The Midsummer Rose by Kate Sedley

Author:Kate Sedley [Kate Sedley]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Severn House Publishers Ltd
Published: 2013-03-01T05:00:00+00:00

Twelve

It was a disturbed night. Adela, myself and the three children, not to mention Hercules, were awakened in the small hours of the morning by the thunderstorm that had been threatening the previous day. I went downstairs to calm the dog, and returned to find my place usurped by Adam, who refused point-blank to return to his attic room.

By this time, I was in one of my foulest moods, the bruises and cuts I had received during my fight with Burl Hodge beginning to make themselves felt. I shunted my son to the middle of the mattress, fell in beside him and tried to sleep.

But the events of the previous evening kept going around and around in my head while I tossed and turned and tried to get comfortable. It must have been nearly dawn when I finally drifted into an uneasy doze, from which I was aroused all too soon by the sound of someone banging loudly on our outer door. Groaning and cursing, I heaved myself up, searching for shoes and a cloak with which to cover my nakedness.

Adela was already out of bed, shrugging on a long, loose gown over her nightrail and twisting her two thick braids of dark hair up around her head.

‘Whoever can that be?’ she asked, perturbed. ‘I hope Margaret hasn’t been taken ill!’

I ran downstairs, careless of my state of undress, and unbolted and unlocked the street door, expecting to see either Maria Watkins or a distraught Bess Simnel standing outside. Instead, it was one of our neighbours from across the street, a widow who, so far, had steadfastly refused to acknowledge our existence. But now, she was even moved to seize my hand.

‘Have you heard?’ she gasped. But before I had time to shake my head, she continued. ‘Robin Avenel was found murdered late last night in Jewry Lane.’ She shuddered dramatically. ‘Stabbed through the heart, they say. Left to welter in a pool of blood!’

It was Midsummer’s Day, the Feast of the Nativity of Saint John the Baptist, and we were all going to church at Saint Lawrence’s.

Dressing was a difficult business: it was impossible to concentrate with a mind in turmoil. I cut myself twice while shaving because I had forgotten to sharpen my knife, and because I wouldn’t wait for the water Adela was heating over the fire, but used cold from the pump instead. My fingers were all thumbs, and in trying to fasten my shirt to my breeches I tangled the laces and had to stand impatiently while Adela unknotted them.

‘For goodness’ sake, you’re worse than a child,’ she admonished me in a very wifely fashion. ‘This doesn’t concern you, Roger. It’s not your business. What needs to be done will already have been taken care of by the Sheriff’s Officers and members of the Watch. Now, sit down quietly and eat some breakfast before I lose my temper. You look terrible. Your face is covered in scratches, your eyes have black rings under them from lack of sleep and you’re wearing a dirty shirt that I had put aside to be washed.

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