Hidden in the Heart by Beth Andrews Read Free Book Online Page B

a portrait hanging in an old house. ‘The few bits of flesh left were so seared by the flames that they looked like the skin of a centenarian.’
    ‘How awful!’ Lydia breathed excitedly. ‘And to think it was the second corpse to be discovered in such a fashion.’
    ‘Not precisely,’ John said after a brief pause.
    ‘What do you mean?’
    ‘The previous corpse was not burnt,’ he explained.
    Lydia was startled, though she was not sure why she should be.
    ‘I had thought the deaths were identical,’ she said, half to herself.
    ‘Why?’
    ‘Well, it seems to me that a murderer who takes the time to kill two people in the same place is more than likely to employ the same method. Of course,’ she continued with some self-deprecation, ‘I am not well versed in such matters.’
    ‘No,’ John agreed. ‘Not but what I think you have the right of it. I never considered the matter before.’
    ‘Perhaps the two crimes are quite unrelated.’
    ‘Just what I was thinking.’
    ‘But that is almost more difficult to believe.’ Lydia shook her head. ‘There must be a connection, only we have not yet perceived it.’
    ‘Come,’ John said, linking his arm with hers. ‘Hold on to me. We must not become separated.’
    * * * *
    He had scarcely finished speaking before he drew her after him into the woods. The change was so immediate and so dramatic that Lydia actually gave a gasp of surprise. The moonlight beyond the wood was crisply bright, making their progress quite easy. However, once beneath the canopy of the trees, a curtain of gloomy darkness descended upon them.
    There were shapes and shadows all around, to be sure, but they were mysterious and unrecognizable. It was a cool evening, but it was not the chill air which made Lydia tremble suddenly and tighten her hold upon John’s arm.
    A loud rustling and the sound of something swooping down out of the trees almost deprived her of speech. Could the villagers be right? Did these woods harbour demonic spirits? Lydia watched the shadowy creature wing its way amongst the oak and birch trees, her heart pounding uncomfortably in her breast.
    ‘An owl,’ John said shortly.
    ‘Of course.’ Lydia was pleased to note that she sounded far more composed than she felt.
    Other denizens of the woods contributed to a subdued symphony of night sounds as they made their way gingerly to the edge of a small circular clearing where the moonlight drifted down to settle in alabaster puddles upon the nodding leaves of enchanter’s nightshade and the rounded heads of death-cap mushrooms. John pointed out - and carefully avoided - a sett of badgers. Meanwhile, a stoat poked its head out from a hawthorn bush before making a noisy exit into the darkness.
    Lydia could understand now how the villagers might suppose supernatural agents to be at work here. Had her imagination been inclined in that direction, she could easily have convinced herself of the same thing. But despite what might justly be referred to as the relentless ominosity of the above description, she remained in command of her emotions and behaved with admirable presence of mind.
    ‘We’d best sit down here and wait,’ John said at last, pausing beside the trunk of a large oak tree.
    He pulled off his jacket and laid it on the ground, motioning for her to make use of it as a makeshift cushion.
    ‘Why this spot?’ she enquired, looking around her and seeing nothing.
    ‘It’s as reasonable as any other part of the wood,’ he replied, joining her on the ground. ‘We are not in the center, but we are deep enough to hear any unusual sound and to have some notion of where it comes from.’
    ‘But what if the smugglers come from the other side?’
    ‘Then we will doubtless miss them.’
    Lydia was not certain that she approved of this phleg matic attitude. Secretly, she considered that John should be a little more concerned that they might lose their quarry. It was an odd sort of hunter who cared not whether he caught