To take care of her foot, she rode in a little cart with Aunt Rachel and Betsey, her uncle holding the reins as he guided the horse on the path through town to the church. Very few people knew about the funeral and so it was very poorly attended. Once Reverend Greene had said a short funeral service for the maid, he led a small procession outside. Local men had been paid to dig a grave, and it was just a handful of people who stood by. Her uncle began to say a few words over her grave and as his solemn words washed over her, Poppy found herself desperately wondering where Mary was and if she was all right.

  No one shed a tear, for no one knew the deceased girl very well. Only Betsey looked forlorn. Mrs. Potter refused to look at Poppy at first, and when she did, it was as though they were strangers. She held herself aloof and distant, and if she had been a pretty woman she would’ve said she was giving herself airs. But she was short and her girlish curves had run to fat, and with her outdated straw bonnet crammed onto her head of curls, her eyes looked piggish and mean.

  Poppy made no effort to speak to her, and walked with the crutch to take the weight off her injured foot.

  During the service, Aunt Rachel stood by and whispered, “My word, but you’ll never know what I witnessed in the market today.”

  “What?”

  Her aunt needed no such prompting. “Who did I see but Mr. Potter at the dressmaker’s, with a letter from Mr. Tomlinson, who says he’s owed twenty shillings for silk cloth for a dress for Mary. Twenty shillings, can you believe it?”

  Poppy was shocked. “That’s a lot of money.”

  Mrs. Potter shot her an evil glance, but her aunt was oblivious to it. She carried on, “I know. I couldn’t believe it either, but Mr. Tomlinson was raising such a fuss. Apparently Mary had placed an order weeks ago, and told him that Mr. Potter would be paying the bill! Mr. Potter was so red in the face I thought he would burst. And, that’s not the only thing. Your friend Mary has run up a debt for ribbons as well.”

  “Ribbons?” Poppy repeated.

  “Yes. I was passing by when I saw Mrs. Potter exit the shop and flatly refuse to pay. Can you imagine, thirteen shillings for ribbons? What I want to know is what was she going to do with them all? I could understand one or two, but thirteen shillings’ worth?” Her aunt chuckled.

  Her uncle shot her a look, and they quieted. A moment later Poppy whispered, “With so many debts, the Potters are surely glad Mary is gone.”

  “What a thing to say, child. They seemed frightfully angry, I admit. She has caused them some embarrassment now. But I am sure they would rather have their niece back home and safe where she belongs.”

  But that was not with them, Poppy reflected. Seeing the pinched faces of Mr. and Mrs. Potter, she could readily imagine the anger within them. They looked thin and angry. Could that be murderous intent in their eyes? Or was it a trick of the light? Thanks to Mary they had gone from being most pitied in the village to the most foolish.

  “Such debts from Mary would reflect badly on the Potters.”

  “That’s true enough, but more so if they could not pay them,” her aunt whispered back.

  Her uncle had just finished the service when a tall figure appeared by her side. “Constable Dyngley.”

  He nodded hello. “Miss Morton.”

  “How good of you to come.”

  Her uncle cleared his throat. Poppy did not speak again until they had each lain a flower or cast a handful of dirt onto the poor girl’s wooden coffin. Mr. and Mrs. Potter glared at the coffin and left hastily, with a dark expression on Mr. Potter’s face as he led his wife away.

  As Constable Dyngley began to escort Poppy away from the site, she spied a dark shadowy figure, heavy and stocky standing in shadows by the trees.

  She stared. “Do you see that?”

  “What?” Dyngley asked.

  She pointed, but the shadowy figure had disappeared.

  “Nothing, I’m seeing things.”

  “That doesn’t surprise me. On a grim day like this, I’d be amazed if you didn’t.” He offered her a smile. “I am to speak with the coachman later. The doctor tells me that aside from a hard knock on the head and a broken leg, the man’s fine. He’s laid up at his home but will permit visitors. I wondered if you would care to accompany me?”

