CHAPTER 10

Mrs Younger's words echoed in my mind as the carriage rattled its way back towards town. Susan Hale. The name meant nothing to me, but if she had been married to the driver that fateful night, perhaps she could shed some light on what really happened and put my mind at ease.

John sat across from me, lines across his forehead as he stared at his feet. He'd been quiet since we left the house, though so had I. My book sat unopened on the seat beside me. Tales of magic and miracles seemed in poor taste, given the news.

"What do you think?" I asked, breaking the silence. "About what Mrs Younger said?"

He looked up, his blue eyes meeting mine. "I think," he said slowly, "that there's more to this story. If the accident wasn't an accident…then someone must have had a motive."

"But who?" I asked, frustrated. "Who would want my aunt and uncle dead?"

John shrugged. The sun, which sat just above the tree-lined horizon, shone through the carriage window. It danced across his face, highlighting the reddish tinge in his brown hair. "Your mother stood to inherit everything with them gone. Isn't that motive?"

I recoiled. "Mrs Younger's words have been playing on my mind. On one hand, it seems completely ridiculous to even consider such an action. Yes, she is cold and aloof, but a murderess?"

John held up his hands. "I'm just saying it's a possibility you might have to consider." He was silent for a moment as he turned his focus back out the window. "Everyone is capable of just about anything if they're pushed far enough or want something bad enough."

There was something in his tone that gave me pause. I wondered if he had done something. Life for the workers looked hard and not very rewarding. As he sat there, I could imagine myself beside him, but this world was mine. I daresay I wouldn't last an hour working in a mill.

John had helped me more than once, though he could have refused, walked away. In him, I'd seen more honour than the drunken behaviour of those supposed gentlemen at the balls once the dancing stopped and the wine flowed.

Sighing, I leaned my head back against the plush squabs. A dull ache began to throb behind my eyes.

"We shall see what this Susan Hale has to say," I said at last. "Perhaps she can provide some clarity."

I must have fallen asleep as I was jostled awake as the carriage came to a stop with a sharp shudder. Outside the windows, I saw the little wooden huts we passed that morning. "Looks like we're here, on the edge of town, just as the housekeeper said."

He opened the door and hopped down, turning to offer me his hand. It took me a moment to smooth down the creases in my dress and make myself as presentable as I could without a mirror. Then I took his hand gratefully and descended, my boots crunching on the packed dirt road.

"Wait here," John said to the driver.

We found ourselves on an exceptionally dreary stretch of road punctuated by ramshackle houses that looked like they might blow over in a strong wind. Scrawny chickens pecked at the dirt and a skeletal looking dog slunk between the buildings.

"Best be on our guard," John muttered. I set my shoulders and lifted my chin even as my hand gripped my reticule a little tighter.

We passed by several more homes. Each one constructed with similar materials to the last. A child darted out from between two. John held his arm out in front of me and my feet stilled.

"Boy, you know a Mrs Hale?" John asked.

He paused, a stick in his hand. His clothes were full of holes and the trousers were several sizes too small as the hems on the legs barely reached his knees. The boy's hair moved in the breeze and he inclined his head to the side. He can't have been more than seven.

"Depends on what's in it for me?"

I reached into my reticule, only to find the boy's gaze had moved from John to me.

"You don't belong in places like this. Your fancy clothes will get all dirty."

"A gold coin if you tell us where she lives," I said. Beside me, John cleared his throat. I felt a twitch in my stomach, realising my mistake.

"Just one Miss? I might muddle the lady with someone else. Memory ain't good."

"One, and your memory will be clear as day. We can find someone else to ask."

The boy stood there for a moment. "House down there, the one with the broken gate."

I placed the coin on the boy's dirt-streaked palm. His fingers closed around it tightly.

"You wanna watch what you say to the crooked lady. She don't take too kindly to people like you."

He turned and hit a ball made of leaves, sending it rolling out of sight. The boy grinned before turning to chase after it.

"Best keep moving," I whispered. Holding tightly onto John's arm, we walked further until we found a gate resting on the ground amongst the weeds.

The walls were made of mismatched planks of weathered wood, and a crooked chimney leaned precariously to one side. I stooped to avoid hitting my head on the sagging lintel as John rapped on the door with his knuckles.

There was a shuffling sound from within, and then the door creaked open a crack, just wide enough for a sliver of a face to peer out. "What d'ya want?" a voice demanded.

"Good day," I said. "We're looking for a Mrs Susan Hale. Would you happen to know where we might find her?"

The door opened a fraction wider. I glimpsed her face and a slightly grimy shawl.

Narrowed eyes raked over me, then John. "Might be I do," she allowed. "Might want to know who's asking and why?"

