“You’re certain? She was a widow, married seven years.”
Higginbottom stared at him, one lip curling in contempt. “I may not know as much as your fancy London doctors, but this is one thing I do know. She was a maid, all right. When it comes right down to it, marriage is just a piece of paper; it’s what happens afterward in the marriage bed—if not before—that makes a difference. Fact is, I ain’t convinced she’s twenty-eight, neither, like they’re saying. Looks more like twenty or twenty-one, if you ask me. But then, what do I know? I’m just an old country doctor with more cows and sheep than patients.”
Sebastian studied Higginbottom’s dirty, unshaven face, the yellow teeth bared now in another of those malicious smiles. “The inquest is still scheduled for Friday?”
“It is.” The smile widened. “You’re lucky she’s as fresh as she is, seeing as how you’re staying at the Blue Boar.” Inquests were typically held at inns and public houses, even in London, mainly because they were the only structures capable of holding such a crowd. “I remember last summer when they held the inquest over Nathan Black; cleared the place out, it did. He was in the Teme a week before they found him, and I sure as hell wasn’t keeping him here. Half the jurors cast up their accounts before it was over. Although whether that was from the smell or the way he looked, I couldn’t tell you.”
“Have you given the postmortem results to Squire Rawlins?” asked Sebastian, refusing to rise to Higginbottom’s bait.
“Ain’t seen him. Said he was going to Ludlow to try and find out what he could about the dead woman’s people. If he don’t, the parish is gonna have to pay to bury her.”
“I suspect when her goods are sold, there’ll be sufficient funds to pay for her interment.”
“That a fact? Well, lucky for her. Maybe she can pay for her own postmortem while she’s at it.”
Sebastian glanced back at that silent, still form, the stained sheet now thick with flies. Who are you? he wanted to ask her. Who are you really? It seemed everything from her name to her age to her true marital status had been called into question. About the only thing he knew for certain about the woman who’d called herself Emma Chance was that she was a gifted artist.
And that someone had wanted her dead.
Chapter 19
Shortly after Devlin left for the Dower House that morning, Hero sat down for an interview with the middle-aged chambermaid, Mary Beth Hodge, who in the process of tidying up had let slip the information that she’d been born and raised in the nearly abandoned hamlet that lay to the east of Ayleswick.
“You’re certain this is all right with Mr. McBroom?” asked Mary Beth, nervously eying the notebook and pencil in Hero’s hands.
“It is, yes; I’ve already spoken to him. I’m interested in knowing more about the effects of the Enclosure Acts on the area. Please sit down and relax, and tell me about your hamlet.”
Mary Beth perched on the edge of one of the chairs near the cold hearth and clenched her hands together in her lap. “It was called Maplethorpe in those days, milady. That’s why the Baldwyns named their big house Maplethorpe Hall—after the hamlet. Though there ain’t many remembers that nowadays.”
“Your father was a farmer?”
“He was, milady. Cut his hand real bad on a sickle and died from it, he did, when I was just fifteen. That’s when I married my Nate.”
“Your husband was a farmer as well?”
“Yes, milady.”
“So you remember when George Irving’s Bill of Enclosure passed through Parliament?”
A shadow touched the chambermaid’s elf-like features, leaving her looking both older and sadder. “Don’t I just, milady. We didn’t know nothing about it till the commissioners come and posted the act on the church door. And by then, there weren’t nothin’ we could do about it, now, was there? The commissioners were the ones decided who got what, and of course they gave all the best land to Mr. Irving and divided up what was left amongst the rest of us. Only, we couldn’t keep it unless we fenced it, and who could afford to do that? Plus, there was all sorts of fees we was supposed to pay. And why was that, when it weren’t nothin’ we’d ever asked for?”
She looked at Hero as if Hero might be able to supply some explanation. But she could only shake her head.
Mary Beth said, “It would’ve been bad enough, them dividing up the furlongs like that. But they took away all our rights to the commons and wasteland too. Nate and me used to keep a cow, we did. The milk from that one cow was worth half what a man could earn in a day. But once we’d lost the commons, we couldn’t keep her no more and had to sell her. I had a little baby girl in those days; Julie was her name. I think maybe she’d have lived, if we’d still had the cow.”