From the Charred Remains (30 page)

“I’ve been accused of this woman’s murder,” Lucy told him brightly. “I didn’t do it, of course. The constable thought I would be safer here, in case the real murderer came around.” Catching the constable’s dour look, she added, “What? Dr. Larimer knows I didn’t kill her. There’s no use pretending otherwise.”

“Lucy?” Dr. Larimer scoffed. “I should think not.” The physician gingerly pulled back the dirty blanket covering Tilly’s body. He selected a pair of sharp scissors from a collection of metal instruments that he’d laid on a tray prior to beginning the dissection. “May as well examine the body here,” he grumbled when he arrived. “Since the body’s already been moved.” After cutting through the front of her frock, he’d spent the next thirty minutes carefully examining her. From time to time, he’d murmur something to Sheridan. Lucy looked on with considerable curiosity. During her time working at the magistrate’s household, she’d heard the physician describe findings he’d gleaned from dissecting a corpse. Certainly, she had never seen such a thing performed, and she couldn’t help but feel a bit intrigued, if a little sick, too.

After Larimer’s comment that Tilly had been murdered, the constable started to say something. The physician held up his hand. “Let me finish my observations.”

Murmuring something to Sheridan, the two men carefully flipped the corpse on her stomach. The physician cut away the back of her dress, to better see the murdered woman’s death wound. The constable looked away, she was glad to see, preserving some of Tilly’s dignity. Lucy noted with faint satisfaction how the assistant gagged when he took a deep breath.

The physician peered down at him. “Steady there, lad. You’ve got to be made of sterner stuff if you ever hope to join my ranks. Look at Lucy there. She’s not fainting and carrying on, is she?”

“Stabbed, of course,” Larimer said after a cursory examination. He looked up, just in time to see his assistant holding a sachet of dried flowers to his nose. Without missing a beat, the physician plucked the posy from his assistant’s fingers. With a grimace, he dropped the dried flowers to the floor, grinding them under his heavy black boot. For a moment, the sweet smell of lavender and rosemary filled the air. “Sheridan, what do you make of that?” He pointed to two large purpling discolorations that extended across her back. “It seems her blood pooled twice. That’s what those discolorations indicate.”

“Well, ahem—” Sheridan’s ears grew red, as he struggled to answer the physician’s question. He looked helplessly down at the ground petals on the floor of the dirty jail, up at the crack on the ceiling, anywhere but at Dr. Larimer’s expectant gaze.

“It means the body was only moved once,” Lucy called from her cell. “It pooled the first time where she died, behind the tavern, and then again when she was moved here on the cart.”

All three men turned to look at her. Lucy smirked, but didn’t say anything about how she’d acquired this surprising bit of knowledge. Living through the plague, Lucy had learned something about death and what it did to the human body. Not to mention, she’d heard Larimer himself describe such scenes when he spoke to the magistrate. Indeed, she had heard quite a lot about how the doctor determined death, since Master Hargrave always asked detailed questions and the physician would give detailed replies in return. Certainly, the men were far less guarded when ladies were not present, and the physician had never shown any qualms sharing sordid details before a servant innocently passing around salvers of cheese or filled goblets with wine.

“Just so.” The physician pulled the blanket back over Tilly’s face. He looked at the constable. “Well, Sheridan here can write up the report. Poisoned, then stabbed.”

“Poisoned, then stabbed. That’s odd.” The constable rubbed the stubble on his jaw. “How many times was she stabbed?”

“Twice,” the physician said. “It looks as if she was bent over, and her assailant struck her twice with a short knife.”

The constable nodded. “She’d have been retching from the poison, no doubt. Bent over double.”

Something else had occurred to Lucy. “Was she stabbed in the stomach before or after being stabbed in the back?”

Still stinging from being mocked for his vapors, Sheridan smirked. “Did you not hear Dr. Larimer, girl? This here woman was struck in the back.”

“Then what accounts for all the blood on her shirtfront?” Lucy responded, hotly. “I saw it when her body was brought in. She most certainly did not have that blood when I saw her at the inn.”

“She was not stabbed in the stomach. There are no wounds there at all.” The physician picked up Tilly’s cast-off skirts, and scowled. “This blood does not match up with her wound.”

“Animal blood, then?” Sheridan offered. “She was probably slaughtering a chicken or a pig in the kitchen. Got the blood on her waist.”

