by B G Denvil
But Peg was sitting in the kitchen over a tankard of ale, which is where Rosie and Edna found her. Looking up, Peg smiled, clicked her fingers for two more tankards and then drooped back down again. Rosie and Edna obediently sipped, and finally, bored with the silence, Peg said, “I presume you want to know. We were in the Juggler and Goat, sitting on the benches outside since the weather is so delightful, when suddenly the door flew open and this fat old man staggered out waving his arms. He looked boss-eyed and completely sloshed. But he groaned and tumbled directly over Mandrake’s feet and onto his lap. Mandrake laughed, as he usually does about everything, and just thought the man too drunk to stand. But then we both realised he was twitching as he spat buckets of blood all over Mandrake’s new doublet. The poor man was dying. If I’d realised quicker, I might have saved him, but by the time I jumped up in horror, the body flopped over and went limp. Quite dead. Not surprising really, since there was a large knife sticking out of his throat. Mandrake pulled it out and looked at it, when along hops that wretched Dickon Wald. What he sees is a man holding a sharp knife dripping blood, with the body dead over his knees. Well, I suppose the deduction wasn’t too hard.”
“At least for a human,” Edna muttered. “And that particular human is hardly capable of thought.”
“Are any of them?” Peg demanded.
“I’ve had some experience,” Rosie said, thinking of Dickon’s infatuation some time ago. “I suppose I should go straight to the village. But they’re not keeping poor Mandrake in a cell, are they?”
“Yes, they are,” Peg sniffed. “And it’s so frustrating because he could click his fingers and escape in a flash. But that would be a double confession – first of all, he’s guilty of murder – and secondly, he’s guilty of witchcraft. So I told the poor boy to stay in his cell, and perhaps just nip back home at night for a comfy sleep when no one’s looking at him.”
“And he’s supposed to have killed someone he’s never even met.”
Rosie stared out of the kitchen window at the sunshine. Nests still adorned the trees of The Rookery, though their nesting had finished long since, and the birds were off on their daily scurrying for food. The roof cavity beneath the thatch was the home of the local bats, and they had no intention of moving during the daylight hours. One of the maids was occasionally sent up there to clear the guano, in case it became too heavy for the roof. Besides, it was good manure for the vast sloping gardens. Cabbage and Dodger, however, were never disturbed and continued, as owls do, to sleep during the hot days and fly out to hunt at night.
The large cottage itself was a muddle of up and down and up further, with rooms hanging onto the top of winding steps, while others spread themselves in the main building accessible via the principal staircase. Edna, living on the top floor, had created a long narrow balcony for herself where she could watch the stars.
Having taken over and enlarged her mother’s previous apartment, Rosie had cheerfully redecorated and entirely renewed all furniture. But her windows, on the ground floor, looked out on the three graves which had previously so altered her life. The final grave continued to stink its threats, and in spite of a hundred finger clicks, the stink refused to disappear. Each time Rosie breathed free and was delighted to think her spells successful, a creeping visit of that same old stink would come wafting under the door.
She had thought of moving to the stables. But loving her rooms inside made Rosie too comfortable to face the bother of moving outside. One day, she thought, before reaching the comfortable middle age of one hundred, she might do something about it.
And now there was Mandrake, another killing, and almost positively the work of some wretched human.
By B G Denvil
The Rookery Cosy Mysteries
One Small Step
Kettle Lane
The Piddleton Unrest
Hobb’s Henge
Children’s Bannister’s Muster Time Travel Series
Snap
Snakes & Ladders
Blind Man’s Buff
Dominoes
Leapfrog
Hide & Seek
Hopscotch
There are other books written under my full name, Barbara Gaskell Denvil— but these are not Cosy, and contain elements of violence, swearing and sexual content.
You can find them on my website at barbaragaskelldenvil.com
About the Author
My passion is for late English medieval history though I also have a love of fantasy and the wild freedom of the imagination, greatest loves are the beauty of the written word, and the utter fascination of good characterisation. Bringing my characters to life is my principal aim.
For more information on this and other books, or to subscribe for updates, new releases and free downloads, please visit
barbaragaskelldenvil.com
