![[Roger the Chapman 03] - The Hanged Man](https://fs.ageofbook.com/508345/thumbs/152x264/roger-the-chapman-03-the-hanged-man.jpg)
leave everything to servants in a house where, I suspected, young as she was, she had been virtual mistress since the death of her guardian's wife some three years previously.
As the door to the parlour shut behind us, she laid a detaining hand on my arm, urging me closer to the fire burning on the hall hearth, and out of the draught whistling in from the buttery, which lifted the rushes on the floor. 'Warm yourself properly before you go out again,' she said. 'The streets today are bitter.'
Nothing loath, for every delay was an added moment in her company, I held out my hands to the blaze. After a minute or two, presuming on her natural friendliness and summoning up my courage, I asked gently, 'Would you indeed have married Robert Herepath, had he lived?' The blue eyes opened wide, once again full of tears, and I glimpsed such anguish in their swimming depths that it was like a descent into hell. I averted my own gaze swiftly, uncomfortably aware that I had trespassed on private ground; seen what I should not have seen. Before I could apologize, however, she whispered, 'Yes.' A log crackled, sending up a shower of sparks. 'Forgive me...' I was beginning, but she did not hear me, wrapped as she was in her overwhelming grief. Then, suddenly, she spoke, the words bursting forth in a torrent from her overcharged heart. 'Do you know what it is like to fail the one person you love more than life itself in his hour of need? To believe him capable of the heinous crime of murder? To allow yourself to feel a revulsion so great that you turn from him in horror? Do you?' She twisted her hands together so tightly that it seemed the delicate fingers must crack, but she was unconscious of the pain. 'No, of course you don't! And I pray to God in His mercy that you never will!' She drew in her breath sharply, rearing her head on its slender neck. 'I loved Robert Herepath from the moment I first became aware of him, when I was still a child, long before my father died and left me in Edward's care. I knew that whatever he appeared to be, however spoiled and reckless and ungrateful, he was not really like that underneath. He was a man who had never grown up. He needed gentleness and affection and understanding. Oh, Edward loved him as much as I did in his own way. But he was always busy and had too little time to spare for a younger brother left in his care.' She lifted sad eyes to mine. 'Please don't think I'm blaming Edward. He was not much more than twenty when Giles Herepath died and he found himself father and mother both to a boy of barely two.' A shy smile curled her lips. 'That was the year I was born, but my own father often spoke to me of the burden Edward had so willingly shouldered, and how much he admired him for it.'
I thought that her unreasoning love for Robert Herepath had blinded her to a character ruined by an over-indulgent brother, and vitiated even further by a naturally vicious streak. I kept my views to myself, but ventured to ask, 'Why then were you as certain as everyone else that Robert had murdered William Woodward? Especially as no body was found, only William's hat which had been flung into the Frome.'
Cicely Ford shivered, in spite of the heat from the fire, and clasped her arms about her body as though she would never be warm again. 'I don't know! I don't know. Looking back now, it all seems like an evil dream.' She furrowed her brow, as though trying to make sense of the nightmare. 'Perhaps... Perhaps it was because Edward was so sure his brother had done it. Edward is not a man to be easily deceived, yet he told me himself that he was convinced of Robert's guilt as soon as he was in possession of the facts. He blamed himself bitterly for having put temptation in Robert's path, but the absence of William Woodward's body in no way disposed him to believe his brother's protestations of innocence. His conviction somehow influenced me and blinded me to the truth.'
'Robert admitted to stealing the money?' I
As the door to the parlour shut behind us, she laid a detaining hand on my arm, urging me closer to the fire burning on the hall hearth, and out of the draught whistling in from the buttery, which lifted the rushes on the floor. 'Warm yourself properly before you go out again,' she said. 'The streets today are bitter.'
Nothing loath, for every delay was an added moment in her company, I held out my hands to the blaze. After a minute or two, presuming on her natural friendliness and summoning up my courage, I asked gently, 'Would you indeed have married Robert Herepath, had he lived?' The blue eyes opened wide, once again full of tears, and I glimpsed such anguish in their swimming depths that it was like a descent into hell. I averted my own gaze swiftly, uncomfortably aware that I had trespassed on private ground; seen what I should not have seen. Before I could apologize, however, she whispered, 'Yes.' A log crackled, sending up a shower of sparks. 'Forgive me...' I was beginning, but she did not hear me, wrapped as she was in her overwhelming grief. Then, suddenly, she spoke, the words bursting forth in a torrent from her overcharged heart. 'Do you know what it is like to fail the one person you love more than life itself in his hour of need? To believe him capable of the heinous crime of murder? To allow yourself to feel a revulsion so great that you turn from him in horror? Do you?' She twisted her hands together so tightly that it seemed the delicate fingers must crack, but she was unconscious of the pain. 'No, of course you don't! And I pray to God in His mercy that you never will!' She drew in her breath sharply, rearing her head on its slender neck. 'I loved Robert Herepath from the moment I first became aware of him, when I was still a child, long before my father died and left me in Edward's care. I knew that whatever he appeared to be, however spoiled and reckless and ungrateful, he was not really like that underneath. He was a man who had never grown up. He needed gentleness and affection and understanding. Oh, Edward loved him as much as I did in his own way. But he was always busy and had too little time to spare for a younger brother left in his care.' She lifted sad eyes to mine. 'Please don't think I'm blaming Edward. He was not much more than twenty when Giles Herepath died and he found himself father and mother both to a boy of barely two.' A shy smile curled her lips. 'That was the year I was born, but my own father often spoke to me of the burden Edward had so willingly shouldered, and how much he admired him for it.'
I thought that her unreasoning love for Robert Herepath had blinded her to a character ruined by an over-indulgent brother, and vitiated even further by a naturally vicious streak. I kept my views to myself, but ventured to ask, 'Why then were you as certain as everyone else that Robert had murdered William Woodward? Especially as no body was found, only William's hat which had been flung into the Frome.'
Cicely Ford shivered, in spite of the heat from the fire, and clasped her arms about her body as though she would never be warm again. 'I don't know! I don't know. Looking back now, it all seems like an evil dream.' She furrowed her brow, as though trying to make sense of the nightmare. 'Perhaps... Perhaps it was because Edward was so sure his brother had done it. Edward is not a man to be easily deceived, yet he told me himself that he was convinced of Robert's guilt as soon as he was in possession of the facts. He blamed himself bitterly for having put temptation in Robert's path, but the absence of William Woodward's body in no way disposed him to believe his brother's protestations of innocence. His conviction somehow influenced me and blinded me to the truth.'
'Robert admitted to stealing the money?' I
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