  She brightened. “I would love to.”

  His expression warmed. “I thought you might say that. But how is your foot? You are able to walk?”

  “Yes, I am much better.” She held up the crude walking stick the doctor had fashioned for her. “I hardly need this.”

  She didn’t look where she stepped and a moment later, she almost lost her footing. Even grasping the stick, she would have tumbled had the constable not caught her. She blushed at the feel of his warm hands around her waist and back, supporting her.

  “Are you all right?” he asked. “Perhaps we had better postpone our outing.”

  “No, I assure you I am fine, truly. It was just a bad step.”

  He did not look convinced. “All the same, I would not wish to offend your guardians by putting you in further danger. I will speak to the man myself.”

  Poppy frowned. She had been told that some women smile prettily, and that for a man there is nothing so fair a sight as to see a woman angry. Unfortunately, she was not one of those women whose frown drives men to distraction, and if her looking glass were to be believed, she never would be.

  She felt unconscionably angry. She had no right to wish for his touch, however politely meant, nor should she be going off to interrogate villagers with him. She was not his wife nor were they engaged, so there was no reason for her to remain in his company. And yet she wished desperately to find Mary, and to learn what had happened to her maidservant.

  She spared a thought for the poor girl lying in her grave and left, trying to ignore the constable’s presence by her side.

  He coughed. “You recall Mr. Wright’s cows?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “The morning we met, my deputy interrupted talking about a farmer’s cows getting loose.”

  “I remember.”

  “Apparently Mr. Wright has used caltrops for years. He’d gotten the idea from a history book where the military threw them in the roads and rivers to stop invading armies with elephants.”

  “Elephants?” her curiosity was piqued.

  “Yes. So he managed to have some made for his cows. Smaller ones, mind you, but still enough to cause trouble. The night of Mary’s flight, someone had gone through his field and taken some. When I found them in the road later, it became clear.”

  “Someone meant to cause an accident.”

  “And only one person knew Mary was leaving that night.”

  “Who?”

  “Whoever they are, they caused her accident.”

  She paused, her brow furrowed in thought.

  “Do you happen to know a Mr. Neville Conn?”

  “Neville? Yes, he is the nephew of my uncle’s patron, Lady Cameron. I have only met him but once or twice. Her Ladyship mentions him often.”

  He looked at her with renewed interest. “Is he? Do you know him well?”

  “Not very. He sometimes is at her estate when she invites us around for tea, but he does not usually make an appearance. We dine with her every few weeks.”

  “And what do you know of Mr. Conn?”

  She shrugged. “He is a gentleman, lately returned from university. I believe he and Tom were in the same lectures together.”

  “Do you know him well?”

  “No. Her Ladyship condescends to us out of kindness. I gather he thinks we are a waste of her time.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  She colored. “On one occasion I was passing by when I overheard them talking. Why do you ask about him?”

  “Did Mary ever talk to you about him?”

  “You mean was he her lover? No. She would have told me if that was the case.”

  “She mentioned nothing about Mr. Conn?”

  Poppy frowned. “Such as?”

  “Perhaps she became aware of a dalliance of his—”

  “Constable. He is the nephew of my uncle’s patron. I am sure he is an honorable man.”

  “Not everyone you meet is so kind as you, Miss Morton.”

  She sniffed. “If you are looking for those who might have had a reason to wish Mary harm, I suggest you look closer at her family.”

  “The Potters?”

  She told him what her aunt had relayed during the service.

  “That is interesting. It sounds like her aunt and uncle did not know about her spending.”

  “No.”

  She spied her aunt’s knowing smile and turned to the constable. “Constable—”

  “Yes?”

  “You must have other things to do and I would not keep you. I can easily make my way home from here.”

  He faced her, his expression serious. “Have I offended you?”

  “No. I am tired, that is all.” She glanced at her aunt, who surveyed them with a smile. No doubt she expected him to propose at any moment. “I can make my own way back.”

