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Authors: P. C. Doherty

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Beatrice, full of curiosity, had followed Ralph from Ravenscroft that morning. She was pleased to see him returning to one of their old haunts in the company of Adam and Marisa. Nevertheless, when she looked behind her, she saw with horror that the Minstrel Man, with his ghastly steed and accompanied by Crispin and Clothilde, was trailing her. Moreover, the strange coppery light had taken on an eerie tinge and as Adam and Marisa walked, the early-morning sunlight turned their shadows a bloody red.
Brother Antony was sitting beneath an oak tree, hands joined as if in prayer.
‘What is happening?’ Beatrice called out.
‘I don’t know,’ that strange man replied. ‘But I sense the truth is about to be told. Beatrice, I beg you, stay near to Ralph. He is in great mortal danger.’
Beatrice watched her loved one play out his pantomime. She sat beside him, full of horror as the drama unfolded. She could not accept that Adam and Marisa were the cause of her death!
‘Do you feel vengeful?’ Brother Antony called out from where he still sat on the other side of the glade.
Beatrice looked at the gold cross in Ralph’s hand. It shimmered in a special light. She studied the two assassins. She felt nothing but a deep sadness for what they had done and sensed that their souls were in a devastating wilderness where only lust and greed prowled like two wild animals. She, too, became aware of Sir John’s men in the trees but was anxious lest Adam strike and help come too late. She was no longer concerned about herself. She kept moving in front of Ralph, willing, praying for his safety. She shouted for joy when the end came. She saw Adam fall, his throat pierced by
an arrow. His soul had hardly left his body when those nightmare soldiers came tumbling out of the shadows to seize, bind then hustle him away. She followed Marisa’s flight through the woods and saw her former friend sink into the mire, beyond help by any power on either side of death. Beatrice watched her soul break free of the mire and surge up, only to be taken by the demons it had housed, and then it was all over. Ralph talked to Sir John and, later, alone in the glade, whispered her name. Beatrice was also aware of other phenomena. Brother Antony was standing near, the silver discs of light had appeared round him, larger, more vibrant. Golden, dazzling spheres also moved backwards and forwards across the glade.
‘What is happening?’ she asked. ‘Brother Antony, tell me!’
‘The spirits of the just rejoice in what has been done,’ he replied with a smile. ‘Brythnoth, Cerdic, all those linked to that precious relic, they rejoice and are glad. For them, the last tie which bound them to earthly matters is finished. Is it finished for you, Beatrice?’
She ignored him, running after Ralph and, though he did not know it, took him by the hand. Of the Minstrel Man, Crispin and Clothilde there was no sign. In the castle yard a knight accompanied by a man dressed in a fur-trimmed coat was busy showing documents to Sir John. She was tired of this place which had witnessed so much suffering. Ralph was leaving, the crisis was past. He had pledged his love for her and she for him. What more could be done? She wanted to journey on, to be free of all fear, to be with her parents and the others. Nevertheless, she followed Ralph as he trudged up the steps and wearily threw back the door to his chamber. He filled a goblet of wine, drank it quickly then lay down on the bed and stared up at the ceiling.
‘Beatrice Arrowner!’ Brother Antony had come into the chamber. ‘It is time.’
She glanced back at the bed. Ralph was murmuring her name even as his eyelids grew heavy.
‘I want to go on,’ she said. ‘But I want to say farewell.’
Brother Antony was beside her. ‘I will go with you, Beatrice
Arrowner.’ His face had changed, no longer merry but smoother, younger, and his eyes had become a compelling light-blue.
‘I haven’t thanked you,’ she said. ‘Who are you really?’
‘Why, Beatrice, I am your guardian angel.’ He pointed to the golden sunlight pouring through the shutters. ‘Shall we go forward?’
‘I would like to say farewell. Just one final word. I would like to tell him that I am safe.’
She expected Brother Antony to object but he grasped her hands.
‘You fought the good fight, Beatrice Arrowner. You ran the race, you kept faith, so take your reward. Lie down on the bed, kiss Ralph again. Put your hands on each side of his head and go back to that very first moment when you fell from the parapet walk.’ He walked towards the door and disappeared.
Ralph had turned on his side, eyelids fluttering. Beatrice lay down next to him. She stroked his hair and told him how much she loved him, how she’d miss him. The light pouring through the shuttered window had grown stronger, more dazzling. She felt an urgency for what had to be done.
‘I love you, Ralph, I always will.’ Her fingers were pressing against each side of his head. ‘I will always wait for you; that has been my constant thought since I fell from the parapet walk.’
Ralph was aware that he was lying in his bed yet he did not wish to open his eyes. He was frightened that if he did, the very close presence of the woman he loved would leave him. He could hear her telling him of her love, sensed the urgency and the passion in the way she spoke. He was with her on the parapet walk. She was leaning down to pick something up and then they were falling. But, instead of waking, he was in the castle bailey standing next to her, looking down at her corpse on the cobbles. Sir John Grasse and others were running towards him. Nothing had changed except a strange, eerie, coppery light which seemed to suffuse everything.
