The vicar shrugged, then nodded. “Pennyroyal, tansy, or some other herb that forces the end to an unborn babe.”
The vicar stopped on the path that ran through the cemetery toward the almshouses and on to some of the small crofters outside the village. “See that tree there?” he said, pointing to an elm tree off to the side in the cemetery. “I’m going to lay her there unless Squire Inglewood has his way.”
“He won’t,” said James. “There are enough of us who can attest to her position, which was not indicative of how a suicide lands.” He reached into a vest pocket and pulled out the brooch. “Is this your wife’s brooch?”
The vicar took the brooch from James. “Yes! She wore it nearly every day. How did you come by it?”
“It was found on the other side of the meadow from the escarpment.”
“Thank you.” He folded his hands over it.
“I’ll have to keep it until after the inquisition, as it needs to be presented as evidence.”
“Oh… Of course, of course.” He handed it back to James.
“I’ve been told it represents your daughters, Faith and Hope.”
He smiled gently, then sank down on a bench at the edge of the cemetery, pulling Cecilia to sit down next to him. “It does,” he said heavily. “They were the pride of Miranda’s life. Such beautiful and smart girls.” He looked off into the distance, as if he could see them before him.
“Where are they now? They should be informed of their mother’s death.”
“Yes, yes,” he said, then frowned and looked as if he would cry again.
“I don’t know where they are or how to reach them,” he said brokenly. He lowered his face into his hands.
Wide-eyed at his raw emotional confession, Cecilia reached out a hand to lay on his arm to soothe him.
“Perhaps Mrs. Jones had their direction written down in one journal or another?”
He shook his head without raising his face from his hands.
“Do you know anyone who might know? Anyone who might know how to find them?” James asked.
He lifted his head and thought for a moment. “The earl perhaps. He was instrumental in aiding them in finding positions. They were so angry with Miranda and me when they discovered I was not their natural father.” He looked up at them, silently pleading with them to understand. “I knew Miranda was already with child when we wed, but I loved her anyway. I didn’t blame her. I knew how convincing some men could be and what false promises they might make.”
“You don’t have to explain to us. It is obvious you loved your wife in the way you speak of her.”
“It was bad of me, but I was glad, for it gave her a reason to marry me. But I held off. You see, I’d loved her for a long while, but a vicar in my circumstances condemns a woman to a life near poverty, in addition to the heaped-on responsibilities in caring for others that not all women want or are capable of carrying. I didn’t want that for Miranda.
“But God smiled down on me before Miranda’s parents could send her away to have the baby in anonymity and give it up for adoption. I’d completed my training and was serving as a substitute curate while awaiting my assignment. To my surprise, I was offered the position here in Mertonhaugh, a much better position than I feared I might get, as I had no connections as many other young curates had. I hurried to ask her to marry me.”
They were all silent for a moment. Cecilia saw an old, stooped woman leave one of the almshouses built of Kentish ragstone and walk in their direction. She wore a drab green dress with a dark-blue shawl wrapped around her. She carried a willow basket and walked slowly with a cane.
“Now is the time to move on to other conversations,” Cecilia advised. “After all, this will most likely be brought up again at the inquest this afternoon.”
James raised an eyebrow at Cecilia’s sudden change of topic but followed her lead. “Vicar, in my temporary role of churchwarden, you were going to show me some of the repairs needed in the church. Perhaps we should discuss those now.”
The vicar looked up. “I think that is an admirable idea,” he gratefully told James and rose to his feet.
“Cecilia?” asked James
“I will sit here for a while. You go on. I’ll catch up later.”
Cecilia looked after them as they walked away, and then across the churchyard, not yet turning to recognize the woman who approached. It wasn’t until the woman was nearly beside her that Cecilia looked up.
“Hello,” she said.
The old woman nodded and, without asking, slowly eased her body down to sit on the stone bench next to Cecilia. Everything she wore looked old and oft mended, including the mob cap that almost covered her gray, grizzled hair. But her clothing and herself were clean and neat despite her obvious poverty.
