Free The Anatomist's Apprentice by Tessa Harris Page B

discern certain vital information,” insisted the young doctor.
    Sir Theodisius chewed his bread thoughtfully. “You mean you might be able to ascertain the cause of death?” he asked.
    “Precisely.”
    “That would be most useful,” acknowledged the coroner, wiping his fingers on his napkin. He leaned back in his chair and let out a belch, which he did not try to disguise. “I shall prepare the necessary papers.”
    Thomas looked earnest. “You understand that time is of the essence?”
    Sir Theodisius tried to click his fingers, but the amount of grease on them prevented him from doing so. Instead he called out aloud and in marched the clerk.
    “Personally I believe that time has run out as far as a postmortem is concerned, but I will bow to the opinion of an expert,” he said graciously. “Fetch me the exhumation order papers,” he instructed, then, dipping the nib of his quill into his inkpot, he said to Thomas: “The sooner we get to the bottom of this whole ghastly business, the better.”

Chapter 12
    L ydia breathed in the scent of aromatic thymes and pungent sages. The delights of the potager were relatively new to her. She loved spending time in the kitchen garden, surrounded by the sweet-smelling herbs and the colors of the fruits and vegetables. The head gardener, Amos Kidd, had given her a great enthusiasm for gardening and she now found herself taking delight in the exquisite symmetry of his planting, in the manner in which he positioned arrangements of shrubs and trees to enhance their neighbors’ hues and shapes and in the way that patterns could be created with plants just as tapestries with stitches. Kidd kept the garden well stocked with all manner of herbs from bergamot to bay, each having a specific purpose. For its antiseptic qualities there was woad, and to flavor beer there was costmary. The roots of elecampane were good for treating bronchial complaints and cinnamon was an excellent purgative.
    The vegetable garden was no less exciting, with orange and cream squashes and cardoons planted by asparagus peas and white carrots. Against the ancient wall grew espaliered fruit trees; apples, plums, and pears. There were raspberry canes and gooseberry bushes; rows of strawberries that had yielded two crops that summer and sturdy rhubarb stems.
    The kitchen garden had become her pleasure and now, since Edward’s death, it was also a place of refuge. She could breathe in the heady scents of autumn roses and watch the bees gathering pollen from the dahlias and forget about what dreadful things had passed and what dreadful things might still yet happen.
    It was strange, however, that she found herself, at such a time as this, thinking about food. Sir Theodisius and Dr. Silkstone would soon be arriving to carry out the most gruesome of tasks and yet she felt it her duty to be hospitable toward them. Afterward she would offer them dinner. She knew how Sir Theodisius loved his food.
    In her hand she held a pannier she had taken from the storeroom, which was already heavy with the sweetest carrots and the plumpest apples she could find for her guests. She had just filled her basket to the brim and was heading back toward the house when she came across Hannah, cutting stems of white lilies and crying the tears of a woman in mourning for her child. The sight touched Lydia deeply and she was almost moved to put her arms around her maid to comfort her. Death had united them in their grief. It was no respecter of rank or privilege and now that Edward was dead, Lydia felt a special bond existed between them.
    “They say the pain will lessen,” she said softly, standing behind her maid. The scent from the lilies was almost overpowering. Hannah turned around, her eyes red and watery.
    “I fear not, mistress,” she sobbed. “I fear not,” and she buried her head spontaneously in Lydia’s shoulder.
     
    The track that wound its way from the main road up to Boughton Hall meandered around copses and over a