The Deathly Portent Read Online Free

night’s dismal events. Brasses and copper gleamed off the wooden beams in the candlelight, which was mostly concentrated around the table. There was a wide fireplace, innocent of flame to its piled up logs despite the chill left by the storm, and a collection of wooden settles, in one of which sat a huddle of weeping women and children.
    None had questioned Aidan’s presence, but he had sensed a mood of surly suspicion, particularly from the landlord Tisbury and his wife. Nothing was said, but he caught a number of alien looks, the reason for which he very soon found out.
    As he had turned for the door, he was accosted by the doctor, who had made himself known by the name of Meldreth.
    “Are you for the vicarage, Mr. Kinnerton? My house is in your way. Allow me to accompany you.”
    Aidan accepted gracefully and waited by the door while the doctor lingered.
    “Have Duggleby’s body conveyed to another room, Tisbury. One with an adequate window, if you please. I must examine him again by daylight on the morrow.”
    They left together, and once outside, the doctor paused, his keen glance appraising Aidan from under a grizzled wig. “A word of caution, Mr. Kinnerton.”
    Turning, Aidan surveyed him, stiffening a little. “Which is, sir?”
    A faint smile tugged at the corners of the doctor’s mouth. “No need to poker up. It is not I who would censure you.”
    Relaxing, Aidan returned the smile. “The villagers, you mean? There was a degree of sullenness in my reception, I noticed.”
    “Yes, they are not pleased. Mrs. Dale was seen to enter your house, you see.”
    Aidan frowned. “Mrs. Dale?”
    “The young female they believe to be a witch.”
    Recalling the maid’s “Miss Cassie,” Aidan was surprised, but he let it go for the moment. “Ah, yes. She warned me there would be repercussions.”
    “Worse than she supposes, I’m afraid.”
    An interrupted rhythm disturbed Aidan’s pulses. “What do you mean, sir?”
    “There is already a move towards blaming Mrs. Dale for Duggleby’s death, but that is merely due to her having seen a vision of the roof coming down.”
    “So I understand. But then?”
    The doctor hesitated, drawing a sighing breath. “There can be little doubt that Duggleby received a blow to the head before the roof fell in on him.”
    A sense of deep foreboding entered Aidan’s breast. “You are saying he was murdered?”
    The doctor nodded. “I believe so. I have no choice but to fetch the justice of the peace and call in the constable in the morning.”
    “But do you tell me these people will suppose Mrs. Dale to be guilty of striking the man? They cannot be so prejudiced.”
    “Yes, but I’m afraid they are, Kinnerton.”
    “Then I must scotch such thinking without delay.”
    “I should leave it for the morning, if I were you,” suggested Meldreth. “The mood is ugly, and I suspect a drowning of sorrows tonight may make it worse.”
    This advice seemed sound to Aidan. Now, in the new day, having swallowed his breakfast and ascertained from his housekeeper that Mrs. Dale—or “Miss Cassie,” as the maid addressed her—was still sleeping, he lost no time in bearding the lions in their den.
    The landlord fairly glared as Aidan walked into the taproom. “What be you wanting, Reverend?”
    Unsurprised by the bitter note, Aidan regarded the man’s bloated countenance, the red-veined nose and cheeks arguing an unhealthy addiction to the fleshpots and the bottle. The sleeves of his frock coat clung to thick arms, and his waistcoat and breeches slumped over a protruding belly.
    Aidan gathered his forces and fired the first broadside. “I have come, Tisbury, to do what I may by way of making peace in an unnecessary war.”
    The landlord’s brows drew together in puzzlement. “What be your meaning?”
    Holding the man’s bloodshot eyes, Aidan pursued a forthright course. “I understand there is talk against Mrs. Dale.”
    Tisbury looked taken aback for a moment and then