As Ottilia held out her hand, she took stock of the young man. She liked what she saw. He was personable, without being handsome, but the clarity of his blue gaze sat well with her.
“My dear sir, I am enchanted. I have heard how you aided the young creature who has been so unfortunate as to incur the enmity of the village.”
The severity of Mr. Kinnerton’s expression disappeared, and Ottilia was treated to an appraising look. Her hand was taken in a firm clasp, warm to the touch.
“I thank you, but anyone would have done the same.”
“You are too modest, sir. I have already heard of several persons who, by all accounts, would indeed have done otherwise.”
A frown appeared. “You are very well informed, ma’am.”
Ottilia laughed. “I have been in conversation with Miss Beeleigh and Mrs. Radlett, whom I believe you have not yet met.”
A gleam appeared in his eye. “Ah. Yes, I was warned — er — advised as to the identities of the gentry hereabouts.”
“But not about Mrs. Dale, I take it?”
The gleam vanished, and a faint look of steel entered those intense eyes. “Astute of you, Lady Francis.”
“My wife is renowned for her keen mind, sir.” Ottilia could not help but feel a flush of pleasure at the bristle in her husband’s voice. “Witherley may yet have cause to be grateful for her presence.”
Now the vicar looked merely puzzled. His glance went from Francis to Ottilia and back again. A faint ripple of irritation crossed his face.
“Would you care to explain your meaning, my lord?”
“By all means,” said Francis, with a promptness that caused Ottilia to set a warning hand upon his arm. He glanced at her, but the steel in his voice did not abate. “I don’t know if you are familiar with the scandal that overtook my family last year?”
The vicar shook his head. “I was in no condition to take in very much at that time.”
Ottilia saw Francis relax and threw him a questioning glance. He caught it and gestured towards the parson.
“Mr. Kinnerton had the misfortune to be ill for some little time. Briefly then, sir, an intimate relation was murdered. It is entirely due to my wife’s tireless investigations and her ingenious mind that the perpetrator was discovered. She saved my family’s reputation and our sanity.”
The vicar looked thunderstruck, as well he might. Ottilia thought it well to lessen the impact.
“My husband exaggerates,” she said cheerfully. “If I have a knack, it is in noticing what others might not. And those persons nearly concerned in events are apt to be a trifle blinded, do you not think?”
All at once the Reverend Kinnerton smiled and his whole countenance underwent a change. “It appears we are fortunate in your misfortune. Would it be selfish of me to hope that your carriage is not mended too quickly? Any aid you can offer in diverting suspicion from Mrs. Dale will be only too welcome, I assure you.”
Ottilia held out her hand, and the vicar clasped it with both his own. She smiled at him. “I had best confess, lest the heavens strike me down. Our groom came here in search of a blacksmith, and when he brought news of the storm, the smith’s murder, and a hunt for the local witch, I’m afraid curiosity overtook me.”
Kinnerton laughed. “Lady Francis, I am not your confessor. What will you do?”
Francis intervened. “I have been hoping you may be able to help. The tapster tells me the blacksmith’s body is still housed in a back room at the Cock and Bottle. It is imperative my wife has a sight of it.”
The vicar looked startled, his glance flying back to Ottilia’s face. “My dear ma’am, surely you cannot intend to subject yourself to such a spectacle?”
Ottilia saw Francis bristle again and cut in swiftly. “I am a hardy spirit, Mr. Kinnerton, and have confronted several such spectacles.” She saw disbelief in his face and could not forbear a laugh. “Perhaps I should explain that my brother is a doctor. Until recently, I lived in his house and had opportunity to partake of his activities.”
“Believe me, I was quite as shocked as I can see you are, Kinnerton,” Francis put in, “but she is speaking the truth. I can vouch for it that she will not flinch.”
The vicar spread his hands. “You leave me with nothing to say.”
“But can you help?” Francis pursued, with an impatience Ottilia could not but deprecate. She said nothing, however, merely waiting upon Mr. Kinnerton’s pleasure.
