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Authors: April Taylor
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her cheek. “My father found a special physician who diagnosed a deep inner malady and made me well again.”
“And you, Master Apothecary, I remember your kindness when Mistress Paige brought me to your shop. Come in. How can I aid you?”
Bertila put her arm around the beldame.
“Master Ballard would like to see Edith if that is possible.”
“Why?” Goodwife Brook’s expression showed confusion and some hostility.
“I mean no disrespect to your granddaughter, but there are all kinds of stories circulating about how Edith met her death and those that say she took her own life are gathering pace. I believe that, were I to see her body, I can temper the wildness of the gossip with fact and truth.”
She stood, digesting his words in silence.
“Surely it would be better,” Luke continued, “if I could state that Edith was a blameless innocent. Folk trust me and will believe what I say.”
She inclined her head.
“Very well.”
Edith’s pitiful body was on a table in a small outbuilding that Luke supposed had at one time housed a pig. She had been wrapped in a sheet and laid in a narrow coffin. Luke saw at once that the maid’s grandmother had washed her clean of blood, a fact that frustrated him, but in truth, he could have expected nothing else. He would have to hope that the remains could still tell him something. Joss settled at the foot of the table, her head resting on her paws, her eyes never leaving her master.
First Luke checked Edith’s hands. The nails were bitten to the quick and showed signs of manual work, but neither the backs nor palms were marked by any kind of wound. Luke frowned before examining her arms. Here, the evidence of long slashes up both inner wrists was all too evident. Bertila winced and turned Goodwife Brook’s head into her shoulder. Luke glanced at her.
“Aye, there is no doubt she was killed unlawfully, but she did not suffer, I can assure you of that.”
“How can you tell?”
“Had she struggled with her captor, there would be cuts on her hands and fingers, but there are none. She was overcome, doubtless by a blow to her head—look at this bruising here on her brow—and then laid in the tub and the fatal wounds inflicted.” He put his hand on the old woman’s arm. “I know this is no comfort to you, but I can truly tell you that Edith did not suffer in any way. She is with God and his angels now.”
She put her hand over his and looked directly into his eyes, entreaty clear in hers. “Master Ballard, the priest will not bury her because he says she took her own life, but my Edith would not do that. She was as God-fearing a maid as ever lived and would not put such a mortal sin on her soul.”
“I will talk to him, never fear. There is no doubt Edith was murdered and I will prove this to him. She will lie in consecrated ground. Bertila, will you help me to turn her over?”
Luke was unsure what instinct prompted this suggestion, but decided he must follow it up. When the girl’s back was exposed, he was pleased he had. For there, cut deep and clear into the white flesh, was the jagged shape of an eight-legged spider.
Chapter Seven
Luke ignored the sharply indrawn breaths from the two women.
“This is further proof that Edith was foully done to death,” he said, his voice thick with indignation. “Does the priest believe she cut her wrists and then carved this abomination into her back? Man of God?”
Only the warning squeeze of Bertila’s fingers on his arm stopped the flow of invective that hovered on the tip of his tongue. He had been aware of her puzzled expression, suspecting that she had seen the flash of the garnet in his hand followed by the sudden change in the old woman’s demeanor. However, she said nothing, doubtless trusting that he would explain in due course. Thank God for her reticence.
Luke inclined his head to Goodwife Brook, whilst at the same time wiping a small piece of linen along one of the wrist wounds in such a way
“And you, Master Apothecary, I remember your kindness when Mistress Paige brought me to your shop. Come in. How can I aid you?”
Bertila put her arm around the beldame.
“Master Ballard would like to see Edith if that is possible.”
“Why?” Goodwife Brook’s expression showed confusion and some hostility.
“I mean no disrespect to your granddaughter, but there are all kinds of stories circulating about how Edith met her death and those that say she took her own life are gathering pace. I believe that, were I to see her body, I can temper the wildness of the gossip with fact and truth.”
She stood, digesting his words in silence.
“Surely it would be better,” Luke continued, “if I could state that Edith was a blameless innocent. Folk trust me and will believe what I say.”
She inclined her head.
“Very well.”
Edith’s pitiful body was on a table in a small outbuilding that Luke supposed had at one time housed a pig. She had been wrapped in a sheet and laid in a narrow coffin. Luke saw at once that the maid’s grandmother had washed her clean of blood, a fact that frustrated him, but in truth, he could have expected nothing else. He would have to hope that the remains could still tell him something. Joss settled at the foot of the table, her head resting on her paws, her eyes never leaving her master.
First Luke checked Edith’s hands. The nails were bitten to the quick and showed signs of manual work, but neither the backs nor palms were marked by any kind of wound. Luke frowned before examining her arms. Here, the evidence of long slashes up both inner wrists was all too evident. Bertila winced and turned Goodwife Brook’s head into her shoulder. Luke glanced at her.
“Aye, there is no doubt she was killed unlawfully, but she did not suffer, I can assure you of that.”
“How can you tell?”
“Had she struggled with her captor, there would be cuts on her hands and fingers, but there are none. She was overcome, doubtless by a blow to her head—look at this bruising here on her brow—and then laid in the tub and the fatal wounds inflicted.” He put his hand on the old woman’s arm. “I know this is no comfort to you, but I can truly tell you that Edith did not suffer in any way. She is with God and his angels now.”
She put her hand over his and looked directly into his eyes, entreaty clear in hers. “Master Ballard, the priest will not bury her because he says she took her own life, but my Edith would not do that. She was as God-fearing a maid as ever lived and would not put such a mortal sin on her soul.”
“I will talk to him, never fear. There is no doubt Edith was murdered and I will prove this to him. She will lie in consecrated ground. Bertila, will you help me to turn her over?”
Luke was unsure what instinct prompted this suggestion, but decided he must follow it up. When the girl’s back was exposed, he was pleased he had. For there, cut deep and clear into the white flesh, was the jagged shape of an eight-legged spider.
Chapter Seven
Luke ignored the sharply indrawn breaths from the two women.
“This is further proof that Edith was foully done to death,” he said, his voice thick with indignation. “Does the priest believe she cut her wrists and then carved this abomination into her back? Man of God?”
Only the warning squeeze of Bertila’s fingers on his arm stopped the flow of invective that hovered on the tip of his tongue. He had been aware of her puzzled expression, suspecting that she had seen the flash of the garnet in his hand followed by the sudden change in the old woman’s demeanor. However, she said nothing, doubtless trusting that he would explain in due course. Thank God for her reticence.
Luke inclined his head to Goodwife Brook, whilst at the same time wiping a small piece of linen along one of the wrist wounds in such a way
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