It was pitch black in the churchyard, but when he removed his hat, his probing fingers detected a substantial dent in the protective metal. The robbers would be astonished to learn he had survived such a solid clout. He stood still for a few moments, willing the dizziness to recede, then began to search for Smegergill. It did not take him long to locate the old man. He tripped over him in the dark, where he was lying face-down in a puddle. He hauled him up quickly, but Smegergill was already dead. Chaloner felt sick with self-recrimination. It was his fault the musician had embarked on a futile search for a carriage in the dead of night, and then he had failed to protect him. He closed his eyes, disgusted with himself. St Bartholomew’s was in Smithfield, and he had been listening to tales about the dangers of that place all day. How could he have been so stupid? Furthermore, a man with his skills and experience should never have allowed a gang of common louts to best him.
What do You think about The Butcher Of Smithfield?
