Sussex Horrors: Stories of Coastal Terror and other Seaside Haunts by Mark Cassell & Jonathan Broughton & Rayne Hall

Author:Mark Cassell & Jonathan Broughton & Rayne Hall [Cassell, Mark]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Herbs House
Published: 2018-01-26T08:00:00+00:00

SCRUPLES

Rayne Hall

“A chance like this won't come again, Alditha,” I urge. “We will be rich.”

Wind whines against the walls and rattles the shutters. This year of Our Lord 1287 has brought more storms than I have seen I have seen in my life.

Alditha fingers the barbette under her chin. “Yes, but John … isn't stealing a sin?”

“This isn't a time for scruples. Do you want to gut fish for the rest of your life?”

I place a slice of cold venison on her trencher and watch her eyes widen. As a harbour fishmonger, she has never tasted meat. What I have shown her tonight has whet her desire for a finer life: the fresh rushes on the floor, the tapestries keeping out the winter chill, the dried flowers hanging from the rafters, the wax candles fragrant with the scent of honey. When she raises the wine goblet to her lips, her face glazes as if she is tasting paradise.

The house jolts as another rock breaks from the cliff and crashes into the sea. Alditha snaps out of her bliss and crosses herself. “John, this isn't right. I shouldn't be here. We shouldn't be doing this.”

I've waited for years for this chance, and I will not let Alditha spoil it.

Master De Coucy and the family have gone away visiting, and taken the maids with them, leaving me – their trusted steward – in charge. Their wealth is waiting to be carried off, and Alditha is the perfect helpmeet, or so it seemed when I first told her of my plan. Then, she was as keen as I, but tonight, her fear-pale face is flushing with guilt. I thought she possessed a ruthless streak. Was I mistaken? I must find a way to bring her ruthlessness to life.

This is the first time she sits in a chair, since the common folk in their harbour huts own no furniture, and from the way she strokes the carved armrests, I can tell she likes the comfort.

I stoke this glimmer of greed into bright flames. “One day you will own a chair, and candles like these, real wax. You'll eat meat every feast day, at least four times every year. You'll wear the finest wool, and your surcoat will be of embroidered velvet.”

“Oh, John, this will be so good.” Her eyes light with dreamy desire, then darken with concern. “When they come home and see their things are gone, won't they be hurt?”

“Don't worry about it. They are so rich, they can buy new things and will barely feel the loss.” When she frowns in disbelief, I give her a reassuring smile. “Trust your future husband.”

I gather the selected items, pieces of modest weight and great value, easily sold – the gilded candlesticks, the finest tapestries, the casket of spices – and stuff them into the sack for Alditha to carry away. When Master De Coucy returns, he will find his home robbed, and his trusted steward gagged, bound and beaten.

The wind picks up, slaps against the walls like wet sheets.

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