The Riddle of Alabaster Royal by Patricia Veryan Read Free Book Online Page A

didn’t care for—er—country living, as you will know, and they spent most of the year in London. I called upon him in Wansdyke House when he was considering awarding me this living. He was nearing seventy then, but a fine-looking gentleman still, and— Oh, here is your dog, sir.”
    Vespa glanced behind him. The persistent stray sat some ten feet away, watching him. He groaned. “He’s not mine, but he seems to have decided I’ll do for an owner. I’m ignoring him, hoping to convince him of his error.”
    â€œOh? I thought I heard you tell the host to give him some—”
    Vespa interrupted hurriedly, “He’s a confounded pest! I thought if the ostler fed him, the little brute might decide he’d enjoy life at the inn.”
    â€œI see.” Mr. Castle’s lips twitched. “Why don’t you just chase him away?”
    â€œHe’s too stupid to know that’s what I’ve been doing.”
    Two small boys rushed past, then stopped and gazed at Vespa solemnly.
    â€œCome here and pay your respects, lads,” called the priest.
    Instead, they clung to each other, giggling hilariously, then galloped off.
    â€œDreadful behaviour,” lamented Mr. Castle. “And so angelic when they sing in the choir on Sundays! I apologize for them, sir.”
    They walked on towards the glittering expanse of the village pond. Amused, Vespa exclaimed, “Aha! So you have some vestige of the notorious in your quiet corner, after all!”
    They had arrived at the low bridge over the river; a graceful structure, its stone walls extending a little distance on each side of the approach path. Situated at the foot of the bridge were the village stocks, presently occupied by a cadaverous individual whose greying dark brown hair escaped untidily from under a tattered hat. A pair of long gaitered legs stuck out before him, and his back was propped against the bridge wall. He raised a glum countenance and enquired, “Is you come to give me some Christian charity, Mr. Castle? Only right you should, your calling being what it is, and me locked up fer doing nothing more’n defending of me good name.”
    The priest said sternly, “By throwing Billy Watson out of the tap and breaking his nose?”
    â€œNose first, sir. Throwed out, after. And don’t be telling of me to repent, ’cause I don’t. Called me a liar, he done. I got me rights.” He turned a pair of embittered dark eyes on Vespa. “Ain’t that so, sir? Everyone got rights—even a poor working cove like me got rights.”
    â€œRights to do—what? Poach, perhaps?”
    â€œCor! If that ain’t just like you rich lot! I ain’t never done no such thing! And anyone what says I’m a common poacher is looking fer a bang in the eye.” He glared at Vespa and added in a snarl, “Puffed-up London dandies, special!”
    The idea of being designated a London dandy brought a glint of laughter into Vespa’s eyes. Mr. Castle was much shocked, however, and protested, “What insolence! Guard your tongue, man! This gentleman may be able to help you.”
    â€œWhy?” jeered the prisoner, unimpressed.
    â€œAn excellent question,” murmured Vespa.
    The priest said apologetically, “Perhaps I spoke out of turn, sir. But he is your employee, after all.”
    â€œOh, yus I ain’t,” snorted the prisoner.
    â€œBut of course you are,” argued Mr. Castle. “This is Hezekiah Strickley, Captain Vespa. Your caretaker.”

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    â€œThe devil you say!” exclaimed Vespa. “Oh, your pardon, Mr. Castle, but this irresponsible hedgebird—”
    â€œI ain’t done nothing! I ain’t done nothing! ” screamed the prisoner, cringing back against the wall and throwing both arms over his face. “Don’t you let him bash me with that great ugly stick, Mr. Clergyman! Don’t you