The Shadow Collector Read Online Free PDF

blonde, stick thin … and lying perfectly still on the lush grass next to the hedgerow.
    After a few moments of hesitation, he shouted to her, earning himself reproachful stares from the assembled sheep.
    ‘Are you all right?’
    When she didn’t respond he began to approach her slowly. Perhaps she’d fainted or had some sort of accident. The sheep were
     glaring at him malevolently. Perhaps they’d attacked her and knocked her unconscious. He wasn’t quite sure what sheep were
     capable of.
    But as he drew closer he saw that her brown eyes were wide open, gazing in astonishment at the sky. And he saw a dark patch
     of drying blood in the middle of her red coat, dotted with buzzing flies.
    He backed away, heart pounding, and then he started to run as fast as he could, his feet skidding on the damp grass. And when
     he reached the bottom of the field he stopped and vomited onto the ground, watched by sheep who looked bored, as though they’d
     seen it all before.

Chapter 3
    Journal of Thomas Whitcombe, Captain in the King’s army, September 6th 1643
    Exeter has fallen and is now for the King so Plymouth must be seized from the grasping hands of Parliament
.
    I myself was present this day when our commander, Prince Maurice, sent orders to Sir Edmund Fortescue and Edward Seymour Esquire,
     that the port of Tradmouth was to be brought under the King’s control. I heard one of the officers say that Tradmouth is the
     most disloyal of towns, reluctant as it has been to pay the King’s taxes. The town is the place of my mother’s birth and I
     hold it in some affection so I held my tongue
.
    There is one there I know from visits to my mother’s kindred, a young woman who bewitched me five years ago with her dark
     eyes and modest looks. I yearned for adventure in those days and the life of a soldier
.
    Yet I think often upon Alison. That bewitcher of men
.
    *
    Even though Neil was impatient to return to the dig he knew this was a job that had to be done. Besides, Harriet Mumford had
     provided him with a sandwich for lunch – smoked salmon no less – so it would have been rude to dash off.
    ‘How’s it going?’ he heard her ask in a little-girl voice he found slightly irritating.
    ‘Slowly. Have you asked Lee and the others if they’d give me a hand?’
    ‘I don’t think it’ll be a problem.’ He thought he saw her wink but that could have been his imagination. ‘I want to know what’s
     down there as much as you do.’
    Neil put his spade down and scratched his head. He’d decided to make a start on the cellar but it needed digging out properly
     and a solitary archaeologist wasn’t making much impact. ‘I don’t think Lee likes me.’
    Harriet raised her eyebrows. ‘If I say he’s got to help you, he will.’
    Neil shrugged. When he’d attempted to speak to the builder he’d definitely sensed hostility. But perhaps it was nothing personal.
     Perhaps all it needed was Harriet’s feminine powers of persuasion.
    He climbed out of the cellar up the four visible steps. At present it was only three feet deep and the question of when it
     had been filled in, and why, kept nagging at him.
    ‘When that panelling’s removed I think I should be here. It needs to be done very carefully.’
    She smiled. ‘Sure.’
    Neil looked at his watch. ‘I’d better go and check how they’re getting on up at Princes Bower but I’ll be back tomorrow. The
     Conservation Officer’s paying another visit so he’ll want to talk to me.’
    ‘Evan says he should move in with us – save him the journey,’ said Harriet, rolling her eyes.
    ‘The perils of doing up a grade two star-listed building. You’ve got to put up with a lot of intrusion.’
    Harriet’s small, clean hand brushed his, dislodging a little caked soil which drifted to the ground. ‘Some intrusions I don’t
     mind.’ The touch was quite unexpected and he pulled his hand away as though he’d had an electric shock, immediately regretting
     his