The Sticklepath Strangler (2001) by Michael Jecks Page A

Gunilda then his rage overwhelming him so that he turned on Felicia too, made her panic. She scurried
around the house and slipped away over the far wall, past the dogs’ kennels, and into the church ground. She felt safe in the shadow of the great cross. It was far enough for her
parents’ voices to be overwhelmed by the grumbling of the mill’s machinery and the noise of the river rushing past. For a while she could be at peace as she walked around the
chapel.
    It had been a dream of hers for as long as she could remember, the idea of escaping from Sticklepath. There was nothing to keep her here. Odd, to think that her father would find that idea
shocking. He must think that she loved him in her own way, but she didn’t. She obeyed purely from a fear of punishment. If it weren’t for that, she’d never submit to him.
    Yet as she walked she saw the one thing that could tempt her to stay: Vin. There he stood, guarding the place where the body of Aline had been found, up the hill. Several years ago they had
kissed and cuddled out on the riverbank, a clumsy fumbling together in a clearing among the bushes, and although it wasn’t very satisfying for Felicia, especially when he groaned and fell
across her when she had only begun to play with him, she had been oddly gratified, and expected that he would want to marry her. Except they had heard Samson bellowing, and Vin had run off,
terrified.
    That was the last time she saw Vin with any intimacy. Afterwards he seemed to avoid her, as though ashamed of his behaviour with her, or perhaps it was simple fear of Samson. Or, more likely, he
was put off her by what she did with Samson.
    Whatever the reason, Vin never made love to her again.
    Once the messenger had gone to the buttery to refresh himself, Jeanne followed Baldwin into the house. Her mood was not improved by his twisted grin. ‘I know what you are
going to say, my love: you are unhappy that I should consider going. That is fine, but—’
    ‘But
nothing
, my Lord. You are a man and feel you must ignore your injuries and return to take part in an investigation many miles from here in the miserable waste of
Dartmoor.’
    ‘I have not yet agreed to any such thing,’ he protested, smiling. ‘And anyway, your own manor is as near to Dartmoor. You never complained about it before.’
    ‘I am aware that Liddinstone is near to the moors,’ she said, with dignity. And it was. Her comfortable, pretty little manor was out near Brentor. Although she had lived there during
her first miserable marriage, the fact of her husband’s cruelty had not changed Lady Jeanne’s love of the place. But that was not her only memory of the moors. ‘You haven’t
forgotten the hideous murder at Throwleigh, and that sad woman Katherine, losing first her husband and then her son?’
    ‘Just because there was one murder there—’ Baldwin began, but she cut through his emollient speech.
    ‘Not just one murder. You haven’t forgotten Belstone?’
    ‘Ah, that was different,’ he said, and gazed at her with suspicion. ‘I never told you about that.’
    ‘You didn’t have to, Husband. A hundred little clues can tell a wife what she needs to know. Besides, I bribed Bishop Stapledon’s messenger with several pots of ale when he
came to thank you for your help. The simple fact is that the moors are dangerous – and for you particularly. Why, when you were at Belstone you were almost killed.’
    ‘I survived,’ he murmured.
    ‘Yes. To go to Oakhampton and be all but ruined there instead,’ she said acidly. She went to his side and crouched, holding his hand. ‘I fear losing you, my love. And I feel
you treat the dangers of the moors with scant regard.’
    ‘I will wear thick clothing when I go, I swear.’
    ‘See? You make light of my anxiety even now!’ she said bitterly.
    He saw that she was growing angry, and in an attempt to mollify her, took both her hands in his, looking attentively into her eyes. ‘Come,