A Dark Anatomy by Robin Blake Read Free Book Online Page B

bad.’
    â€˜Indeed it was. I’ve seen it. Did you touch the body? Was she cold?’
    â€˜No, not quite cold she was.’
    â€˜And did you see evidence of any other person in the woods when you were searching, or after you found her? A vagabond perhaps?’
    â€˜Nobody.’
    â€˜And you found no knife or sharp blade beside the body such as might have given her the throat wound?’
    â€˜I did not.’
    â€˜Or nearby?’
    â€˜I found nothing but her.’
    â€˜And then?’
    â€˜I went back to Hall quick as I could, told what I’d found, then went to my work up Shot’s Hill.’
    â€˜Why did you do that? Why not stay to help?’
    â€˜What help? She was dead. I don’t mind who’s dead, even the King, but there’s always work to finish.’
    â€˜How well did you know your mistress?’
    â€˜Didn’t know her. Didn’t want to. A woman shouldn’t ride astride the horse, but she did. I kept my distance lest I receive direction of the Lord and speak my mind.’
    I had heard of this curious thing about Dolores Brockletower’s manner of riding before. She seemed to have scant regard for custom, and less for the reputation of a lady.
    I dismissed Shipkin, after telling him he would be called as a
witness at the inquest, where I would ask him similar questions to those he had just answered.
    William Pearson came in next and I asked him to detail what happened when Mrs Brockletower’s mare arrived home riderless.
    â€˜She came in at the trot, wanting her provender.’
    â€˜By the way, what was she called, the mare?’
    â€˜We called her Molly.’
    â€˜Did Molly seem to have been hard-ridden at any point during the ride?’
    â€˜No, she was not in a sweat.’
    â€˜And she had on her saddle, and other tackle, in good order?’
    â€˜Aye.’
    â€˜Did you notice anything else about the horse?’
    â€˜No. Only the blood.’
    â€˜The blood?’
    â€˜Drops of blood on her neck, in her mane. Mistress’s blood, you can suppose.’
    â€˜What kind of drops? Little ones … big ones?’
    He pondered a moment, then said with deliberation, ‘They were like thick gouts.’
    â€˜Are they still there – in the mane, on the neck?’
    Pearson’s eyes bulged incredulously. I have commonly seen the look on grooms and ostlers when they are asked (what they consider) ignorant questions about horses.
    â€˜You don’t do that, man! After exercise you wash them down, you comb them.’
    â€˜Of course, yes. I just thought, in the heat of the moment … you know. And, er, when that was being done, was it noticed that the mare wanted a shoe?’
    I rose and picked the horseshoe from the mantel.
    â€˜This shoe, for instance.’

    Pearson took the shoe from me and turned it in his hands.
    â€˜The mare was soundly shod when she went out,’ he said firmly. ‘I made sure of it, that being my job. And when she returned she was still shod in all four. I made sure again, that also being my job, Mr Cragg.’
    Some witnesses are like a hot cup on a cold day that should be drunk expressly. William Pearson was such a one, cooling fast towards me and, it seemed, anxious to get back to his duties. I hurried on.
    â€˜Well, what about the shoe itself? It was found not far from Mrs Brockletower’s body. Does it come from a Garlick horse?’
    â€˜It looks like one of ours, but that’s not to say it is. It might well be the work of our farrier Pennyfold, the blacksmith at Yolland. Then again, it might not.’
    He handed me back the shoe and pushed himself impatiently out of the chair.
    â€˜Will that be all?’ he asked abruptly.
    Before letting Pearson go, I told him I’d want him, too, at the inquest. And then, as he went out of the room, another question hatched in my mind. This suddenly seemed of such significance that I jumped up and