He frowned. “You wish me to insinuate Lady Francis into the house? I’m not sure my word will carry much weight with Tisbury.”
“Nonsense,” scoffed Francis. “You have sufficiently demonstrated your authority in that quarter.”
Ottilia watched in fascination as this idea appeared to penetrate the vicar’s mind. A slow smile crept into his face.
“I cannot deny that the notion of spiking the fellow’s guns appeals to me. Shall we essay it?”
Francis looked taken aback. “Now?”
Just then a clock began to strike somewhere nearby. The parson looked towards the church. “Two and thirty. We have time yet. If you are ready, ma’am?”
The covered corpse lay on a wooden bedstead near an open window, for which Ottilia gave thanks. The natural aromas accompanying death were muted, but the heat of the day had undoubtedly worsened the body’s condition, drawing flies like a magnet and pervading the atmosphere with the faint tang of rotting meat. The insects buzzed around the area and dotted the sheet with resting spots of black.
It had not taxed the vicar’s ingenuity unduly to effect an entrance through the back premises of the Cock and Bottle. Tisbury, it appeared, was absent, and the tapster proved no match for Mr. Kinnerton. Within a few short minutes, he came out to where Ottilia waited with Francis, accompanied by a plump maidservant.
“Miss Bessy will conduct us to the blacksmith’s present resting place,” he said, with a gesture at the girl, who goggled at Ottilia as she bobbed a curtsy.
“How very kind,” Ottilia said instantly, smiling at the maidservant.
Bessy blinked and curtsied again. “Bain’t nowt, m’am, if’n you be minded to see him. Though why any’d wish to I can’t for the life of me think, what with the stink and all.”
“I am sure it will be excessively unpleasant,” Ottilia conceded, “but I must steel myself to the task.”
Mystified but obliging, the girl led the way around the tavern to the back door, which entered into an area clearly set aside for the living quarters of the family. The deceased was housed in a small room given over to a servant’s chamber and temporarily unoccupied. Due, so Bessy informed the assembled company, to the kitchen maid having “loped off in the night” some weeks back and not yet having been replaced.
“Why did she lope off?” demanded Ottilia, instantly intrigued.
Bessy shrugged. “No one don’t know for sure, though Mistress thinks as her be got with child.”
“By whom? Or is that not known, either?”
A trifle of unease entered Bessy’s round features at this, and Ottilia caught the almost imperceptible flicker of the girl’s eye towards the mound by the window. She cast a more obvious, and somewhat nervous, glance at Mr. Kinnerton, and a flush entered her cheeks.
“Bain’t right, talking of such before the Reverend,” she muttered, now fixing her gaze on the floor.
“Indeed, no,” said Ottilia at once. “I must thank you, Bessy. We will not detain you further.”
She let the girl curtsy herself out of the room before turning to the two gentlemen. “Duggleby without doubt.”
Francis frowned. “How do you know?”
“Bessy looked instantly at the body when I asked the question.”
Mr. Kinnerton’s blue gaze was intent. “You are very observant, ma’am. But how can you be sure this girl knew the truth?”
Ottilia laughed. “My dear sir, servants are privy to all sorts of secrets. The maids in a household cannot hope to hide anything from one another, in particular when it comes t
o amorous adventures. Besides, I have already ascertained that Duggleby was something of a ladies’ man.”
“What did I tell you?” cut in her spouse, a species of triumph in his tone. “Believe me, she will know more about this blacksmith than half the village before the day is out.”
A ripple of laughter escaped Ottilia at the parson’s raised eyebrows. “My husband’s confidence is a little overstated perhaps. What I do know is that the shop owner, a Mr. Uddington, is said to have lost his wife to an amour with Duggleby.”
Mr. Kinnerton looked across at the misshapen sheet. “An unlikely Lothario, one would have thought, from the look of the fellow.”
“Oh, he was undoubtedly a brute,” agreed Ottilia. “But that does not preclude his being unnaturally attractive to the opposite sex. Certain females have a preference for the rough male, do you not find?”
