The Deathly Portent Read Online Free Page B

that.”
    For a moment Aidan weighed what he might say. How much did they know? Was it common knowledge yet thatMeldreth believed the blacksmith had been murdered? He tested it out, keeping his tone even.
    “And how, may I ask, did she perform this feat? Did she climb up onto the smithy roof? Or are you supposing she recited incantations to bring on the storm?”
    His sarcasm was rewarded by a fit of high-pitched laughter from Mr. Wagstaff, but his daughter stood her ground, directing a venomous glare up at Aidan.
    “Her bain’t got no need to climb up no roof, Reverend. A witch, bain’t her? Her’d only to call up her devil master and ask him to throw the roof down on Duggleby.”
    “After her’ve done for him with a hammer to his head,” said Tisbury.
    This time the chorus of assent was louder, as if the villagers, having dared so far, grew the braver now it was said. They knew, then. And yet were prepared to add this prosaic fact to their absurd suppositions of witchcraft. Shock was uppermost with Aidan. He had not truly believed until this moment that there could be such ignorance rife in the village. How it was to be countered, he had no notion, but on one thing he was determined. No witch hunt would succeed in Witherley, if he had to stand personal guard to the young woman at present safely in his house.
    He drew himself up, took time to run his gaze across the expectant faces, and allowed disgust to sound in his voice.
    “I thought I had left savagery and superstition behind me when I departed the shores of Africa. I little thought I should rediscover them in a quiet backwater of England.”
    With which, he turned from the company without another glance and walked calmly out of the tavern. The battle lines were drawn, and he felt oddly uplifted by the first skirmish. Until he reached the vicarage and discovered the bird had flown.

Chapter 2

    T he smithy was a sodden, blackened ruin. Ottilia’s curiosity had begun to dissipate after trudging a good mile along a winding and muddy road. But she perked up instantly as they entered the village via a signposted lane. The first sight of Witherley presented a row of cottages to one side and a gleam of water beyond where a tributary stream from the Anker ran through. Once past the cottages, a turn brought them within immediate sight of the scene of last night’s disaster.
    The blacksmith’s forge was situated just before a stone bridge, over which the lane led to a spacious green with what appeared to be the main part of the village set prettily around it. Ottilia gave it but a brief glance, her attention focused upon the wreck of the smithy.
    “One cannot be much surprised the poor man did not come out of there alive.”
    Her spouse was similarly struck, his frowning glance travelling over the relatively undamaged façade and the surrounding walls which were partially standing. A part of theroof towards the front appeared intact, but the gaping hole beyond told its own tale.
    “Take care, Tillie,” Francis warned as Ottilia headed for the slatted wooden double doors, which were standing open. “The place is clearly unsafe. You had better let me go first.”
    Ottilia made no demur but waited for him to enter ahead, taking time to survey what she could see of the stabling area immediately inside the big doors, which was not much. It was small and relatively empty but for harnesses hanging on the walls. Francis had disappeared from sight in the direction of the big chimney at the far end of the building, but she could hear his footsteps.
    “You had best come through here where most of the roof is already down,” came his voice, echoing eerily in the dark interior. “There is less chance of collapse, I think.”
    Ottilia cast her eyes upward as she passed through and found the roof above her to be more or less intact, although the beams hung zigzag where they levelled with the main part of the coverless forge. The light was better here, and it looked to