Cheating the Hangman by Judith Cutler Read Free Book Online

hamlet – I could recognise neither the rider nor his mount, a handsome grey. Who but a rich gentleman could afford an animal flying with such ease and grace over hedges and ditches? And why should a rich man appear as eager to get away from the hamlet as I was to reach it? And what might such a man be doing in such a sad forgotten corner of God’s good earth in the first place?
    The track was now so deeply rutted that it was time to offer guidance to Titus, who took my advice as if he really needed it. We picked a delicate route through mud and worse, arriving once again outside the hovel. As before, we attracted urchins, probably of both sexes. Mrs Trent – or Robert – had filled any space in my saddlebags with last autumn’s apples, many too wizened to be eaten by anything except a hopeful horse or starving children. I tossed a few around as I threw balls at cricket practice, soft, easy catches, but, picking out the most likely child, passed not one apple but two. One was for Titus, the other for himself. As I mentally girded myself to enter the place of suffering, a figure emerged, carrying a bundle, from which a thin mewling struggled to emerge.
    ‘’Tis Eliza Fowler’s babe, Your Reverence,’ she declared, bobbing a hurried curtsy. ‘There’s a woman down yonder as has just lost her own. Sarey Tump. I thought – but I’d best be quick.’
    ‘I’ll be with you on the instant. First I must look to the poor mother.’ Fortunately I was not called on to do this alone. The sound of hooves heralded Edmund’s arrival.
    The woman looked at him bleakly, sniffed, and scurried off with her tiny burden.
     
    Having said prayers I could not be sure the dying woman could hear or comprehend, I baptised her puny infant with the swiftly chosen name of Joseph, Sarey, the newly bereaved mother, standing as godmother. Her bemused daughter, a child of perhaps seven, set off to find her father in the coppice, wherever that might be. Feeling that for the moment I could do no more, I returned to see if I couldassist Edmund, but he had already pulled what passed for a sheet over the dead mother’s face and was forcing a little brandy down the throat of a man so begrimed and wizened it was impossible to attribute an age to him. Assuring him that I would conduct the funeral free of charge and that Edmund would pay for the grave, and leaving to hand the food I’d brought, we waited as he slid into a brandy-induced slumber.
    Edmund had other calls to make in the area so when we reached our horses, still guarded by a platoon of half-starved children to whom we distributed a shower of pennies, we parted company. Titus picked his way disdainfully to the home of Mr Boddice, the churchwarden, with whom I had a short and forceful conversation concerning Mrs Fowler’s burial service and interment.
    Once again I mounted Titus, startling him by not turning for home. To be sure, it was late for a morning call, and I had not done him the courtesy of leaving my card beforehand. But I had a few observations to make to the landlord of this pitiable apology for a village and they would not wait for a more eligible occasion.

CHAPTER FIVE
    Lord Wychbold, a man in his later forties whose pallor suggested an aversion to outdoor activity, permitted himself a sneer of surprise at my precipitate arrival at Lambert Place, a huge establishment dating back to Elizabeth’s time, but now in sad want of repair. Ensconced in his library, an untidy room one end of which he clearly used as his study, he raised his eyeglass at my travel-stained garments as he bade me, with clear reluctance, to take a seat. A pile of folios tottered on the floor beside him; with an irritated sigh he closed the one on his lap and placed it on the others. On the vast and elegant range of shelves, the books in regular use could be distinguished from the others by the presence of fingermarks on the spines; the rest were covered in a rich patina of dust. Mrs Trent would have