[Roger the Chapman 02] - The Plymouth Cloak by Kate Sedley

Author:Kate Sedley
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Fiction, General, Mystery & Detective
ISBN: 9780061043208
Publisher: Harpercollins
Published: 1992-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

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A freshening breeze stirred the branches which arched and interlaced above me. I could feel the unevenness of the path beneath my feet and hear the scuffiings of some small, nocturnal animal as it hurried to safety beneath a tangle of briers and bushes. My apprehension was turning to fear for Philip's safety as I padded slowly forward, my feet making no sound, except for the occasional snapping of a twig. I raised my eyes for a moment, glimpsing the crescent moon riding cold and high between the gathering clouds. The weather was changing, an autumnal squall blowing in from the sea.

Below me, where the bank dropped sheer and the bushes thinned, I could see a glint of the Tamar. Several times I stopped to glance back over my shoulder, listening intently for any noise which might indicate Philip's whereabouts, although common sense suggested that I should find him with Isobel Warden among the long grass bordering the river. I was conscious of a prickle of sweat across my shoulder-blades.

I paused at each twist and bend of the path, scanning the darkness ahead. Once an owl swooped low across my line of vision, gliding silently from one perch to another. The sudden movement startled me and I stood stock-still, my breath coming short and fast, my heart pounding in my breast. Then, carefully, I resumed my walk, aware that I had almost completed the descent, and in a few more moments I was standing level with the river. There was a break in the trees and I was able to make out the broad expanse of water stretching to the farther bank, silvered fleetingly with moonlight.

I called softly: 'Philip! Philip, are you there?' Receiving no answer, I prowled warily forward, the tall grasses reaching half way up my legs. The owl hooted in the trees behind me..

The toe of my left boot stubbed against some large object lying half hidden amongst the vegetation. The hairs on the nape of my neck rose in horror, and I glanced down just as the fragile crescent moon emerged once more from behind the clouds, allowing me to make out the shape of a body. 'Mary, Mother of God,' I prayed fervently, 'don't let it be Philip.' On trembling legs, I forced myself to stoop and peer more closely.

He was lying face down. I put out a hand and touched the back of his head, then withdrew it quickly. I felt the wet stickiness on my fingers which could only mean blood.

Philip's skull had been beaten in. I had broken my dream.

I sat back on my heels, trying to stop the shaking which seemed to possess every part of my body. My brain had ceased to function and I have no idea how long I stayed like that, without any awareness of the passage of time, devoid of all sensations. All too soon, however, the numbness passed, plunging me into a whirlpool of conflicting and panic stricken emotions. But gradually these too were brought under control and I forced myself to try and think clearly.

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