“I do not,” stated the vicar flatly. “But I cannot pretend to an intimate knowledge of the sex.”
“You may take it from me she is right,” Francis put in. “But should we not pursue the business of the hour? I understand you are pressed for time, Kinnerton.”
With obvious reluctance, the vicar moved towards the corpse, reached for a corner of the sheet, and twitched it away, causing a sudden ascent of a cloud of flies. Ottilia noted the wrinkle at his nose and the distaste in his features.
“I daresay his condition has deteriorated since you saw him last night.”
Kinnerton nodded, putting a hand over his nose and mouth and moving aside to give her access. Ottilia moved in, casting a quick look at her spouse, who had whipped out his pocket handkerchief and had it firmly in place against the noxious smells that permeated the chamber more completely. She hoped it was not too horrible a reminder of what he had endured last year. He caught her glance, however, and clearly noted the question in her mind, for he shook his head and gestured for her to attend to what she must.
The mattress had been set aside, and the corpse lay directly on the wooden slats. It was cold to the touch despite the warmth of the day, and the still damp and dirty clothes clung to the softened limbs, for rigor had already passed. Ottilia noted the onset of discolouration turning the slack face faintly green. She reached out and lifted each lid of the blacksmith’s closed eyes and found one of interest.
Becoming aware of Francis at her elbow, she nodded towards the eye.
“The pupil is dilated.”
“What does that mean?”
“Bleeding into the brain.”
Bending to that side, Ottilia looked into the man’s ear. A trickle of dried dark red liquid emanated from within. She checked the other ear but found none.
“Now for the skull.”
Her fingers felt along the base, moving gently towards the side indicated by the pupil and the fluid from the ear. She found what she was seeking easily enough.
“Ah, there it is."
“What is it?”
“A depression. It is very distinct.” She probed a little more, closing her eyes to increase her sense of touch. The sensation of two edges came to her.
“The skull is cracked. The poor man was definitely struck. He will have had a severe blood clot.”
“Enough to kill him?”
“Oh yes. If the blood has nowhere to escape, it will pool under the skull and compress the brain. He was probably dead well before the roof fell in on him.”
As Ottilia preceded the two gentlemen out of the tavern’s back door, she instantly noted a party approaching with the clear intention of entering via the same place. One was a man of middle years attired in a grizzled wig, who, with a hand at one elbow, was supporting the doddering steps of a spindly legged old gentleman, and bringing up the rear came a burly young fellow sporting the long coat, slouch hat, and staff that marked him for a constable.
From behind, she heard the vicar’s muttered words. “Just in time, for here is Meldreth.”
“The doctor, you mean?” asked Francis.
“Then his companion must be Lord Henbury,” Ottilia guessed, recalling the catalogue of local gentry put forward by her new friends of the Blue Pig coffee room.
The elderly gentleman apparently caught his name, for he peered across in a myopic fashion.
“Hey? Hey? Who’s that? Trespassing, are you? Nosy villagers, I’ll be bound.”
“Shades of your godmother,” murmured Francis close to Ottilia’s ear.
She was obliged to bite down upon a spurt of laughter, but she wasted no time on her questioner, instead turning to Kinnerton.
“Will you do the honours, sir?”
The parson stepped forward and performed the introductions, not without some repetition for the benefit of Lord Henbury’s deficient hearing. He was obliged to call upon the doctor to explain his own status, what time Francis took opportunity to vent his frustration.
“If I’d had an inkling we would run into another such cantankerous deaf adder, nothing on this earth would have induced me to consent to your coming to this cursed village.”
“Maddening, is it not?” Ottilia returned, desperately covering the gurgle that escaped her with an unconvincing cough.
Francis eyed her balefully. “If you don’t take care, my girl, I will abandon you to the wretched fellow, who will hamper you more than somewhat, if I am any judge.”
Before Ottilia had a chance to respond to this, the Reverend Kinnerton was at her elbow.
“Forgive me, ma’am, but I must go. I have an appointment with Staxton and his boys.”
