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?”
T he 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.
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?”
T he 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.
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