New Blood From Old Bones by Sheila Radley

scratch if you touch him,’ she said, evidently passing on a warning she had been given.
    â€˜So he will, for he’s now old and disagreeable. But what of that pretty grey-striped Cyprus cat – who is she?’
    His daughter beamed, her pink-cheeked face now confidently on a level with his. ‘Tabitha,’ she said.
    â€˜A most suitable name,’ Will agreed. Then, ‘Aha! What young vagabond have we here?’
    He reached out and scooped up a passing kitten, its fur the colour of apricots, and held it up on the palm of his hand. The little creature, its round eyes still a pale blue, peered at him apprehensively.
    â€˜Now I have you, sirrah!’ Will made his voice gruff. ‘Tell me your name at once, and what business you have in this parish, or I’ll report you to the constable!’
    Her shyness quite forgotten, Betsy stood chuckling at her father’s knee. ‘’Tis Watkin,’ she said. ‘He’s not a vagabond, he lives here! He’ll be a mouser when he’s grown.’
    â€˜ When he’s grown , hey? A fine excuse for idleness!’ said Will sternly. He addressed his captive again: ‘The constable will charge you, sirrah, with being a sturdy beggar, for though you are able-bodied you make no attempt to earn. The magistrate will have you set in the stocks for it, there to remain for three days and nights on a diet of bread and water. What say you to that?’
    The kitten mewed a protest. Betsy, beside herself with laughter, hugged her father’s knee. But their pastime was interrupted by a hurried and anxious Dame Meg Morston.
    â€˜There you are, Will! Go to your nurse, child.’
    He nodded confirmation to his daughter. ‘Go, Betsy,’ he said, pouring the kitten off his hand into her arms. Then he stood up with a grimace, for his wounded leg had stiffened while he crouched.
    â€˜What is it, Meg?’
    â€˜Why didn’t you tell me?’ scolded his sister. ‘One of the servants is back from the town, with news that the body you found is that of a Castleacre man! Is it – is it the prior’s bailiff?’
    Her eyes were apprehensive, and Will sought to reassure her. There would be time enough for anxiety if Ned Pye were to return without having found the man.
    He put his hands on her shoulders and rallied her with a small shake. ‘Come, Meg! When did you ever believe the rumours that Castleacre folk call “news”? In truth, the body from the river is beyond recognition. He could have travelled here from anywhere. He’ll be buried unknown, when Justice Throssell is assured that every man of this parish can be accounted for. As for Walter Bostock, his wife tells me that he’s over at Bromholm priory for the Michaelmas reckoning.’
    Relief smoothed Meg’s forehead. ‘Thank God – I truly feared that Gilbert’s madness had driven him to murder. Oh, but he’s in a difficult humour, Will. He said no word at dinner, save to snarl because most of the servants were absent. Now he’s gone up to the old keep, where he’ll sometimes brood among the ruins for hours on end.’
    â€˜I’ll go and speak with him,’ said her brother, though remembering Gib’s stoked-up outburst of anger the night before, he was privately doubtful of doing any good.
    â€˜No, leave him,’ urged Meg. ‘I fear he will turn to violence.’
    â€˜Better that he should turn it on me, then.’
    â€˜Well, go to him if you must. But keep Ned Pye somewhere near,’ she cautioned, ‘for your own safety.’
    â€˜Ned’s up to mischief elsewhere,’ said Will, concealing his servant’s destination from her. ‘There’s too little scope for his talents in Castleacre, and I sent him away for a few days. But have no fear – I’ll deal with Gib if need be.’
    â€˜No doubt you will!’ Her voice teased him, but clearly she meant it