Page 69 of Winterset

Kit was feeling better by evening, and the next day he insisted on being up and about his work. Anna returned to her investigation. She and Reed rode to Eddlesburrow, where the records were kept for the local coroner’s inquests. But first they planned to stop at the house of the former Winterset maid whom Reed had located.

Her name was Margaret Lackey, and she lived in a small stone cottage on the edge of the village. A series of stepping-stones led from the street to her front door, and on either side of the path grew a neatly cultivated garden.

As they approached the house, they saw a woman kneeling in front of a flower bed, busily tugging up every weed within reach. A wide-brimmed bonnet shielded her face from the sun and from their view, but she looked up as Reed and Anna dismounted and tied their horses. Black button eyes peered out of a wrinkled face, and she smiled as Anna and Reed started toward her.

“Good day to you, madam,” Reed said, sweeping off his hat and bowing formally to her. “We are looking for a Miss Margaret Lackey.”

“Then you have found her,” the woman replied cheerfully. “Except that the name is Margaret Parmer, for the past forty years.” She looked at Anna and Reed with curiosity.

“Mrs. Parmer,” Reed amended, and introduced Anna and himself. “We would like to talk to you, if we may.”

The woman whipped off her gloves and extended a hand to Reed. “If you’ll help me up, here, then we can go inside, where we can talk a little better.”

Reed reached down, took her hand and helped her to her feet. She brushed the dirt from her skirt and led them inside her house, leaving her gardening tools where they lay.

It was a pleasant house inside, small but well kept, and Margaret Parmer showed them into the parlor. She called to someone, and a moment later a middle-aged woman came into the room, wiping her hands on a towel.

“Tea, Gert,” Mrs. Parmer said cheerfully. “For three, and some of those biscuits you made yesterday.” As Gert left, Mrs. Parmer turned to Reed and Anna, smiling. “Gert helps me out. I can’t keep a house up by myself any longer.” She wiggled her fingers; the knuckles were knobby and swollen.

Mrs. Lackey took off her bonnet, revealing white hair, pulled back and knotted in a bun at the crown of her head. Stray hairs had come loose as she removed her hat, and she smoothed them back behind her ears as she sat down in a chair.

The former maid was the opposite of the housekeeper whom they had interviewed the other day. Though her fingers were knotted and her movements careful, she was still spry and alert. Her dark eyes gleamed with intelligence and curiosity as she looked at them, waiting for the purpose of their call.

“Mrs. Parmer, I live at Winterset,” Reed began.

The woman’s eyes widened a little, but she said nothing, waiting for Reed to continue.

“We found in our records that you were once a maid there.”

“Yes, I was,” the old woman agreed. “That was before I married Mr. Parmer.”

“The time we are interested in is forty-eight years ago,” Anna put in. “When Susan Emmett was killed.”

The lively interest in Mrs. Parmer’s face blinked out, as if a candle had been snuffed. “Oh. Why are you asking about that?”

“Because some similar murders have happened recently,” Reed told her. “Perhaps you have heard.”

Mrs. Parmer shook her head. “No. I don’t get out much. But I can’t see what that has to do with Susan. That was years and years ago.”

“Yes. But there are similarities. Miss Holcomb and I are trying to find out what we can about what happened to Susan Emmett.”

“The woman who was killed recently was a maid in my house,” Anna explained, and the old woman’s dark eyes slid to her for a moment.

“I’m sorry, miss.”

“The way she died was quite like the way Susan Emmett died,” Anna added.

Mrs. Parmer studied her for a moment, then asked, “Are you Miss Babs’ daughter?”

Anna looked at her, surprised, then said, “I am Barbara de Winter’s daughter.”

The old woman smiled. “Aye, that was Miss Babs. She was a cute baby, that one. I missed her when her aunt took her off to London. ’Course, it wasn’t too long afterward that I met my Ned and left the house. I’d heard that Miss Babs married the Holcomb lad.”

Anna nodded. “Yes. Sir Edmund was my father.”

They had wandered rather far afield from the subject, Anna thought, and she wasn’t sure how to bring it back. Fortunately, Reed stepped in.

“Mrs. Parmer,” he began, “do you remember Susan Emmett?”