‘Listen and watch,’ a voice urged, ‘to what has happened in that other world alongside yours …’
The clerk of Oxford had finished his story and the pilgrims could see his distress. He would answer no more questions but lay down beside the fire and pulled his threadbare blanket up around him. The other pilgrims followed suit. It was not the most restful of nights. Strange, harsh sounds shattered the silence; there was a constant rustling in the undergrowth. The miller eventually got up and walked through the trees to the edge of the field they’d crossed. He came back to say they were bathed in moonlight but he was sure he’d glimpsed figures walking towards them. Many of the pilgrims drank a little more ale or wine and huddled closer to each other.
They passed the rest of the night untroubled and the sun rose in glorious splendour, dispelling their fears. The knight roused them, telling them that the next night they would stop at one of the most comfortable hostelries in the kingdom. Food was distributed – salted ham, watered ale and some bread they had bought from a villager’s house. Horses and ponies were saddled, possessions collected and soon the pilgrims were streaming through the trees, back across the fields to the trackway, only too pleased to leave the woods.
The poor priest noticed the clerk of Oxford moved slowly as if reluctant to depart. Mine Host also delayed but the clerk was so dilatory that eventually the taverner shrugged and urged his horse after the rest. The poor priest, having sent his brother the ploughman ahead, helped the clerk to pack his most cherished possession, a tattered copy of Aristotle’s
Metaphysics
.
‘This brings back memories, doesn’t it, sir?’
The clerk nodded. ‘Devil’s Spinney outside Ravenscroft is just the same.’
‘And your story?’ the poor priest asked.
‘Every word is true, Father.’ The clerk of Oxford, one foot in
the stirrup, looked full at him. ‘On the day Adam and Marisa died, I slipped into the dark. I dreamt, no, I saw visions of everything Beatrice had seen, heard and experienced.’ He swung himself up into his saddle and stared down at the poor priest. ‘I’ve been most privileged, Father. I have loved and I have been loved. Because of that love, I caught a glimpse of what happens after death.’ He gathered up the reins. ‘And, once that happens, what do you care about gold or treasure? Or preferment or benefices? We all have to make that journey, Father, and we must always be ready.’
‘And Beatrice?’
‘She has travelled on, into the golden light, Brother Antony with her. I can love no other woman. I would only see Beatrice’s eyes and hear her voice. But come, Father, don’t be sad. I wonder what tale awaits us this day.’
‘Has your life really changed?’ The priest caught at his bridle.
‘Since that day of the vision, Father, the curtain which separates life and death has never been fully closed, even here. Last night I was aware of other presences.’ He shook his head. ‘But they did not concern me. We must be going.’
They left the trees, following the others down the slight incline. The clerk stopped. He looked over his shoulder and stared at the shadowy figures standing in the trees gazing out at him.
The Rose Demon
The Soul Slayer
The Haunting
Domina
The Song of the Gladiator
The Queen of the Night
The Cup of Ghosts
THE CANTERBURY TALES OF MYSTERY AND MURDER
An Ancient Evil:
Being the Knight’s Tale
A Tapestry of Murders:
Being the Man of Law’s Tale
A Tournament of Murders:
Being the Franklin’s Tale
Ghostly Murders:
Being the Priest’s Tale
The Hangman’s Hymn:
Being the Carpenter’s Tale
THE SORROWFUL MYSTERIES OF BROTHER ATHELSTAN
The Nightingale Gallery
The House of the Red Slayer
Murder Most Holy
The Anger of God
By Murder’s Bright Light
The House of Crows
The Assassin’s Riddle
The Devil’s Domain
The Field of Blood
HUGH CORBETT MEDIEVAL MYSTERIES
Satan in St Mary’s
Crown in Darkness
Spy in Chancery
The Angel of Death
The Prince of Darkness
Murder Wears a Cowl
The Assassin in the Greenwood
The Song of a Dark Angel
Satan’s Fire
The Devil’s Hunt
The Demon Archer
The Treason of the Ghosts
Corpse Candle
ANCIENT EGYPTIAN MYSTERIES
The Mask of Ra
The Horus Killings
The Anubis Slayings
The Slayers of Seth
The Poisoner of Ptah
The Assassins of Isis
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
A HAUNT OF MURDER. Copyright @ 2002 by Paul Doherty. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
First published in Great Britain by Headline Book Publishing
eISBN 9781429938525
First eBook Edition : January 2011
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Doherty, P. C.
A haunt of murder / P. C. Doherty.—1st U.S. ed. p. cm.
ISBN-13: 978-0-312-35961-4
ISBN-10: 0-312-35961-6
1. Haunted castles—England—Fiction. 2. Great Britain—History—Richard II, 1377-1399—Fiction. 3. Christian pilgrims and pilgrimages—Fiction. 4. Murder victims—Fiction. 5. Essex (England)—Fiction. I. Title.
PR6054.O37H665 2009
823’.914-dc22
2008034157
First U.S. Edition: February 2009

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