Bodie yawned, his jaw cracking. Giving himself a good shake, he peered out the windscreen at the darkness. The storm was gathering and promised to be a harsh one. He had just wrapped up a case that had taken him out of London. It had turned out to be more of a boring obbo: a long time sitting around watching and waiting, followed by five minutes of running around like a mad man catching the bad guys.
Doyle had been laid up with a bullet wound to the leg after the Anne Seaford case. So, Bodie had been shunted off, most likely to stop Cowley from tearing out what remained of his hair as he tried to keep Bodie occupied and out of trouble.
Anyway, the case was now closed, and Bodie was eager to get back to London, even knowing he'd have to find someplace to hole up for the night. Perhaps he'd find a nice pub – with a pretty barmaid if his luck held. As his car rounded the corner, the headlights picked out a sign half-hidden by the flailing trees at the side of the road: "Traveller's Inn."
Bodie eased the Capri onto the gravel in front of the inn. There was an air of history about the place, as if time had bypassed it, and it hadn't noticed. Still, as long as the beer was warm, the girls were saucy and the bed was comfortable, he didn't care. He bolted out the driver's door and made it through the entryway just as the storm broke and the heavens opened.
The pub was sparsely occupied due to the weather, and no one except the barmaid paid any attention as Bodie entered the dimly lit room. She smiled at him across the bar, while her eyes coolly assessed him. Weary traveller or troublemaker?
She approached him from behind the long counter, her black eyes flashing, and took his order. "Pint of beer, fish and chips? Right, luv." Then, she sauntered back towards the door at the far end of the room.
Bodie watched the way her long, black braid swung with each step; eyed the sway of her hips as she moved away.
While the barmaid called the order into the kitchen, the barman pulled a pint and slid it towards Bodie, with a scowl and a proprietary eye. Bodie got the message, but that wouldn't stop him from chancing his arm if the occasion arose.
"You passin' through, or will you be needin' a room for the night?" snarled the innkeeper.
"Room, please." Bodie flashed a charming smile. "With the storm out there, I'd rather not be traveling."
The other man just grunted.
The barmaid returned quickly with Bodie's meal, but a growled, "Clean the tables, girl," soon had her hurrying off again to tend to her duties.
The innkeeper tossed a key onto the bar. "Room at the top of the stairs. Ten quid."
"Highway robbery, that is," Bodie muttered as he extracted a couple of bills from his pocket and passed them over.
– PROS –
The room was small, with a slanted ceiling and a window that looked out over the road and the trees on the other side. A sliver of moon cast a dim, silvery light on the ground.
Bodie was glad of the thick blankets covering the bed, and he was soon sleeping soundly, despite the lashing of the rain against the window.
It might have been minutes or even hours later when his eyes snapped open, and his hand crept under his pillow for his gun. He paused, however, when he saw who his late-night visitor was.
The shadow-cloaked figure moved in the moonlight, slowly coalescing into the familiar form of the barmaid. Smiling, Bodie started to speak, only to have the words die unvoiced on his lips.
The girl coolly ignored him, moving past the bed to sit by the open casement of the window and stare out at the road. Vaguely, Bodie wondered when he had opened the window. He remembered nodding off with it closed tightly against the storm.
As he watched, the girl shook back her hair, unbound now, and started to brush it while humming softly to herself. Bodie continued to stare, bemused. He felt no desire to speak or to rise from the bed. A part of his mind was nagging at him, but still he didn't move.
Suddenly, the door slammed open, and three men rushed into the room. They took no notice of Bodie but charged towards woman, dragging her roughly from her seat and pulling her upright. Though she struggled wildly, they quickly bound her hands in front of her and gagged her with a strip of cloth. Then, they secured a musket so that the barrel rested beneath her breasts. They seemed to confer amongst themselves for a moment before settling down at the casement, the remaining two muskets pointed towards the road.
And still Bodie watched. The woman stood in profile, and he could see her hands moving as she writhed her fingers in an attempt to loosen her bonds. Then, abruptly she stilled, and Bodie caught the faint, hollow echo of... hoof beats?
The barmaid's hands twitched again, and Bodie stared fixated as she managed to curl her fingers around the stock of the musket, one finger inching close to the trigger.
The hoof beats grew louder, and the three men checked their weapons. Having stood at the window earlier, Bodie knew that the woman had a good view of the road, as well as of the traveler riding down it.
