Dynasty And Destiny; Book 6 Of Poacher's ProgressChapter 19: Death In Cloisters free porn video
There is a particular ambience about an ancient place of worship, and the interior of Tewkesbury Abbey was no different. An amalgamation of incense, mildew, dust and sanctity, melded into a pervading atmosphere of divinity. Truman and I spoke in hushed tones.
“We will determine if Captain Hutton is up in the tower. He came here to place a sentry on the roof. Perhaps he and... , “ I sought for the name of the missing trooper, and Truman delivered.
“Titmus, Colonel. Frederick Titmus.”
“Yes, we will check to see if they have been inadvertently locked in one of the many rooms in this place.”
I drew my cap lock pistol, an expensive 40th birthday present from Mimi, from my belt and pulled back on the hammer, placed a percussion cap on the nipple, and then eased the hammer back onto the cap.
The pistol was already loaded with a ball firmly rammed down on the powder, and wadding tight rammed on the ball. Truman had left his musket with Trooper Statham, but carried an unsheathed bayonet.
We moved up the first flight of stairs, our footsteps echoing in the vaulted chamber. At the top of the stairway was a door, which I slowly opened, my thumb on the hammer of my pistol ready to cock and fire at the first sign of danger.The door opened into a room filled with benches and desks.
Through the east facing windows I could see the Royal Party taking their places on the dais.
“This looks like a school room,” I said, indicating the desks. “Probably where the boy choristers have their lessons.”
Although we had only climbed to the first floor I could feel a chill wind blowing through the unglazed windows.
“I would not want to be seated here during winter. Even with wooden shutters up at the windows it would be as cold as charity.”
The next flight of stairs beckoned, and we moved cautiously up them towards another door. This door opened into a storeroom of ecclesiastical bric-a-brac; candlesticks, offertory boxes, lecterns, and worn, moth eaten, hassocks.
Truman and I made a thorough search of the room but found no sign of Hutton or Titmus. The stairs made an angle of 90 degrees before we reached the next door, and as we rounded the bend we saw the body of Captain Hutton lying in front of the door.
His sword was in his scabbard, his pistol in his belt, and his throat had been cut. It was obvious he had been attacked from the rear and given no chance to defend himself. I turned the door handle, the lock moved but the door refused to open.
“Bolted from inside,” I said. “Whoever killed Captain Hutton is probably in the room.”
Truman nodded. “Aye, and with a good view of the dais, and all those sitting there. Like ducks on a pond.”
I pondered that statement. If, as I believed, Erzählenmann was the suspicious cassock-wearing person seen by Truman, would he be in the tower to shoot Princess Alexandrina?
According to Humphrey Appleby the plan was for Erzählenmann to kidnap her rather than kill her. Of course, Appleby could be wrong, and standing before a locked door with someone, possibly Erzählenmann, in the room with some sort of weapon made Appleby’s assumption appear completely inaccurate.
“Would you think the person you saw was carrying a firearm under his cassock?” I asked Truman
He shook his head. “It weren’t long enough, for a musket or rifle, but could have been a long barreled pistol. Although it would need to be a bloody long barrel to hit anyone on the dais.”
There was only one way into the room other than through the door, and that was through a window. This would necessitate me going to the room below, climb out of the west facing window, and then scale the side of the building until reaching the west facing window of the room behind the locked door, and then make an entry.
I explained my plan to Truman, whose horrified countenance indicated his thought on the chances of my success.
“There are plenty of small metal containers in the room below, Colonel. I could use the powder from your and Captain Hutton’s pistols to make some sort of petard, and then blow the door off its hinge,” he said.
“Have you had much experience with petards, Fred?”
“I were a quarryman before taking the King’s Shilling, Colonel. I know what I’m about around gunpowder.”
We retraced our way down to the bric-a-brac room, where Fred Truman scouted about until finding a tin of the right dimensions for building a makeshift petard. I handed him my pistol, and unfastened my sword belt.
“I shall try to gain access while you manufacture your infernal device, Fred. The percussion cap will make a good detonator, but I leave the construction and use of the device to your greater expertise.”
“You’re going to climb ten feet or more up the side of the Abbey? Rather you than me, Colonel.” He shook my hand, quite convinced I was embarking on a suicidal mission.
I clambered out onto the window ledge, and then experienced similar thoughts, as the wind, which appeared none existent at ground level, attempted to tear me from my precarious perch. Self-preservation urged me to abandon my wild scheme, but I could not show the white feather in front of an inferior rank, so started to climb up towards the window above me.
I thanked God for the skills of the stonemasons, who had incorporated many carvings when constructing the tower, which allowed me to scramble my way up to the windowsill above me using the crevices, ridges, and ledges provided by those masons of long ago.
Ten feet might have been the vertical distance from one window to another but it seemed more like a hundred, although I had been informed by someone, possibly the Dean of the Abbey, that the measured height of the tower was a hundred and fifty feet.
Bree
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