Here Lucy scoffed. “Not Tilly’s job. Would be the cook’s.”

“You seem to know a lot about her job then.” Sheridan looked meaningfully at her cell. “Perhaps there’s a good reason you’re in there.”

The physician scowled again. “This is why I do not like the body to be moved from the original crime scene. There are many things to be learned. We must go back to the Fox and Duck to discover the truth.”

“You’ll need me,” Lucy stated. She didn’t know what had made her say it. She bit her lip. “You do.”

Sheridan threw up his hands. “Why would we possibly need you?”

The constable looked resigned. Sheridan was about to protest until the physician spoke. “You’re quite right. Lucy’s got a shrewd sense about her. And she was there, just before the murder occurred. She might see something we don’t. By all means, Constable, bring Lucy along.”

*   *   *

On the way to the Fox and Duck, Lucy left word with Lach about what she was doing. Will had never stopped back, having gone straight to the smithy’s that morning from the arms of his ladylove. Master Aubrey still had not returned from the licenser’s, for which Lucy was grateful. “I’m going to write the True Account on Tilly’s death. Master Aubrey will like that,” she said, more to herself than to Lach.

“If you say so,” he grumbled.

She had to promise that she would do all kinds of chores when she got back before he gave his grudging consent. She needed to run a bit to catch up with the physician, Mister Sheridan, and the constable. Along the way, she listened as Dr. Larimer peppered Mister Sheridan about different types of poisons, and what one could do should they come across a soul who had been poisoned. “What would Nicholas Culpepper tell us to do?” the physician asked.

“Prepare an emetic, sir. Something to make the sufferer forcibly vomit the contents of his stomach and restore his humors. Grind up some white hellebore, I should think.”

The physician nodded. “Although some of these poisons work frightfully quick. Mustard seed, or a bit of rosemary might work in most cases, I should think. Assuming we were to happen upon the poor soul in time, that is.”

The two men spent the next quarter of an hour conversing about the relative strengths of different poisons and their antidotes. Soon, they had reached the tavern. The Fox and Duck looked much as it had the day before, only more crowded if anything. Word must have spread about Tilly’s murder. Master Aubrey’s wry observance that “everyone loves a murder” never seemed so true.

“Let’s check around back,” the constable said.

There they found the bellman waiting for them. Lucy thought the alley smelled even worse than yesterday, if that were possible. She curled her lip in disgust when she saw the remnants of several small animals and birds, half picked away by other rodents and cats.

Although it was nearing mid-morning, the sky was overcast and cloudy, making the alley appear as if it were dusk. The constable ordered the bellman to bring some lanterns to better light the area.

“The body was found about here, sir.” Hank pointed to a dung heap, next to the tavern’s empty barrels. Lucy eyed them warily, thinking about Tahmin’s body falling out of a barrel similar to those lined up before her. Bringing the lanterns over, they all studied the spot carefully.

“There!” the physician said. “That’s vomit. And that’s blood. Both fairly fresh.” He peered closer. “Shine the light here.”

They could make out a dark stain. “Her wound would not have bled very much,” Dr. Larimer commented, carefully stepping through the rubble to protect his fine laced shoes from the muck. “I think someone else was here, bleeding out. Although it could have been an animal of course.”

The constable, who had been pacing, suddenly snapped his fingers. “Wait a minute! I’m Tilly, feeling sick, having just taken some poison, unbeknownst to myself. Not wanting to vomit or carry on inside the tavern—knowing I’d be dismissed for sure by the innkeeper—I stagger out of the kitchen.” Here he proceeded to do so. If it were not so serious, Lucy would have laughed.

“I enter the alley then, and then—?”

“You’re set upon by an assailant,” Sheridan said. “Obvious.”

“She had no defensive wounds on her hands. She was clearly struck from behind” Dr. Larimer reminded them.

“Perhaps she was vomiting,” Lucy said. “Still doesn’t explain the blood on the front of her dress. The blood must have come from somewhere else. Or someone else.”

Duncan resumed his play-acting. He feigned retching. “So I vomit and see what—?” Here he pantomimed Tilly’s look of despair.

