The Merchant of Death by Paul Doherty (as C. L. Grace)

Author:Paul Doherty (as C. L. Grace) [Doherty, Paul]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Headline
Published: 2013-09-14T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter 7

Kathryn slept late the following morning, and when she got out of bed and pulled back the shutters of her window, she laughed.

‘Trust an Irishman!’

The sun had risen and a strong thaw had arrived. On the rooftops across Ottemelle Lane, the snow was already beginning to slide down to the eaves and Kathryn could hear the water dripping from the gable end of her own house. Kathryn opened the casement, breathed in the ice-cold air and listened to the clatter of the carts and the shouts from the street below. The city would make up for lost time; the early morning mist was already being burnt off and, through the clear morning air, above the rattle of the carts, the crack of whips and the cries of the early morning traders, Kathryn heard the great bells of the cathedral tolling for morning Mass. She shivered, closed the window and quickly washed and dressed. Kathryn then lit the hour candle, trimming it carefully with a knife so the flame began at the tenth red circle. From the cathedral bells Kathryn knew it must be about two hours before noon. She dabbed a little of her precious ointment on her neck and the palms of her hands, then pulled back the bedspread, stripping off the sheets and bolster covers: Thomasina would wash the bedding and take advantage of the change in the weather.

‘Kathryn! Kathryn!’ Wuf jumped up and down outside in the gallery.

She opened the door and the little boy thrust a wooden disc in her face.

‘I’ve carved it myself!’ he declared. ‘I can use it on the ice!’

Kathryn patted his head absent-mindedly and said good morning to Agnes; the maid was already taking a bundle of sheets down to the small washhouse that stood in the far corner of the garden.

In the kitchen below, Thomasina was preparing a pot of steaming oatmeal over the fire. The old nurse straightened up and looked at her sternly. ‘You were long gone yesterday evening!’

Kathryn smiled. ‘Coroner’s business, Thomasina!’ She stared up at the newly baked bread Thomasina had hauled up so it swung from just below the rafters, well away from any foraging mice. ‘That smells sweet.’

‘Don’t change the subject!’ Thomasina snapped. ‘What were you and that bloody Irishman up to?’

Kathryn walked over. ‘He seized me, Thomasina,’ she whispered. ‘Dragged me up an alleyway and cruelly ravished me.’

Thomasina stuck her tongue out. ‘It’s wrong to tell lies.’ She turned away to stir the oatmeal. ‘But even as a child you were fanciful.’

Kathryn made a face and sat down at the table. She and Colum had walked back from Erpingham’s house. They had not talked about what they had found, Colum undergoing one of his abrupt changes of mood. He’d pointed to the stars and begun to recount his youthful exploits as a boy in Ireland.

‘The sky is very clear there,’ he’d commented. ‘I used to go out and sing songs. They say it’s lucky to sing to the stars: the ancients claim that when the stars move and the planets whirl, the heavens are full of music.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.