HAUNT OF MURDER, A Read Online Free Page A

from his cup and smacked his lips. ‘Well, that’s why they call it the Midnight Tower. On the anniversary of Lady Johanna’s death, you can hear her dying screams
and cries of horror as her brain turned mad before her body failed her.’
    ‘Is the cell still there?’ Marisa asked.
    ‘It could be.’ Sir John’s eyes widened. ‘There are storerooms in that part now, passageways and galleries. No one has ever looked, so no one knows what might be hidden there.’
    ‘That’s enough,’ Lady Anne declared. ‘You’ll frighten us all. This is May Day!’
    The conversation turned to other events. Father Aylred expressed his concern at the discontent in Maldon and the outlying villages where the peasants fumed and seethed with anger at the impositions laid on them by the great lords who held their wages down and kept them shackled to the soil. ‘They are only poor earthworms,’ Father Aylred said. ‘And similar discontent is apparently spreading like fire among the stubble in other shires. There is talk of a great revolt, of a peasant army, more than the leaves in autumn, gathering and marching on London.’
    ‘If that happens,’ said Sir John stoutly, tapping the hilt of his dagger, ‘Ravenscroft will drop its portcullis and raise the drawbridge.’ He glanced round. ‘We are all the King’s men here. If the black banner of rebellion is unfurled, we will do our best to defend the King’s rights.’
    ‘But they are poor men and women,’ Father Aylred protested. ‘Their children grow thin, their bellies sag with hunger.’
    ‘I know, I know.’ Sir John was a kindly man and Beatrice could see he was deeply worried. ‘I’ve done the best I can. I’ve given grain from the storerooms and I’ve warned the tax collector not to shear their sheep so close.’
    ‘Well, thank God that person’s not at our feast!’ Lady Anne snapped.
    They all murmured in agreement. A week earlier Goodman Winthrop, a tax collector from London, had arrived at the castle: a lanky, balding, snivel-nosed individual dressed in a grey fustian robe and high-heeled leather riding boots.
Goodman Winthrop was a lawyer sent by the Exchequer to collect the poll tax in Ravenscroft, Maldon and the outlying areas. A sour, dour man who seemed to take delight in the task assigned to him, he had arrived accompanied by a clerk and four royal archers. He had demanded the protection of Ravenscroft Castle; Sir John had reluctantly agreed, on one condition, that Goodman Winthrop should not begin his tax collecting until after May Day. Sir John had provided him and his escort with chambers near the barbican overlooking the moat. ‘Maybe the smell will drive him out’ he commented. ‘A more miserable caitiff I’ve never met.’
    Fortunately, Goodman had kept to himself.
    ‘He had the cheek to try and invite himself to our celebrations,’ Sir John growled now. ‘I told him to go and join those on the green. I am sure the good people of Maldon will give him a welcome he’ll never forget!’
    ‘He’s also very interested in the legend,‘Adam remarked. ‘Last Sunday, just after we had gathered for vespers in the chapel, he took me aside. Full of the stories about Brythnoth’s cross, he was. I told you about it, Ralph. He had even searched among the manuscripts at the Inns of Court for references to it.’
    Ralph, his face flushed with wine, snorted with laughter and tapped the side of his nose. ‘Goodman Winthrop should be busy about his taxes. I’m much nearer the treasure than anyone will ever be.’
    Lady Anne leaned across. ‘Ralph, do you really think you could find it?’
    Ralph was embarrassed. ‘I’m just playing with words,’ he stammered. ‘Master Winthrop’s long nose could be used for better purposes,’ he continued quickly, eager to divert attention. ‘I mean the murder of poor Phoebe.’
    His words created an immediate silence.
    ‘Poor Phoebe,’ Father Aylred echoed.
    Sir John pursed his lips and nodded solemnly. ‘A