Death on the Romney Marsh by Deryn Lake Read Free Book Online Page B

prevented me ending up alongside Squire Ffloote. A fate I would not prefer,’ she added in a whisper.
    â€˜I should be delighted,’ answered the Apothecary enthusiastically, and made a concerted effort to send Coralie Clive packing to the deepest recesses of his memory. Looking over the back of his seat, he saw that the doctor was now applying some lotion to Sir Ambrose’s knee, prior to swathing it in a bandage. Meanwhile, the Squire was groaning a great deal and taking nips of brandy from a hip flask.
    â€˜Very civil of you, Sir. Very civil,’ he croaked, the first polite thing that John could recall him saying to the dapper little man of medicine.
    â€˜No trouble, Sir Ambrose, I assure you. You have been badly shaken,’ Dr Hensey replied.
    â€˜You must come and dine with me and m’wife, so you must. How long will you be staying in Hastings?’
    Dr Hensey shook his head. ‘I’m not sure. Sir. I have to attend a rather difficult patient, an extremely querulous invalid. The old lady will permit no other physician near her except myself. Depending on her condition, my visit could be as brief as a day or as long as a week. I am in the lap of the gods.’ He spread his hands.
    â€˜Write to me when you know,’ ordered Sir Ambrose, grunting as Dr Hensey deftly fastened the Squire’s breeches back into place. ‘You shall be entertained royally. Indeed you will.’
    â€˜Most kind, Sir. Most kind,’ the physician answered, and John could not help but be glad that Sir Ambrose was treating Dr Hensey with a degree of courtesy at last.
    He turned back to Miss Tireman. ‘This looks like marshland to me. Why is it called a moor?’
    â€˜Heaven alone knows, for it’s full of drainage ditches as you can see.’
    And sure enough, illuminated by the light of a fitful cloud-flurried moon, John observed that the territory through which they were passing was slashed with ribbons of gleaming water, a maze of trenches used by the smugglers of earlier times to outwit pursuit, vanishing into them as Hereward the Wake had once done in the Fenlands of East Anglia in order to elude the Norman invaders.
    â€˜The weather’s going to change,’ announced Miss Tireman.
    John, having successfully imprisoned poor Coralie in a deep dungeon at the back of his brain, gazed at her entranced. ‘How do you know?’
    â€˜It often happens in Kent, and in Sussex too, when one gets near to the coast. The cloud is thinning all the time. Soon it will be gone and it will be bright moonlight. Just you wait and see.’
    â€˜What time do you think we will get to Winchelsea?’
    â€˜About half past seven or thereabouts. In time for supper.’
    â€˜I wonder if Mrs Rose will give me any?’
    â€˜I should call on her tomorrow morning if I were you. Book yourself a room at The Salutation, Mr Rawlings. You will be comfortable there. Besides, they are known for their excellent food.’
    â€˜Is the inn far from the Vicarage?’ John asked boldly.
    â€˜There is no Vicarage,’ Miss Tireman answered, smiling to herself
    â€˜Then where. …?’
    â€˜I live in the Rectory, Mr Rawlings. And, no, it is but a short pace from The Salutation.’
    â€˜Then I hope to have the pleasure of calling on you.’
    â€˜Had you not invited yourself, I would have invited you,’ Miss Tireman answered, then closed her eyes, signifying that the conversation was at an end.
    The village of Appledore safely negotiated, the postillions set out on what John could only think of as a somewhat perilous route, for now they had left all habitation behind and were winding along a track through the marshland. Even a road covered by fallen trees would have been preferable to this, he thought, for other than a glimpse of an occasional isolated farm or remote inn there was no sign of life whatsoever. Suddenly he felt desperately alone, as if he were the only person