Ottilia instantly held out her hand. “Of course, and thank you. Your help has been invaluable.”
Kinnerton bowed over her hand, and with a brief word of farewell to the rest of the company, he was gone. Ottilia turned her attention to the doctor, knowing better than to make any attempt to explain her presence to Lord Henbury.
“I understand you believe the victim to have been struck on the back of the head with a hammer,” she said.
“I’m sure of it,” Meldreth returned, looking a good deal surprised. “I can only wish I had been more circumspect when I spoke of it.”
“Yes, we understand the tapster heard you,” Francis put in.
The doctor grimaced. “Will has one of the longest tongues in the village, and that is saying something.”
Ottilia laughed. “I rather gathered as much. I can’t think Witherley differs in that respect from any other village, however.”
“No, it is endemic to the life, more’s the pity.”
“Oh, to all life, doctor, do you not think? Find me the person who is not given to gossip of his neighbour on occasion and you will show me a saint.”
This had the unfortunate effect of rousing Lord Henbury. “Saint? Saint? Balderdash! Fellow was a downright rogue. I’d not have him shoe my horse for a fortune. Can’t now, since the fellow’s dead. Not that I set any store by all this talk of murder.”
Ottilia raised her voice. “Oh, he was most certainly murdered, sir. There can be no doubt of that.”
This statement was productive of a sudden silence. Lord Henbury looked positively affronted. The constable goggled, his jaw dropping open. And Meldreth regarded her with a startled frown.
Suppressing her inevitable amusement, Ottilia raised her brows at the latter. “You noted the depression in the skull, of course. Which was cracked, I think you will agree. And the dilation in the left eye, taken with the liquid from the ear on that side, together suggest a severe hematoma, do you not think? I cannot suppose the poor man long survived the blow that felled him.”
She had deliberately kept her tone low, feeling the less Lord Henbury heard the quicker matters might be despatched. He had a hand to his ear, and his indignant look was now accompanied by a spattering of “Hey? Hey?” as he struggled to grasp what had been said. But the doctor’s frown had given way to a lurking smile and a twinkle in the eye.
“So that is what you are doing here. Is it your common practise to examine dead bodies, Lady Francis?”
Otti
lia automatically put a hand out to Francis as she felt him poker up beside her, and she smiled at the doctor. “Not invariably. But my brother is also a doctor, and I have had occasion to assist at more than one post-mortem.”
The doctor let out a laugh. “Extraordinary, ma’am.”
“Is it not?” said Ottilia in the friendliest of tones. “I was dreadfully nauseous at first, but that soon wore off when Patrick began to explain the science of his findings.”
She was interrupted.
“What’s that? What’s the woman saying?”
To Ottilia’s relief, Meldreth took it upon himself to relay her words to his lordship, sensibly confining himself to the briefest disclosure of the evidence supplied by the body.
“In a moment, my lord, I will show you what has been found.”
“One thing I cannot tell is the time of death,” Ottilia added quickly in a lowered tone.
“Difficult at any point,” agreed Meldreth. “Almost impossible at this juncture.”
“Yet you saw him after they brought him out last night, did you not?”
He nodded. “It was gone eleven by then, and as far as I could tell, he had been dead for a couple of hours. Stiffening had barely begun, but the discolouration on the underside of his body was already tending to purple. As a rough guide, I must put the hour at about eight or nine.”
A connection struck Ottilia. “What time did the storm break?”
The doctor’s brows shot up. “Good God, ma’am, but you have a head on your shoulders!”
Beside her, Francis gave a short laugh. “You will find my wife remarkably acute, sir. Do the times match?”
“Perfectly,” nodded Meldreth. “I had just supped when the first lightning gave warning. The heavens opened shortly thereafter.”
An explosive shout from Lord Henbury cut through this interesting development. “Hey? What’s that you say? Opened him up, have you? Found anything?”
The doctor turned, raising his voice and speaking with remarkable patience. “We are talking of the time of death, my lord.”
The Lady Fan Series: Books 1-3 (Sapere Books Boxset Editions) Page 42
