“Ah,” James nodded.
“Speaking of blood,” Mr. Vernon said as they reached the ground floor, “I was surprised at how little blood was on Mrs. Jones.” He slid a look toward James.
“One could hardly see the blood on her for all the chalk dust,” James said. “But, in truth, her injuries were primarily internal, from what Dr. Patterson said… I expect that is why she lived as long as she did.” His voice softened as he thought of Mrs. Jones.
Mr. Vernon’s lips compressed. He took a deep breath as he shook his head. “Poor woman. Do you think someone pushed her?” he asked tentatively.
“What do you think?” James countered.
He quickly shook his head, frowning. “No. I assume the ground gave way beneath her.”
“But that raises the question, why was she so close to the edge as to be in danger of crumbling chalk?”
Mr. Vernon took another deep breath and stared off into the brewery, then he looked back at James. “Fear,” he suggested.
James nodded. “That is what Lady Branstoke and I believe, especially after having found her brooch in the grass on the other side of the meadow.”
“I remember you said that at the inquest. All that makes sense to me,” Mr. Vernon said, still watching the activities of his staff. Then he turned toward James. “Come this way and I’ll treat you to a taste of our latest brews.”
He led James to a small bar. “No one would want to hurt Mrs. Jones,” he continued as he drew off a mug of beer from the large cask over the bar.
“Some people blame Mrs. Jones for Miss Inglewood’s death.” He accepted the mug from Mr. Vernon.
“That is ridiculous,” Mr. Vernon said quickly as he drew off a mug for himself. “Everyone knows she refused to give her that tea she wanted.”
“True. But did she later relent?”
Mr. Vernon shrugged. “I wouldn’t think so. Miss Inglewood asked everyone to get her some pennyroyal.”
“You don’t agree with the inquest findings that she died from iliac passion?”
Mr. Vernon gave a disgusted look as he shook his head. “No, nor do I feel she committed suicide. She was much too full of herself to do that. No, we all got her some of that plant she wanted. That’s what I believe, and she didn’t have the right recipe.”
“You said‘we all.’ I’ve heard that she had a coterie of followers and you were part of that group.”
Mr. Vernon drew back. “Me? Hardly, though she kept trying, always sending me notes. She were pretty and lively enough to catch a man’s interest, in God’s truth,” he said with a sideways smile. “But she were also too free with her sweet words and promises. I learned that fast enough,” he declared harshly. “But I did get her that rotted plant. I could hardly not.”
James thought the swift change from smile to harsh words interesting. “I take it from what you say that she tried to capture your interest?”
“And the interest of any manor boy!” He took another drink of his beer, still frowning.
Noting Mr. Vernon’s heightened emotions, James thought it time to divert the subject slightly if he wished to learn more from Mr. Vernon.
“Do you know anything about a hut in the Mortlake forest where she and others gathered?”
Vernon nodded. “The old gamekeeper’s hut. It’s close to the southeast corner of the Inglewood property. Le Grange complained about the Mortlake gamekeeper living so close to his property because the man raised chickens and they were always squawking and getting into the Inglewood manor garden. To keep peace, Mortlake had a new hut built at the other end of his forest.”
James mused on how everyone seemed to placate the Inglewoods. He wondered why, but said, “And Miss Inglewood claimed the hut as her private club.”
The brewer nodded. “She invited me to meet her there on several occasions. I was not interested.”
“Do you have any idea why your name has been suggested as a possible father of her unborn child?”
“What? Me? No! No!” he said hastily. He downed the rest of his beer and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “I was always pleasant enough with her in public. We all were. Had to be.Squire Inglewood could make life embarrassing and difficult for anyone he thought did not worship the ground his daughter walked on.”
James frowned. “What would he do?”
Haydon Veron threw up his hands. “Anything! Everything! –But I can only share my experience.” He scowled. “Our good magistrate made up a reason to throw me into his gaol overnight, told others I was a libertine. He even suggested during a visit to the town tavern that I had clap.”
