HAUNT OF MURDER, A Read Online Free PDF

beautiful,’ Beatrice murmured. She stretched out her hand but her fingers couldn’t clutch the brooch. It was like a dream in which she watched herself walk, talk, eat and drink.
    ‘She must have stumbled on the parapet,’ Sir John said. ‘Poor child, no one could survive such a fall. Theobald, Father Aylred, Adam, let’s take her up to the chapel. You,’ he gestured at Beardsmore who stood a short way off, ‘did you see anything untoward?’
    ‘No, sir. We heard a cry and saw something fall, a blur against the night.’
    ‘We’ll let her lie before the altar in the chapel,’ Father Aylred agreed.
    ‘I’ll dress the corpse for burial,’ Lady Anne offered. ‘I’ll wash her poor body, dress her in one of my gowns.’
    ‘It’s summer.’ Father Aylred patted Ralph on the shoulder. ‘I’ll sing the Requiem Mass tomorrow. We have no choice, Ralph. She must be buried as soon as possible.’

    Ralph wasn’t listening, he was in shock, his face pallid, his mouth open, a drool of saliva running down his chin. Marisa came and put her arm round his waist.
    ‘Come,’ she said. ‘Come to the kitchens, I’ll give you some malt wine.’
    ‘I want to …’
    ‘No, it’s best if you don’t, Ralph.’ Father Aylred was firm.
    Beatrice could stand this no longer. She was dreaming! Yet how could she be? She could see them. When she wanted she could smell the midden, look up at the sky, feel the breeze, but it was as if she was divided from them by a wall of thick but lucidly clear glass. Whatever she did, whatever she said made no impact.
    They were gently picking up her body on a makeshift bier, a cloth slung between two poles. Now she looked as if she was sleeping. Someone had closed her eyes. Beatrice gave a loud scream and sank to the cobbles. All she could think of was Ralph. All she wanted was to hold his hand and tell him how much she loved him, how she wanted to be his wife and they would live for ever. Now that was all gone. They were walking away as if she was no more.
    ‘Oh Jesus miserere!’ she whispered. ‘Oh, Lord Jesus, Holy Mary! How can I be dead?’ The souls of the departed, weren’t they whisked off to Heaven, Hell or Purgatory? Isn’t that what Father Aylred had preached? Yet nothing had changed. She was in life but not of it.
    Beatrice got to her feet and breathed in. She laughed. If she was dead why did she need air? I want to be warm, she thought, and became aware of heat, as if she was standing before the roaring fire in the taproom of the Golden Tabard. Uncle Robert and Aunt Catherine! I must tell them.
    Beatrice ran across the cobbles but her feet made no sound. She found she could move, as in a dream, and not stop for rest. A man on horseback rode out of the stables. She halted, terrified the horse was going to crash into her, but both horse
and rider passed on. She felt nothing. Beatrice looked over her shoulder and again became aware of that strange bronze light as if everything was tainted with a copper tinge. The green had changed. A gallows stood where the blue cloth had been spread for their feast earlier in the day; from the rope hung a decomposing cadaver, neck awry, hands tied behind its back. Beatrice screamed. A knight came galloping across the cobbles. A terrible vision of armour and horseflesh. Beneath the conical nose guard, Beatrice glimpsed cruel eyes, a drooping moustache, twisted mouth. He wore chain mail and leggings, not like any knight or soldier Beatrice had ever seen. Other changes were taking place. Spheres of golden light moved backwards and forwards, silver discs sparkled, circling the castle bailey like bubbles sprung from warm soapy water. There was a table she hadn’t seen before. On it lay a white skeleton, its bones picked clean, the skull hanging awry. Dark shapes scurried around.
    Beatrice felt frightened. If she was dead then she Lord Jesus would help her. The castle yard was the same yet it wasn’t. Shadows were moving in and out of doorways. She