After we climbed back into the carriage, I turned to him with displeasure. “Do you honestly believe these drawings are going to prove helpful?” A year and a half after the incident, with only a short glimpse of these two men in the dark, how on earth could the innkeeper’s description of them prove accurate?
“I don’t know. But there was no harm in trying. Perhaps he got some of the details right. Like that scar across the one man’s forehead. Or the second man’s crooked teeth.”
I continued to frown. He did have a point.
“I know it’s long odds. After all, Peter McCraig’s corpse was stolen by traditional body snatchers, while with the late Earl of Buchan’s body, we don’t know who we’re dealing with.”
“But they could still be the same men,” I said, finishing the thought for him. Perhaps they’d stumbled upon a more lucrative plot themselves. Or been hired by someone else for their experience in such matters—both with the snatching and the area. Either was a possibility.
I sighed and turned to stare out the window at the village.
Gage nudged my foot with his own, waiting for me to look at him. He grinned. “Cheer up. Or Mrs. Moffat will think I’m bringing her another corpse.”
I arched a single eyebrow in annoyance. “Very funny.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Mrs. Moffat lived in a tidy little cottage at the edge of the village. Barren bushes sat neatly trimmed beside the doorway, and trellises were attached to the walls on either side of the windows. I suspected in spring and summer the home was nearly covered in creeping roses and other flowering plants. Even in the dead of winter, one could sense the promise of the greenery and blooms to come.
I’m not sure what I expected of the person who cleaned and prepared the bodies of the deceased, but it was not this charming home. Or the smiling middle-aged woman who opened the door to our knock. She could not have stood taller than five foot, even with her hair piled up under her neat white cap.
When Gage informed her of the reason for our visit, she stepped back to usher us inside. “Oh, come in. Come in.” She closed the door behind us and took our coats. “And please dinna mind the mess,” she said hustling us toward a door on the other side of the parlor. “Children will be children after all.”
What mess she was referring to, I could not tell, for the inside of her cottage was as tidy as the outside. Perhaps it was the overabundance of china shepherdesses decorating every available surface above three feet high, or the cluster of toy soldiers in one corner of the room. In either case, those things only proved the house was lived in.
I’d half expected her to escort us into her work space where she prepared the bodies, but it was merely a sunny kitchen with white lace curtains. A loaf of bread sat cooling near the stove, its yeasty fragrance filling the air. She invited us to take a seat at the tartan-covered table to one side of her back door. I pulled out my chair and then hesitated, suddenly wondering if this was the flat surface she used to lay out the bodies. Though I thought I was being subtle, Mrs. Moffat noticed.
“Lore, no, m’lady. The bodies ne’er come in here.”
I flushed. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have—”
“Nay, lass,” she interrupted, reaching out to place a hand over my own where it rested on the chair back. “It’s all right. I ken what I do is a bit ghoulish. And I wouldna be doin’ it either if it didna pay such good money.”
She patted my hand one more time for good measure and turned to cross the room toward her stove. “When my Albert died, leavin’ me with four young bairns teh feed, I didna ken how I was gonna keep food on the table.” She set a kettle of water on the stove and began to spoon tea leaves from a tin on the counter into a plain white porcelain pot. “Then Vicar Timms came teh me with the offer of this position. The woman who’d done it afore had died. And perhaps it’s sad teh say, but it seemed like a godsend.”
She turned and smiled, her hands pressed together over her skirt. “I ken it must be hard to understand, gruesome as the work seems—”
“No,” I said gently, it being my turn to interrupt her. “It’s not hard to understand at all.”
She regarded me thoughtfully, and I was certain she sensed more than I was saying, but she was gracious enough not to mention it. She simply nodded and turned to gather up a set of cups and saucers.
I felt slightly ashamed of myself for making assumptions about the woman before I’d even met her. The fact that people did the very same thing to me had made me sensitive to the subject. But apparently that didn’t mean I was incapable of committing the same ignorant sins myself.
I glanced at Gage as Mrs. Moffat set the cups before us and then pulled out her chair. He offered me a sympathetic smile, making me suspect he’d guessed where my thoughts had gone.
“Noo, what can I do for you?” Mrs. Moffat asked.
“We’ve been told you prepared the late Earl of Buchan’s body for burial,” I said.
She nodded. “I did. ’Twas an honor.” She paused to look between us. “Does this have teh do wi’ his body bein’ snatched from his grave the other night?”
Gossip did travel fast, especially in small villages.