Lucy stepped forward. “Let me. I’m Tilly. I’ve spied someone. Lying on the ground—” She gestured to the constable to lay on the ground. “This person’s bleeding. It has to be someone she knows, maybe even someone she cares about. She goes to him. He’s bleeding. Maybe he’s dead.” Kneeling beside Duncan, she put her hands on his shoulders. “She begins to weep, and she throws her arms around him, getting his blood on the front of her dress—”

Before she could finish her charade, Lucy heard Dr. Larimer’s slight dry cough above her, and she recalled herself. Standing up, she finished, “And that’s when she’s killed by her attacker.” Lucy didn’t look at the constable, who had also returned to his feet.

“Two assailants?” the physician mused. “One who poisoned her, and then one who stabbed her? Could be the same person, I suppose.”

“What happened to the other body?” Sheridan asked, shaking his head. “If Tilly really stumbled over someone.”

“We need to look for blood splatter,” the constable said. “If there was another body then—”

“Look!” Lucy pointed. They all peered closer. They could make out what looked like a smear of blood drops that led to the door next to the tavern.

Dr. Larimer touched the drops gingerly. “Fresh. From a rather deep wound, I’d say.”

“A cooper’s shop,” Hank said, opening the door. “I talked to the shopkeeper yesterday, to see if he’d heard anything.”

“And had he?” Duncan asked.

The bellman shook his head. Lucy was busy following the drops. “They lead this way.” She moved quickly down some steps. “Into the cellar.”

“Let me go first,” Duncan said. “Please, Lucy.”

Reluctantly, Lucy stood aside to let the constable and Dr. Larimer press past her. The next moment, they heard a faint moaning beyond the cellar door. Duncan tried the handle, but it appeared to be locked. He gestured to Hank, and he and the bellman pushed together on the door, cracking it open.

They held up their lanterns to find a figure laying prone on a bit of straw and dirty matting. His upper body was bare, wrapped only in a bit of cloth stained with sweat and blood. As the man’s eyes caught the candlelight, he blinked and tried to shield his face.

Lucy gasped. It was Jacques Durand.

The physician moved quickly to the injured card sharp, Lucy right at his heels. The Frenchman looked gaunt, and his face was dirty and unshaven. A grimy pus dripped from the open wound in his shoulder. Lucy looked away, taking in the cellar where Durand had obviously been hiding for at least the night. Evidence of the cooper’s profession was everywhere—rough-cut oak, bevels, and half-formed barrel frames—laying about in a seeming disarray. No doubt, the cooper would just throw misshapen barrel parts into the cellar, maybe intending to reuse the wood for new barrel frames.

Despite his obvious pain, the card sharp put on a bold front.
“C’est un plaîsir de vous revoir,”
he said. “It is a pleasure to see you again.” His words were gallant but his tone conveying quite the opposite sentiment.

“Who did this to you?” Lucy cried. “Who killed Tilly? Was it you?!”

Unexpectedly, Durand’s eyes filled with tears, and he sank back. “Tilly!” he murmured.

“Pray, quiet yourself.” The physician pulled back the rags wrapping Jacques’s upper arm, and sniffed it. “This wound seems to be infected. I must tend to it at once. Sheridan, fetch my bag.”

“Why don’t you tell us what happened?” the constable said. “The physician can tend to your wounds while you talk.” He bowed to Larimer. “That is, if that’s all right with you, sir.”

“Quite so, quite so,” Larimer said. “Bring me the lantern.”

Seeing the card sharp still struggling to speak, Lucy ran up and filled her own little cup with water from the well she had spied outside the Fox and Duck. When she returned, Jacques took a grateful sip. “I was set upon by two scoundrels in the alley. I can only assume they were the ones to kill my dear Tilly.
Mon Dieu.
If I could lay hand on those foul-mouthed villains, tear them from limb to limb, I would.”

“So you knew Tilly was dead, but did not see her killed?” Lucy asked, trying to work it out. “How could that be?”

“I don’t rightly know,” Jacques said, licking his lips. He took a sip from the small tin cup Lucy was holding to his mouth. “I came out, was set upon, and I must have fainted at that point. When I awoke, I found Tilly collapsed upon me. She was dead.”

“Why didn’t you get help?” Lucy asked.

Jacques sniffed as if he had inhaled something unpleasant, but did not answer her.

The constable sneered in return. “He’s a coward.”

“
Oui,
” Durand admitted, wiping away a wayward tear. “I knew she was dead. I would not be so foolish as to go to the law, to run the risk of being tossed into one of your wretched prisons!”