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brief an association as possible
ensured that both of them expected little other than a good
time.
    Keeping
one eye on Hugo’s back, while surreptitiously checking the
surrounding area, Simon turned his thoughts to Much Hampton. He had
never heard of the place, but knew enough about the people of
Bodmin to know that the place was shrouded in secrecy. There were
untold stories of snarling beasts, strange ghosts and unearthly
presences. It would be enough to send any religious person into a
fit of the vapours. Story-telling aside, if it was a small village
– it couldn’t be that bad – could it?
    Scenting
the sharp tang of sea air, Simon reined to a halt. He sat perfectly
still and watched Hugo turn into the driveway of his house with a
pang of restless envy that didn’t sit well on his shoulders.
Reining his horse away, he settled back in the saddle, and began
the long journey to Launceston. If he was lucky, he would be back
at the coaching inn for breakfast. He could catch some sleep and
then head out to find Much Hampton after lunch.
    If there
was a God in heaven who liked him, he wouldn’t be able to find the
place and would have to give it up as a bad job. With any luck, he
would get lost on Bodmin Moor and become one of the unearthly
beings that were reputedly sighted on a regular basis, wandering
around the moor forever in search of a village that didn’t
exist.
    If God
hated him, he would get there without a problem.
     

CHAPTER TWO

     
    “ God hates me,” Simon groaned later the following afternoon.
His cloak billowed out behind him, dragged along by the stiff
breeze that swirled around them. Billie, his horse, shifted
restlessly as though sensing his master’s disquiet but Simon’s
attention was locked on the group of houses about half a mile
away.
    Cold blue eyes stared dispassionately at the assembled
buildings that made up Much Hampton, and he cursed his luck that
the wretched place had proven that easy to find. Even from a distance Simon could see
people scurrying in and out of each other’s houses. It seemed that
nothing much changed in rural England between the north of the
country and the south; gossip was rife wherever you
lived.
    Despite
the cold, blustery wind and grey clouds threatening an icy deluge,
Simon eased his cloak open to reveal the heavy pistol strapped to
his hip. It made him feel more secure knowing it was within easy
reach, only he wasn’t sure who he should be looking at using it on
first, the spies, the gossips or himself.
    The road
he was standing on meandered haphazardly through the village. Even
from a distance the ribbon of road held a busy combination of
people going about their daily business, mingling with a seemingly
constant flow of carts heading in all directions. There were more
houses in the village than he had thought. Although he had no idea
what he had been expecting, the bustling hive of activity was the
very last thing he had considered, especially here, right in the
middle of Bodmin Moor. At first glance, it seemed considerably
busier than the small sea port of Padstow and he shook his head at
the thought of just what business people could need to conduct so
far away from the larger towns of Launceston and Bodmin.
    Simon
frowned and studied the scene before him. Although the village
looked a picturesque scene of rural tranquillity, his gut instincts
warned him that there was something wrong. The small hairs rose on
the back of his neck, and he felt the familiar surge of awareness
sweep through him. Scanning the rolling hills around him revealed
nothing untoward. The rolling green expanse of moors was empty of
life, except for the occasional bird swooping through the skies
high above. The village was a bleak but picturesque picture of
rural England. Nothing wrong there, but his gut instincts warned
him to be on guard, and not be fooled by first appearances. The
place seemed almost too busy, and somewhat frantic. As though
everyone was trying to get as much done