Again, the hoof beats came louder. Bodie's eyes were still on the girl; he saw her chest heave as she drew in a deep breath. He heard the horse slow, but not stop, and then the sound of someone whistling just outside.
The woman's eyes widened. She took another deep breath, and her finger touched the trigger of the musket. The explosive shot shattered the stillness, as the ball shattered the barmaid's breast. With a cry, she sank, head bowed, the long, black hair obscuring her lovely features.
The three men jumped to their feet, spinning round as the sound of the horse's hooves beat a swift tattoo into the darkness beyond the inn. Even as the trio headed for the door, Bodie finally found his voice. Yelling, he raised his gun, only to lower it again in confusion. The men were gone.
He rushed out onto the landing, but he couldn't hear the sound of drumming hooves or running footsteps. Peering back through the door, he only saw the moonlight streaming through the window. There was no woman, dead or alive – no musket, no blood.
Bodie turned as he finally heard rushing footsteps in response to his shout. A tousled head peered around the corner and then ducked back as the agent spun, gun in hand. Recognizing the innkeeper, Bodie lowered his weapon. "Did you see three men go down the stairs just now?" he called out.
The innkeeper glanced around the corner again. Seeing that Bodie had stood down, he ventured closer. "No, sir. Just heard you yellin'."
Bodie looked puzzled. "The barmaid from earlier, where is she?'
"Ain't got no barmaid."
"She served me beer and fish and chips downstairs."
The old man shook his head. "T'was me that served ye. Not enough business to hire a girl when there's not enough work for me an' the missus most nights."
"But I saw her – pretty, black hair, dark eyes."
The innkeeper shook his head again. "Think you saw the ghost." He shuffled past Bodie and started down the stairs. "C'mon, young man. This tale needs a drink to tell it."
The innkeeper led the way back into the pub, switching on the lights and motioning for Bodie to sit down. Walking behind the bar, he picked up a bottle of whisky and two tumblers. Then, he rejoined his perplexed guest.
Pouring a splash into each glass, he watched as Bodie tossed back the fiery liquid before he refilled the tumbler. While the innkeeper slowly sipped his own drink, he contemplated the amber liquid for a moment.
"Guess it started at the turn o' the century or thereabouts," he began. "The hosteller back then had a daughter. Looked like you described: black hair, saucy eyes… real pretty. She caught the eye of a ne'er-do-well – a robber. Anyways, he'd come an' visit the maid. Bess her name was, accordin' to the story."
The innkeeper paused, as if searching his memory, and then continued his tale: "He'd go robbin' up and down the countryside, bringing back baubles and such for Bess. 'Course her father didn't like it much." He shook his head, rolling his half-empty tumbler between his hands. "So, he contacted the law, and they set a trap for the highwayman. Three of 'em came into the pub and started drinking; then, nearin' the time the highwayman was s'posed to arrive, the redcoats took Bess up to her room – your room. They tied her right up and waited at the window for the highwayman to arrive. When they heard his horse coming down the road, they were all ready to shoot him. But Bess… well, somehow she managed to get her hands on the gun they'd bound in front of her. She shot herself so's to warn him, shot herself dead."
The innkeeper swallowed his whisky and poured Bodie another shot. "The highwayman found out what she'd done the next mornin', and he came back here to the inn – back to where them redcoats still were. He came full of fire and brimstone, the story says, and they shot him down on the road."
The old man shook his head. "Since then, there's been stories about Bess wanderin' round the inn or about the highwayman stoppin' folks on the road. I do know which I'd prefer to see m'self."
Bodie raised his brows, not sure what to think. He wasn't one to believe in ghost stories, but he also couldn't deny what he'd seen. Glancing at his watch, he decided there was no point in going back to bed. It was half-past four; the strange night was almost through.
Returning to his room, he quickly grabbed his gear and then came back down into the pub. The innkeeper had gone into the kitchen to make up some breakfast. When the plate was set before him, Bodie bolted the meal down, uncharacteristically eager to be on his way.
The vague sense of unease began to dissipate as soon as he climbed into his car. He relaxed back in the seat and lowered the window to breathe in the damp air. With a sigh of contentment, he inserted the key but then paused one last moment to savour the stillness of the country morning before returning to the bustle of London.
He heard the low whisper of the wind. He heard the soft rustle of wings and the bright note of a lark. He heard the echoing cadence of hoof beats on the road….
Never glancing back, Bodie started the engine and headed for home.