanked me for my efforts, once he realised there was no need to be embarrassed. So I fixed him a hot toddy and dragged out a bucket and mop to sort out his mess.”
    “I take it he hadn’t simply over-indulged at the village pub?” asked Black.
    Mrs Braddock shook her head. “Not the way he was carrying on. You should’ve heard him. Sounded like he was about to expire. His lungs were giving him gyp. And all that blood...” She trailed off. “Well, it was clear as the day is long that he was in a bad way.”
    “Did he talk to you about it?”
    Mrs Braddock nodded. “Aye, and in truth they might have been the first real words we’d shared since he joined us over a year ago. Possibly the last, too.”
    “And?”
    “He told me it’d been going on for weeks. That he’d been to see the doctor, who explained there was nothing they could do. He has a lung condition, you see, and it’s only a matter of time...” She looked stricken at the memory, and Black remained tight-lipped while she composed herself.
    “He said he’d tried everything. Tonics and potions, the lot. But nothing was working. So I... I told him about Martha.” She shook her head and issued a long, heartfelt sigh. “Look at me, ruddy fool that I am. Getting all maudlin.”
    “Tell me about Martha,” said Black. “Tell me what you told Mr Blakemore.”
    Mrs Braddock frowned. “I should never have said anything. I shouldn’t have given him hope. It’s just that...”
    “Go on.”
    “Martha’s my sister-in-law, annoying bat that she is. She told me a story, about a woman who can heal people, using the old ways. Claims she knows a man who was brought back from the brink of death.”
    “The old ways?” asked Black.
    “Magic,” replied Mrs Braddock, in a sepulchral whisper. “Funny stuff. Rituals with herbs and plants. That sort of thing.”
    “Herbs like the ones you’re using in your kitchen? They smell delightful,” said Black.
    Mrs Braddock frowned. “No.” She paused. “Well, perhaps. But it’s all about how you use them,” she said, a little defensively.
    “I see,” said Black, trying to keep the scepticism from his voice. “And you think Mr Blakemore might have gone in search of this woman?”
    “Wouldn’t you? If you’d run out of options, if you’d tried everything else. Wouldn’t you at least want to try?”
    “Yes. I rather think I would,” conceded Black. “Do you know where I might find her?”
    Mrs Braddock shook her head. “I told Mr Blakemore to ask in the village.”
    “Then Sir Maurice and I shall do the same,” said Black. “My thanks to you, Mrs Braddock. You’ve been most helpful.”
    “Do you think you’ll find him?” she asked suddenly, her guard slipping.
    Black shrugged. “We’ll try.”
    She nodded, getting down from her stool and smoothing the front of her apron. “Was there anything else?”
    “A crumpet, perhaps? Or a piece of that rather spiffing-looking pie?” chanced Black, with a grin.
    “You cheeky bugger!” was her only response.
VI
    The village, it transpired, was little more than a hamlet: a cluster of small stone cottages around a central square, with a single inn—The Saracen’s Head—and an old, decommissioned well. It was picturesque and welcoming, but Black couldn’t help thinking that, if forced to remain in such environs for more than a few days, he’d be at serious risk of dying from boredom. Quite literally, in fact, given there was nothing to do but ensconce oneself at the inn and drink. And he did like a drink.
    Save for the gentle wisps of curling smoke that