‘Oh?’ Margrét murmured. ‘Whatever for?’
‘Well, your bad chest, of course, but I’ve also heard a few rumours over the past weeks. All nonsense I’m sure, but still . . .’ Róslín cocked her head to the side and her fat face broke into a dimpled smile. ‘But here, I’m racing ahead of myself without even thinking to ask if you’re busy.’ She peered past Margrét’s shoulder towards the croft, putting a hand to her forehead to shield her eyes from the sun. ‘I hope I’m not interrupting. It looked like you were with another. A dark-haired woman. Visitor?’ Róslín put on a face of polite indifference.
Margrét sighed, annoyed. ‘You’ve good eyes, Róslín.’
‘Oh. Ingibj?rg perhaps?’ Róslín asked, raising an eyebrow. ‘I’ll go, then, and leave you two friends in peace.’
Margrét fought the urge to roll her eyes. ‘No.’
‘Of course not, too early for a visit from her,’ Róslín said, winking. ‘A new servant? You need all the help you can get for haymaking.’
‘Well, not quite –’
‘A relative, then?’ Róslín continued, taking a step closer.
Margrét sighed. She cleared her throat, realising that there was no way of avoiding Róslín’s inquisition. ‘The woman you saw has been placed with me by District Commissioner Bj?rn Audunsson Bl?ndal.’
‘Oh, really? How strange. Whatever for?’
‘The woman is called Agnes Magnúsdóttir. She is one of the servants convicted of murdering Natan Ketilsson and Pétur Jónsson, and has been placed in custody with us until the date of her execution.’ Margrét folded her arms firmly over her chest and looked down at Róslín defiantly.
Róslín exclaimed, and set the bread on the ground so that she could better demonstrate her horror.
‘Agnes! As in Agnes and Fridrik? Natan Ketilsson’s murderers!’ She brought her hands to her flushed cheeks and stared at Margrét, wide-eyed. ‘But, Margrét! This is the very reason I came! ósk Jóhannsdóttir said she had spoken with Soffia Jónsdóttir, whose brother Jóhann is a farmhand at Hvammur, and she said that Bl?ndal had decided to take Agnes from Stóra-Borg, because they couldn’t risk such an important family being slaughtered –’
Róslín stopped, realising her mistake. Margrét pursed her lips and glared at her.
‘Oh, Margrét, I didn’t mean . . .’ Her round cheeks reddened.
‘Yes, Róslín. It’s true that Bl?ndal has placed the murderess with us, and that neither I, nor Jón, had any say in the matter. But the reasons for his decision are known only to Bl?ndal himself.’
Róslín nodded her head emphatically. ‘Of course. ósk is a terrible gossip.’
‘Yes.’
Róslín kept nodding her head, then stepped forward and placed a hand on Margrét’s shoulder. ‘I’m so sorry for you, Margrét.’
‘Whatever for?’
‘Why, for having to keep a murderess under your family’s roof! For being forced to look at her hideous face every day! For the fear it must inspire in you, for your own good self and your husband and poor daughters!’
Margrét sniffed. ‘Her face is not so hideous,’ she said, but Róslín wasn’t listening.
‘I actually know quite a lot about the case, Margrét, and let me warn you, I have heard fiendish things about the wicked three who robbed the good Natan Ketilsson and Pétur Jónsson of their lives!’
‘Good is not a word I think many would choose for Natan and Pétur.’
‘Oh! But they were good! They made mistakes, of course –’
‘Pétur slit the throats of thirty sheep, Róslín. He was a thief.’
‘But they were noble Icelanders all the same. Oh, and to think of Natan’s family! His brother Gudmundur, and his wife and all their little children. They’ve gone to Illugastadir, you know, to mend the croft and Natan’s workshop.’
‘Róslín, if I have heard rightly, Natan spent more of his time in the beds of married women than in his Illugastadir workshop!’