Free Jane and the Stillroom Maid by Stephanie Barron

DETERMINED TO WALK UP INTO THE HILLS above Miller’s Dale, Miss Austen, quite alone and with no other object than healthful exercise? Was that entirely wise?”
    Mr. Tivey, the blacksmith-cum-surgeon-cum-coroner of Bakewell, threw me a stern look as he posed this question before his empanelled jury of twelve men; but I was not the sort of lady to suffer a diminution of composure on
his
account.
    “As to the wisdom of my course, Mr. Tivey, I cannot say—but it is customary to walk through the dales of Derbyshire while embarked on a pleasure tour of the county. Thousands of ladies, I am sure, have done so before this.”
    “Tha’ did not expect, then, to encounter Deceased in the course of thy rambles?”
    “If you would enquire whether I mounted the path with Deceased as my object—then no, sir, I did not. The discovery of the maid’s body came as quite a shock.”
    “Could Tha’ describe for the jury thy actions upon first perceiving Deceased?”
    I looked at the Coroner’s panel assembled on their benches. A stalwart lot—small farmers and landowners by the looks of them, and careful to preserve their countenances free of expression.
    “A murder of crows first attracted my interest,” I replied, “and upon attaining the place where the corpse was laid, I perceived that the person was quite dead.”
    “How did Deceased lie?”
    “At the foot of a crag, some distance upwards along the path.”
    “And how did the body appear?”
    He offered the question easily enough; but I could not avoid a hesitation—an indrawn breath—a desire to drop my eyes. Thoughts of the most distressing nature
would
obtrude.
    “Miss Austen?”
    I lifted my gaze to meet Mr. Tivey’s. “It appeared to be the corpse of a young gentleman, savagely murdered. A lead ball had lodged in the center of the forehead; and the bowels had been quite cut out, as had the person’s tongue. A great welter of blood had stained the corpse’s clothes and the surrounding rocks.”
    “Would Tha’ judge the blood to have been freshly-spilt?”
    “I cannot say. It appeared quite congealed and dried.”
    “Did Tha’ touch the body in anyway?”
    “I did not, sir.”
    “Did Tha’ observe the marks of a horse, or perhaps of another person, anywhere on the path?”
    “I did not, sir.”
    “Pray describe for us the condition of the ground.”
    “It was quite dry and dusty, as should not be unusual in August; the path was hard-packed, and the grasses withered.”
    “So Tha’ should have been unlikely to discern either the marks of Deceased’s passage, or those of any other person in the vicinity?”
    “I cannot say. Certainly I did not discern such marks.”
    “Did Deceased appear to have discarded any belongings? A trunk or a bundle of some sort?”
    “Not that I could discover.”
    Mr. Tivey peered at me from under his brows. “Very well. Miss Austen, what did Tha’ next do?”
    “I ran back along the path in search of aid. I summoned the gentlemen of my party—Mr. George Hemming of Bakewell, and my cousin Mr. Edward Cooper, who were fishing along the Wye—and urged them to make all possible haste towards the crag, and the unfortunate person lying there.”
    “Very well, Miss Austen. Tha’ may retire.”
    I rose from the witness chair and made my way back through the assembled throng in the Snake and Hind’s main room. The eyes of the curious roamed over my person; but I was accustomed to impertinence—it could not be avoided in the course of an Inquest. I was no longer an anonymous pleasure-seeker bent upon a summer of idleness; I was a local Sensation. I found a seat at the rear of the room, and prepared to observe all that ensued.
    “Mr. George Hemming!”
    Mr. Tivey’s voice rang through the chamber, but no answering shuffle of feet prepared to meet it. I craned my head in search of the solicitor’s form. Mr. Hemming, I felt certain, was not in the Snake and Hind; but was such a lapse of duty possible? Had he unaccountably