The Deathly Portent Read Free Page B

know what you are going to say, Fan, but—”
    “Tillie, no!”
    “—it will be only for an hour or two, and I am excessively thirsty—”
    “An hour or two? I know you better than that, my love. And pray don’t give me any fiddle-faddle about thirst and hunger.”
    Ottilia released his hand. “Well, but you said you were starving, and I could kill for a cup of coffee.”
    “And there you have uttered the operative word. Tillie, I will not have you embroil yourself in this business.”
    Ottilia could not suppress a giggle. “Well, I will admit to being intrigued, but I promise you I only mean to satisfy my curiosity.”
    “Promise forsooth! Do you take me for a flat? If I allow you to set foot in the place, as sure as check you will be hobnobbing with all and sundry and hunting down this witch.”
    “Not necessarily,” objected Ottilia without thinking. “Merely because the villagers are silly enough to fall for a lot of superstitious nonsense does not make the woman guilty.”
    Francis threw up his hands. “I knew it! You are going nowhere near the place. Besides, how will you get there?”
    “On foot, of course.”
    “You’ll walk half a mile or more?”
    “I am not made of china, Fan. I was bred in the country, you know.”
    “That is all very well, but we are due at Polbrook in a matter of days.”
    “Who said anything about days?” said Ottilia mildly. “I was only thinking of remaining there until Williams has found somewhere more suitable.”
    “Yes, and when Williams arrives to fetch us, I suppose you will meekly get into the carriage and allow yourself to be driven away just when you have uncovered half a dozen clues to set you on the trail of the murderer? No, Tillie. I know you too well.”
    Ottilia smiled at him. “But are you not the teeniest bit curious?”
    Her husband’s eyes narrowed, the beloved features growing ever more suspicious. “Don’t waste your cajolery, Tillie, for I am adamant.”
    Ottilia blinked rapidly and fetched an elaborate sigh. “I did promise obedience.”
    Francis was almost betrayed into a laugh, but he managed to suppress it. “You did. And if I remember rightly, you declared after the business with my family last year that one murder was quite enough for you.”
    Mischief flitted across her face, and he could feel his resolve weakening.
    “Astonishing, is it not, how one can be mistaken? But although it was all perfectly horrid in the end, you must recall that at the outset I was highly entertained.”
    Which was perfectly true, Francis was bound to admit. At the time, his world turned upside down by the discovery of his sister-in-law’s death and his brother’s subsequent disappearance, he had been too upset to think beyond the immediatenecessity to handle the aftermath. That very day he had met his future wife, and been grateful thereafter for her calm good sense as she set about uncovering the culprit, and indeed for the playful manner that had done much to lighten those dark days. His heart softened despite himself.
    Abruptly, he turned to call to his groom. “Ryde, exactly how far is this Witherley?”
    A hand stole into his and squeezed. “An hour or two, no more.”
    Francis looked down at his wife. He knew that smile. He groaned inwardly. Let Tillie but get her teeth into this and nothing would serve to bring her away until it was all over. All he could hope was that it would prove but a storm in a teacup.
    S tepping into the village tavern for the second time, Aidan was a trifle wary. Last night, led thither by the maid Tabitha once his visitor had been delivered into the hands of his housekeeper, he had done little more than introduce himself, give his condolences to the bereaved family, and say his piece over the body of the dead man.
    He had found the doctor in attendance, the blacksmith’s corpse having been brought in and laid upon a long table in the taproom of the Cock and Bottle, an establishment of cheerful aspect at odds with the