I hesitated, but John cut smoothly in. "I'm Mr John Ingham, representing the law firm of Fredericks and Fredericks. We just need to ask her a few questions about a legal matter."

Her gaze flicked back to me. "And her?"

"My clerk, she is highly specialised in this area of law," John replied without missing a beat. I kept my expression neutral and politely nodded at the woman.

She considered us a moment longer and abruptly stepped back, opening the door fully with a grunt. "I'm Susan Hale," she announced. "Best come in."

We walked behind her as she limped into a cramped room. A small fire burned in the hearth, filling the space with a smoky haze. The scant furniture consisted of a rickety table, two chairs that had seen better days, and a narrow sleeping cot pushed against the wall. A couple of tin mugs sat on the mantel.

Susan lowered herself onto one of the chairs with a pained grimace. With better illumination, I could make out her ragged dress, her lifeless hair appearing more grey than brown, and her frail fingers twisted and gnarled.

"What's this about then?" she asked as John and I settled onto the remaining chairs. Her gaze darted back and forth between us.

"Mrs Hale, according to our records, you were married to Mr Hale, who worked as a driver. Is that correct?" John asked.

"Aye, ‘til he went and got himself killed," she replied bitterly. "Why? What's it to you?"

"Could you tell us what happened? The night of the accident?"

She fixed us with a hard stare. "Why are you asking about this now? It's been nigh on twenty years. I told the constable everything I knew back then."

"Please," I said. "It's very important. Anything you can remember might help."

She looked at me for a long moment before sighing.

"I don't suppose any of it matters, anyway. I can tell you it was raining that night, raining hard. George didn't want to go but see, that was his job, wasn't it? No matter that a man needs to eat from time to time, no he had to fetch this rich couple from the port. Took his mate Clarence as an outrider."

She shook her head ruefully.

"Those roads, even in good weather you can lose a wheel. Was too easy in bad weather for a horse to stumble or to hit a patch of mud. But George's boss said it on the manor lady's orders. Who was it again? ‘twas her brother and his missus, wanting to stay but needed picking up. She wanted George and Clarence to collect them after dinner that evening, bring them to the main house. Nasty, boggy road was Moorhouse Woods, but it was the quickest way. Only way to get them there afore midnight, she said. Should've taken the longer southern route if you ask me, but no one asks the likes of us."

I glanced at John, seeing my own surprise reflected in his eyes. This differed from the story we had heard thus far.

"You said George didn't want to go?" John prompted. "Why is that?"

Susan snorted. "The whole thing stank, dinnit? Who goes travelling so late, demanding to be brought on such a night? And that Missus Rebekah, now she was nearing her time with the babe. Been in France, she had, something about the sea air being good for expectant mothers. But them roads were no place for her in that condition, especially late at night. George tried to tell them, but orders was orders." She sighed.

"He took the job," John said.

"Do you know what happened after they left?" I asked.

Susan shook her head. "Not much. George never came back in the morning like he should. Got word later that the carriage overturned in Moorhouse Woods. They said it were some large logs in the road or maybe a rockfall in the rain. George and his mate were killed. The couple, and the babe too, lost before it drew breath."

Her voice caught a little, and she looked away, blinking.

"That's all I know. They never found what made them crash exactly. Logs, rocks, could have been. Could also be an axle gave way or a horse just lost its footing."

"But you're not here after all this time for that story, are you?"

"No," I admitted. "We think…we think there might have been more to it than that."

Susan barked out a harsh laugh. "Oh aye, there usually is with their sort. Secrets and lies, all of ‘em." She settled back in her chair with a creak of wood. "Doesn't matter none now though, does it? What's done is done, and no amount of asking will bring my George back. Missie, you look like someone I've met."

"Me?" My voice caught in my throat.

"What did ye say your name was?"

I glanced over at John, who shrugged.

"I'm afraid we weren't being honest when we knocked at the door. My name is Miss Hannah Sheppard."

"Sheppard. That was the ol' lady's name. The one that ordered the carriage. So you be ol' Lady Catherine's babe. Surprised to see someone like you knocking on my door."

"Please, Mrs Hale. I'm just looking for answers."

Susan looked towards the fire.

"Ghosts can't help you girl and the devil herself would see me hung," she said.

"Maybe it might help you?" I offered.

Susan stared into the fire for a long moment, the flickering light casting shadows across her lined face. When she finally spoke, she kept her voice low.

"You'll not be running back to your ma and tattling on old Susan?"

"I just need to know what happened. For my own peace of mind."

"I never told anyone the full truth of that night," she said. "Not even the constable. I was too afraid…afraid of what might happen to me if I did. But you…you should know. I'll go to God with a clear conscience for what I did."