The Deathly Portent Read Free Page A

renewed vexation leap quickly into Francis’s eyes, and she made an immediate effort to deflect his attention. “Recently, Ryde?”
    “Last night, m’lady.”
    “Last night?” Francis echoed. “If that isn’t the devil’s own luck.”
    “For Duggleby, m’lord, as I hear is the man’s name.”
    From no other servant would her husband have accepted the implied rebuke, Ottilia knew. She intervened swiftly, knowing his temper to be exacerbated already.
    “What happened to him, Ryde?”
    “Seems the roof caved in on him, m’lady.”
    “Good God,” uttered Francis, startled. “Then the poor fellow was crushed to death?”
    “Was it the storm, Ryde?”
    A faint twitch attacked the groom’s mouth, and his eye gleamed. Noting these rare signs of amusement, Ottilia waited with burgeoning interest.
    “The storm, m’lady, or a witch’s curse, if the villagers are to be believed.”
    A spurt of laughter was surprised out of Francis, but Ottilia was intrigued.
    “How could that be?”
    Ryde shrugged. “I couldn’t make much sense of it, m’lady. Seems this witch claims she saw the roof come down in a vision.”
    “Wise after the event, eh?”
    “Before, m’lord. By all accounts, this Mrs. Dale gave warning to this Duggleby a couple of days back.”
    “And it happened as she said? Sheer luck, no doubt.”
    Ottilia put up a finger. “Don’t dismiss it so lightly, Francis. Perhaps the woman has second sight.”
    The groom was nodding. “That’s what they say, m’lady. It ain’t the first time as she’s been right.”
    “And I daresay the villagers don’t like it?”
    “No, m’lady. They say she caused the roof to fall in.”
    “Yes,” Ottilia mused, “people are apt to attack what they fear or do not understand.”
    “That’s why you spoke of a witch’s curse, Ryde?”
    “Yes, m’lord. Only it’s worse than that. Seems the place was set afire. And rumour has it the doctor weren’t satisfied as it was the cave-in as killed the blacksmith. They’re saying he had his head bashed in.”
    “But his head must have been damaged by the falling masonry,” objected Francis.
    Ottilia’s mind was buzzing. “Do you say someone administered a blow to the man’s head before the roof fell in on him?”
    Ryde grimaced. “It’s what the tapster in the tavern told me. Only the constable can’t go arresting the witch because she’s took sanctuary in the vicar’s house.”
    A ripple of unholy delight ran through Ottilia. “It sounds the most glorious muddle.”
    But her husband’s attention had reverted to their own difficulties. “What the devil are we to do now?”
    “Nothing for it but to wait for Williams, m’lord.”
    Ottilia ignored her husband’s fluent curses and once more claimed the groom’s attention. “Is there a decent hostelry in this village, Ryde?”
    “In Witherley, m’lady? But there ain’t no point in going there.”
    “Is it a pretty place?” pursued Ottilia, wholly ignoring this rider.
    “Tillie, what are you about?”
    She heard the suspicious note in Francis’s voice, but she did not answer, merely putting out a hand to enjoin his silence.
    The groom looked both puzzled and suspicious, and his answer was brief. “It’s well enough, m’lady.”
    “And does it have a decent hostelry?”
    The repetition made Ryde frown and cast a glance at his master. Ottilia turned to smile blindingly at her husband. His gaze narrowed a little, but he did not fail her.
    “Answer, man.”
    Ryde’s patent disapproval increased, but he did as he was bid. “I did see a likely place across the green from the Cock and Bottle.”
    “Excellent,” said Ottilia. “Francis, why should we not rest there for a while? You may satisfy your hunger, and I can—”
    “Ryde, go and check on the horses,” said Francis, cutting in without apology.
    Ottilia gathered her forces while Francis waited until the groom was out of earshot. The moment he turned on her, she caught his hand.
    “I