Free The Death of Lucy Kyte by Nicola Upson

thoughtfully, then smiled. ‘It is a good story, though.’
    â€˜Is it?’
    â€˜Good God, yes. It’s marvellous. I shouldn’t say this to a writer, but you couldn’t make it up.’ Hilary settled back into Hester’s chair, her reason for coming all but forgotten. ‘What do you know?’
    Josephine repeated what she had been told. ‘Innocent maiden, seduced by the village squire and killed in a barn in eighteen something.’
    â€˜Eighteen twenty-seven, yes. William Corder wasn’t the squire, though. He was the son of one of the richer tenant farmers. The squire was at Polstead Hall, and Maria never had him. The closest she got was his brother-in-law, a chap called Matthews who lived in London. She had a son by him before she started seeing William.’
    â€˜And didn’t she have a child by Corder’s brother as well?’
    â€˜Yes. Thomas Corder was her first lover, but the child died.’ She grinned. ‘Doesn’t look good on paper, does it? You’ve got to admire her spirit, though, and she aimed high – that’s what I like about Maria. It’s what I always tell the girls at Sunday School – know what you want and go for it.’
    A murdered girl with illegitimate children by different fathers was an interesting role model for a vicar’s wife, Josephine thought. She was beginning to see why Stephen’s choice might be frowned upon in certain circles; personally, she thought Hilary Lampton was the best advert for the church she’d seen in years. ‘What was so special about Maria?’
    â€˜Well, she was very pretty, in that fresh-faced, rather coy way. Have you seen Curtis’s book?’ Josephine shook her head. ‘There’s bound to be a copy here somewhere. James Curtis – he covered the case for The Times and published a book on it afterwards. There’s a drawing of Maria in that. She was a real charmer, by all accounts. William might have been above her socially, but he was punching well over his weight in every other sense, and that’s always dangerous in a man. Are you married, Josephine?’
    She rapped the question out with a no-nonsense brusqueness and Josephine felt at liberty to answer in the same vein, without explanations or apologies. ‘No.’
    â€˜I don’t blame you. It can cramp your style.’
    The comment was wistful rather than bitter, and Josephine wondered whether the regrets it implied stemmed from the role Hilary had married into or the marriage itself. She looked forward to meeting Stephen. ‘How long have you been here?’ she asked.
    â€˜Sixteen years,’ Hilary said, so readily that Josephine half-expected her to count off the months and days as well. ‘We met in London. I was involved in a charity in the East End, and Stephen was the pastor. He got the job up here soon after we married.’
    â€˜And your children?’
    â€˜Sixteen, ten and eight. All boys. Probably just as well. If we’d had a girl, I might have called her Maria out of sheer devilment.’
    Josephine laughed. ‘So what about the original Maria? Any other lovers before William?’
    â€˜No, he was her third but there was nothing very lucky about it. They walked out for a bit, moonlit trysts in the Red Barn, that sort of thing, and then the inevitable happened. Her family wanted Corder to make an honest woman of her, but he always had an excuse.’
    â€˜Yes, I can imagine.’
    â€˜To be fair, they were good excuses. His father died, so he had more responsibilities on the farm, then one brother drowned in the pond and two others caught TB and shuffled off as well. God knows what that must have been like for his mother – then the only son left gets himself hanged, selfish bastard. But I’ve jumped – where did I get to?’
    â€˜Maria was pregnant.’
    â€˜Oh yes. Well, they shipped her out to Sudbury to have the baby,