arch over a front door and the roof was of stone tiles, rather than thatch or wooden shingles. There was even a chimney, the whole house being a copy of one in the main street of Dol, in Brittany.
John strode boldly up to the door and rapped loudly upon it, so different from the rather furtive visits he used to make when Hilda was a wife rather than a widow. It was opened by her frail little maid Alice, who was always in awe of this great dark man who came to call upon her mistress.
'I believe one of our shipmasters is here, Alice,' he boomed.
The girl, who could have been no more than twelve, bobbed her knee. 'Yes, sir. Master Watts has called and is upstairs.' The maid invited him in, leading him along a passage and up an open staircase to Hilda's solar, one of two rooms on the upper floor - a luxury indeed, even in the grander houses of Exeter.
The master of the St Radegund was sitting on a bench in the window, whose shutters were flung wide to give a view of the sea over the roofs of the low buildings in the main street. Roger Watts was a short, burly man of forty, with a red weather-beaten face. He rose as soon as his employer came in and touched a finger to his forehead in salute. 'A welcome surprise, Sir John!' he exclaimed. 'I was just about to leave to see how my repairs are coming along,' he added tactfully, glancing at Hilda.
The widow sat in a leather-backed chair facing the window, but she also rose as de Wolfe came in. Dressed in a pale blue kirtle of fine wool, she was tall and slim, a blonde beauty looking much younger than her thirty-five years. In the house, she wore no head veil and her waist-length hair was braided into two honey-coloured plaits that hung down over her bosom, the ends encased in silver tubes. A silken rope was wound twice around her waist, with tassels dangling from the long free ends. She glided across the room, her hands held out in welcome. John took them briefly and looked longingly into her blue eyes, but in deference to the presence of the sea-captain he did not hold her close and kiss her, as he would have done if they were alone - though on previous visits since she lost Thorgils, the little maid had crouched determinedly in a corner to act as chaperone.
'John, I am so happy to see you! Sit yourself down, please. Alice, get wine and pastries for us all.'
Roger Watts edged towards the doorway and prepared to say his farewells, but John stopped him with an upraised hand.
'Though I am always delighted to see Mistress Hilda, it is you that I really came to see, Roger.' He managed to give a covert wink to Hilda as he said this, before parking his tender backside on the padded bench and motioning Watts to be seated again.
There was a short interlude of pleasantries about each other's health, in which John avoided mentioning his present embarrassing disability. Then the maid returned with cups, a wine flask and a platter of thin pasties filled with chopped meat. As they ate and sipped the red wine, John explained his mission.
'I have had to deal with an unusual murder in Axmouth. The victim was a young shipman, strangled and buried outside the village. We have no idea who is responsible, but the whole affair is mysterious and the Keeper of the Peace over there thinks that there is some evil business afoot.'
He explained that the lad had been a crew member of The Tiger , but the cog had sailed away and until she came back he had no means of pursuing the investigation. 'You are one of the most experienced shipmasters along this coast, Roger. Is there anything you can tell me about Axmouth or this vessel that might help me?'
Watts drank some of his wine, frowning in concentration. 'Axmouth! A strange place, that!' he said ruminatively. 'I rarely moor in that river, as Exeter, Topsham and Dartmouth are my main ports of call. But sometimes I do pick up cargo there.'
De Wolfe fixed him with a steely glare. 'Why a strange place?'
'It's run by the bailiff and his lapdog, Elias the
John strode boldly up to the door and rapped loudly upon it, so different from the rather furtive visits he used to make when Hilda was a wife rather than a widow. It was opened by her frail little maid Alice, who was always in awe of this great dark man who came to call upon her mistress.
'I believe one of our shipmasters is here, Alice,' he boomed.
The girl, who could have been no more than twelve, bobbed her knee. 'Yes, sir. Master Watts has called and is upstairs.' The maid invited him in, leading him along a passage and up an open staircase to Hilda's solar, one of two rooms on the upper floor - a luxury indeed, even in the grander houses of Exeter.
The master of the St Radegund was sitting on a bench in the window, whose shutters were flung wide to give a view of the sea over the roofs of the low buildings in the main street. Roger Watts was a short, burly man of forty, with a red weather-beaten face. He rose as soon as his employer came in and touched a finger to his forehead in salute. 'A welcome surprise, Sir John!' he exclaimed. 'I was just about to leave to see how my repairs are coming along,' he added tactfully, glancing at Hilda.
The widow sat in a leather-backed chair facing the window, but she also rose as de Wolfe came in. Dressed in a pale blue kirtle of fine wool, she was tall and slim, a blonde beauty looking much younger than her thirty-five years. In the house, she wore no head veil and her waist-length hair was braided into two honey-coloured plaits that hung down over her bosom, the ends encased in silver tubes. A silken rope was wound twice around her waist, with tassels dangling from the long free ends. She glided across the room, her hands held out in welcome. John took them briefly and looked longingly into her blue eyes, but in deference to the presence of the sea-captain he did not hold her close and kiss her, as he would have done if they were alone - though on previous visits since she lost Thorgils, the little maid had crouched determinedly in a corner to act as chaperone.
'John, I am so happy to see you! Sit yourself down, please. Alice, get wine and pastries for us all.'
Roger Watts edged towards the doorway and prepared to say his farewells, but John stopped him with an upraised hand.
'Though I am always delighted to see Mistress Hilda, it is you that I really came to see, Roger.' He managed to give a covert wink to Hilda as he said this, before parking his tender backside on the padded bench and motioning Watts to be seated again.
There was a short interlude of pleasantries about each other's health, in which John avoided mentioning his present embarrassing disability. Then the maid returned with cups, a wine flask and a platter of thin pasties filled with chopped meat. As they ate and sipped the red wine, John explained his mission.
'I have had to deal with an unusual murder in Axmouth. The victim was a young shipman, strangled and buried outside the village. We have no idea who is responsible, but the whole affair is mysterious and the Keeper of the Peace over there thinks that there is some evil business afoot.'
He explained that the lad had been a crew member of The Tiger , but the cog had sailed away and until she came back he had no means of pursuing the investigation. 'You are one of the most experienced shipmasters along this coast, Roger. Is there anything you can tell me about Axmouth or this vessel that might help me?'
Watts drank some of his wine, frowning in concentration. 'Axmouth! A strange place, that!' he said ruminatively. 'I rarely moor in that river, as Exeter, Topsham and Dartmouth are my main ports of call. But sometimes I do pick up cargo there.'
De Wolfe fixed him with a steely glare. 'Why a strange place?'
'It's run by the bailiff and his lapdog, Elias the
Similar Books