  His face darkened like a storm cloud. “I will trouble you no further. If you will permit me, I will see you to your carriage.” He extended an arm.

  She inwardly sighed. Surely he could see that even this gesture of politeness, however slight, would elicit disappointed hopes from her aunt. “I am sorry to disappoint, but I have no carriage.”

  “Then how did you get here? Not on foot,” he surmised.

  “Our cart. My uncle feels it inappropriate for a clergyman to ride in any trappings finer than a cart and horse.”

  Constable Dyngley snorted. “Then I will escort you to your cart.”

  She rested her other hand on his arm and with the help of her cane, hobbled to the cart. He lifted her up onto the back and once ensured she was safely ensconced on the seat, her walking stick secured by her side, he tipped his hat and left, his face dark.

  Aunt Rachel joined her soon thereafter. “What did he speak to you about?”

  “Nothing in particular.”

  “He pays attention to you,” she pointed out.

  “No more than to anyone else.”

  “Hmph,” she said. “If I’d known you were going to be so blind to his attentions, I would have let you stay at home.”

  “Aunt!”

  She winked.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Henry kicked his horse’s sides and left the churchyard at a gallop. He felt angry with Poppy but knew not why.

  He slowed his horse to a canter and rode into the village, asking directions to the coachman’s dwelling. It was a little humble lodging in town, by a cluster of other small houses. It was quaint and would suit a single man nicely, he judged.

  As he knocked on the door, a voice called, “Come in!”

  A middle-aged maid with inquiring eyes answered the door. She said, “Who are you?”

  “Constable Dyngley.”

  Her face grew stern. “What’s this about? Colin’s done nothing wrong.”

  “I’m looking into the matter of the carriage accident.”

  “That weren’t his fault, he got thrown off. He broke his leg, did you hear that? Everyone knows it’s not Colin’s doing.”

  “No one’s saying it is. I have a few questions for him, that’s all. I need to speak with him.”

  “What about?” She stood in the doorway.

  “Oh, let him in, Lizzie,” a voice called from inside.

  The maid stood by to let him pass, and he entered the dwelling. Inside he saw a youngish man sat in a large chair, his leg propped up on a stool. Colin appraised Henry with interest as he walked past the maid and came to stand before him.

  “Colin…” Henry started.

  “Wilson,” the man supplied.

  Henry nodded to him and took a step back. It was a small room, with one window and a smoky fire in the fireplace. “Can you answer a few questions?”

  “It’s no trouble to me,” he said, “even though Lizzie there’ll have you think different. She thinks I’m at death’s door when it’s just a knock on me’ ead.”

  “And a broken leg,” she said primly.

  “Aye, and that,” he agreed. “What you want?”

  “What happened the night of the accident?” Henry asked.

  The man’s face clouded. “Couldn’t tell you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It was dark and rainy then. It was hard to see.” He shrugged.

  Henry surveyed him, but something didn’t seem right. He eyed the room, alighting on a new pair of boots by the door. He walked over and held them up. “These look new. Bit nice for a coachman.”

  Colin shrugged again.

  “You’ve come into a bit of money, haven’t you?”

  “Dunno what you mean. I gets paid like everyone else. Not my fault if something happens.”

  Henry stood over him. “Oh, I think it is. Where’d you get the new boots, Colin?”

  “They were a gift. Is no business of yours.”

  “Oh really? That’ll be your defense to the judge, eh, when I have you up in court as an accessory to murder? Fine. God’s luck to you.”

  “Wait a minute, what?” he leaned forward in his chair. “What defense? I’m a free man. I’m not done anything wrong.”

  “By refusing to help me in my investigation, I could have you up on charges in no time. Think Miss Lizzie will visit you in prison?”

  He looked behind him and there stood Lizzie, her face flushed with anger. “You wouldn’t hurt him.”

  “I don’t have to. Not if he’s clever. Are you smart, Colin?”

  Colin frowned, then nodded.

