Read By Murder's bright Light for Free Online

sifting among the rushes with the toe of his boot.
    Tell me again what happened,’ Cranston muttered over his shoulder to a now more subdued and respectful Marston.
    ‘Ashby is Sir Henry’s squire. He’d just returned from a sea voyage on the God’s Bright Light.'
    Cranston turned his face away to hide his surprise.
    ‘Sir Henry was coming to London to meet Roffel, the ship’s captain.’
    ‘Do you know that he’s dead too?’ Cranston snapped the question.
    Marston’s eyes rounded in surprise. ‘You mean Roffel—?’
    ‘Yes, he’s been dead two days. Taken ill on board ship. By the time they reached the port of London , he was dead.’ Cranston nodded at Athelstan’s surprised face. That’s why I came to Southwark. Not only did Roffel die in rather mysterious circumstances but last night the first mate and the two men on watch aboard the God’s Bright Light disappeared. However, let’s leave that.’ He turned back to Marston. ‘Continue.’
    Marston scratched his head. ‘Well, Sir Henry was coming in to have words with Captain Roffel. He always stayed here and took a barge down-river to meet the captain.’ Uninvited, Marston slumped down on a stool. This morning I came to arouse Sir Henry. The door was off the latch. I pushed it open. Ashby was by the corpse, his hand round the hilt of a dagger. Then’ — Marston pointed to the open window — ‘he fled. The rest you know.’
    ‘Was the window closed last night?’ Athelstan asked.
    ‘Aye, closed and secure.’
    Athelstan pulled a sheet over the corpse and closed the curtains around the four-poster bed.
    ‘Why should Sir Henry be visiting a captain of a fighting ship?’ he asked.
    ‘I can answer that,’ Cranston replied. The exchequer is almost empty. Great landowners and merchants like Sir Henry agree to fit out the ships. In return, they not only receive royal favour but a percentage of any plunder taken. Isn’t that right, Marston?’
    The henchman nodded.
    ‘A lucrative trade,’ Cranston continued evenly, ‘which ensures that the captains not only defend English shipping but constantly search for well-laden French ships or the occasional undefended town along the Seine or the Normandy coast. Sometimes they even turn to piracy against English ships.’ Cranston took his beaver hat off and rolled it in his large hands. ‘After all, if an English ship goes down, it can always be blamed on the French.’
    ‘Sir Henry was not like that,’ Marston snapped. ‘Aye,’ Cranston said drily. ‘And cuckoos don’t lay their eggs in other birds’ nests.’
    The coroner paused at a tap on the door. A young woman entered, her face as white as a sheet, her corn-coloured hair loose. She was agitated, her fingers lacing together, and she played nervously with the silver-tasselled girdle around her slim waist. Her red-rimmed eyes flitted to the great four-poster bed. Marston rose as she entered.
    ‘I am sorry,’ she stuttered. She wiped her hands on the tawny sarcanet of her high-necked dress.
    Athelstan strode across the room and took her hand. It was cold as ice.
    ‘Come on,’ he said softly. ‘You had best sit down.’ He took her gently to the stool Marston had vacated. ‘Do you wish some wine?’
    The young woman shook her head, her eyes still fixed on the great four-poster bed.
    ‘It’s Lady Aveline, Sir Henry’s daughter,’ Marston explained. ‘She was next door when Ashby was in here.’
    Athelstan crouched down and stared into Aveline’s doe-like eyes.
    ‘God rest him, my lady, but your father’s dead.’
    The young woman plucked at a loose thread on her dress and began silently to cry, tears rolling down her cheeks.
    ‘I don’t want to see him,’ she whispered. ‘I can’t bear to see him, not in a nightshirt soaked in blood.’ She looked at Marston. ‘Where’s Ashby?’
    ‘He’s taken sanctuary in a church.’
    Suddenly there was a commotion in the passage outside. The door was flung open and a tall woman with