Bone House_ A Novel - Betsy Tobin [49]
“Not yet. I came straight here. I thought it best that you . . . ” she says.
I nod. “What will they do with her?”
“Bring her to the barn at the alehouse for now. Tomorrow the magistrate can decide.” She stands in the doorway, her face twitching with alarm.
“What is it?” I ask. She looks from me to Cook, and takes a deep breath.
“They’ve cut her open,” she says. “The children said her belly had been split like a melon.”
“She was with child,” I murmur.
Mary shakes her head. “There was no mention of a child,” she says.
Cook crosses herself. “Lord help us,” she says under her breath. “ ’Tis the devil’s work.” Mary and I stare at each other intently.
“I must get back,” she says finally.
“I’ll come with you,” I say, and go to get my cloak.
We hurry along to the alehouse, and by the time we arrive there is already a small crowd of people awaiting the party’s return. Mary tells them fiercely to buy a drink or be gone—a few scatter but most shuffle inside and for the next few minutes she is kept busy at the taps, filling tankards of ale. I hover in the kitchen, peering out the back door from time to time. At length I hear the men return and we file into the yard to meet them. Samuell nods grimly to Mary and me. They have strapped the body to a sledge and covered it entirely with a horse blanket. Samuell tells the men to take the body inside the barn, then turns back to the small crowd that has flooded the yard with curiosity.
“You can all go back inside,” he says. “There’ll be no public showing.” The crowd hesitates, then one young farmer steps forward.
“What news do you bring, Samuell?”
“Naught,” he replies brusquely. “ ’Tis but a corpse. And one you’ve seen before. So be gone with you.” He waits while the crowd slowly disperses, then turns back to Mary and me. Mary lays a hand on his arm.
“It’s her then, is it?” she says quietly.
“Aye,” he replies with a tired sigh. He lowers his voice then. “And she’s a bloody mess.”
“They cut her then?”
He looks around a little furtively before continuing. “It was as they said . . . split her belly open.”
“Was there any sign of a baby within?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “If she was with child, then they’ve taken it, for she’s been gutted like a fish.”
At that moment I am overcome with nausea and must turn aside. Mary lays a hand upon my shoulder and gently steers me back into the kitchen, where she forces me to sit. She pours a mug of ale from a jug on the table and places it in my hands. “Who would do such a thing?” I ask. “I mean . . . for what purpose?” Mary shakes her head slowly from side to side. “I thought . . . it was her they wanted. But now it seems as if it was the child.”
“Maybe the father,” she suggests.
“But why? Why not let her take it to the grave? There is no sense in it.”
“Drink,” she orders, then watches to make sure I do. “Perhaps Cook was right,” she says finally. “Perhaps it was the devil’s work.”
I think of my mother, and Long Boy in his bed. If I do not go to them, someone else will, for news travels quickly in our little village.
“I must go,” I say, taking up my cloak. Samuell enters and I turn to him.
“What will you do with her?” I ask.
“Keep her under lock and key tonight. The magistrate will come tomorrow.” I nod, start to take my leave, when another thought occurs to me: the painter and his commission. “Samuell,” I say slowly. “How is her face?” He looks at me strangely. “I mean . . . is it the same?”
“It was untouched,” he says a little suspiciously. “Why?” Mary and I exchange glances, and in an instant she reads my mind.
“The boy may wish to see her,” I say, not entirely untruthfully. Samuell nods, and I slip out the door, avoiding Mary’s disapproving gaze.
When I arrive my mother and the boy are at the table eating supper. It is as cozy a scene as one could wish for, and in that instant I am sorry she was ever found. They both look up as I enter, and I smile a little nervously, tell Long Boy he is looking well. He nods and continues eating, and I ask my mother to come outside so I may have a word in private. She hesitates, then dons