  “Then tell me where the new boots came from,” Henry said. His face could have been carved from stone. It was cold, hard and forbidding. He didn’t care for this man, nor his poorly disguised innocence regarding the murder.

  Colin met Henry’s eyes for a moment, then two. Then his gaze flicked away and he shrugged, his shoulders slumped. “I work for the Potters most days but anyone who wants a horse and carriage knows where to find me. Most folks find me here or at the stables in town. There’s the Euston Flyer that comes every two days, but some people like to travel oftener than that, so there’s me for ’em. That’s not a crime.”

  “No, it’s not. Tell me about the accident.”

  “What accident?”

  “The one where you bumped your head.”

  “And broke yer leg,” Lizzie supplied.

  “That too,” Henry said.

  With both pairs of eyes on him, Colin slumped in his seat and drank from a cup. His breath smelled like sour wine.

  “I was brushing down the Potters’ horses that afternoon when Miss Pendle comes to me and asks for a ride that night. I told her I was taking the family to the Assembly Rooms anyway, but she’s clear she wants me to take her away afterwards straight away, and paid me two shillings for my trouble, and a sixpence to hold my tongue.”

  “Where was she going?”

  “I don’t know. I was to take her as far as Cambridge.”

  “Cambridge?”

  “Aye. Don’t know what she wants there. She met me after the dance and wanted to leave immediately, so I took the family home. Then an hour later, she and Margaret met me outside and off we went.”

  “No man accompanied them?”

  “No. Just the two of them.”

  “She said she didn’t want the family to know what she was about. I think she was running away.”

  “Why didn’t you report this?”

  He shrugged. “Seemed like she was keen to get away and needed help.”

  For a price, Henry thought. “You think the Potters are poor employers?”

  “No sir. They suit me fine.” He stroked his leg which was tied to a splint.

  “Did they bring much with them?” Henry asked.

  “No. She only took one carrying case, as did Margie.”

  “What did she look like? Mary,” Henry said.

  Colin’s forehead wrinkled as he tried to remember. “Pretty face, good child-birthing hips, and a slim ankle.”

  That earned him a loud “Hmph!” from Lizzie the maid.

  Colin grinned. “Aye, a pretty girl like that going on her own, she’d need a man to look after her.” He thought about what he’d said and his face fell. “She had no business going on like that at night. It was too late for two girls like that to be out. There was one thing that was odd.”

  “What’s that?”

  “We were just about to leave town when she asked me the time. When I told her about midnight, she ordered me to stop and wait.”

  “Wait? Why?”

  “I think she was meeting someone.”

  “Who?”

  “I don’t know. I waited ten minutes or so then took off again. It was wet and raining when we reached the main road. All of a sudden the horses shrieked and reared up. I think I heard a shot, but it could have been the lightning. All I knew was the horses was in pain and they were scared, and I must’ve fallen.”

  “You were thrown,” Henry said.

  Colin ran a hand through his messy hair. “Maybe I was. All I know is that one minute I was trying to calm the horses and the next I was on the ground and me leg hurt something terrible. I tried to get up but I must’ve taken a turn. The next thing I see is the doctor and his men and I’m wet with the rain.”

  “You were thrown from the carriage and probably knocked insensible. It is not uncommon, especially in such accidents as this. Did you see anything?”

  Colin frowned. “There was one thing. I didn’t see anyone, but I heard someone cry out. Could he have been the killer?”

  “Maybe,” Henry said. “It’s possible.”

  Lizzie gushed, “Oh, and you were so close to that. Bless your heart, you’re a hero, you are.”

  Colin puffed up slightly. “I didn’t see nothing. And I hear that the girl died? Mary?”

  “The maidservant. Did you see or hear Miss Pendle at all?” Henry asked.

  Colin shook his head. “I can tell you one thing. The girl, she was excited when she first hired me, but that night when I picked the girls up at the house, she was nervous.”

  “Nervous how? Excited?”

 

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