Free New Blood From Old Bones by Sheila Radley

choice apples and sweet chestnuts.
    The justice said the Benedictus and then urged his guest to fall to. But Will ate little, not so much because the corpse had spoiled his appetite but because he had a great deal on his mind.
    â€˜You found the truth of what I told you about the constable?’ said his godfather. He had sent away the servants, and he himself filled their glasses with good white Rhenish wine.
    â€˜I did,’ agreed Will, adding justly: ‘Though it can be understood, for farming is a busy enough life without the distraction of holding office. But Thomas Gosnold sees only what he wants to see – and hopes you will see nothing more. Why else should he object to your viewing the corpse in daylight?’
    â€˜Or to your keen-eyed presence, William. What did you see that I missed?’
    â€˜Only the feet, and then only because I was standing near. I wanted the corpse turned over so that I could see their soles. The constable must have seen them too, but their condition did not suit his argument. That dead man was no penitent on barefoot pilgrimage! He was used to wearing well-fitting boots – and to riding rather than walking, for his feet were not broken nor even roughened by hard use.’
    Lawrence Throssell looked up from his fish, his eyes shrewd.
    â€˜Then what is your opinion of the murdered man?’
    â€˜Why, that he was not wearing those rags when he was stabbed. There was no cut in the shirt that matched the knife thrust to his chest, therefore the rags must have been put on him after. As for his head—’
    â€˜Good, good,’ interrupted the Justice. ‘I was sure you would notice what I failed to see. But I saw his head well enough. In all my years I have never known the victim of a quarrel between strangers to be beaten so savagely.’
    â€˜You confirm what I thought, sir. Why should a stranger, having already stabbed a man in a quarrel, go to the extreme of destroying his features? Why should he exchange his victim’s clothes for rags? The only reason, to my mind, is that the murderer wanted to prevent recognition of the dead man. And that must mean – as you suggested – that the victim does indeed belong to this parish.’
    Justice Throssell was nodding his head with satisfaction, but Will was sombre.
    â€˜Not only that, I fear,’ he said, pushing his plate aside. He had knifed the succulent pink flesh of the trout from its backbone, but he had no heart to eat.
    â€˜The conclusion I have come to will distress my family, as it does me, but it has to be said. The murderer, too, must be a man of this parish. Why else should he fear recognition of his victim? He must know that if the body could be recognised, he would instantly be accused of the deed. And that points to one man, whose threats to kill – as you told me this morning – are known throughout the town.’
    Lawrence Throssell frowned in solemn agreement and abandoned his own dinner.
    â€˜If the body is Walter Bostock’s, it bodes ill for your brother … But for all I know,’ he counselled hopefully, ‘the prior’s bailiff is alive and well.’
    â€˜Please God he is. But my sister Meg described him when we talked of him last night. She said he was some ten years older than Gib, and a good deal smaller in stature – as is the corpse.’
    Will rose from the table. ‘By your leave, godfather. It was my intention to seek out the bailiff this afternoon, but now there’s some urgency in the matter. I’ll bring news as soon as I can.’
    â€˜Do so, William.’ Lawrence Throssell rose too, tugging uneasily at his beard. ‘You will know Walter Bostock if you see him,’ he said, ‘for his features are distinctive. He’s easily recognised by his two front teeth set wide apart, and his broken nose.’

Chapter Seven
    Will emerged from his godfather’s house to find a cluster of serving women near