A surly, disobliging man he was, and I don’t care who hears me say so. But I’d take my oath no one in the village were that much his enemy as to take a hammer to his head.”
“Yet it appears someone did so.”
“So Molly Tisbury says. Not that I’d believe nothing she said, for a worse fibster you couldn’t hope to meet.”
Ottilia’s mind was already afire. There was enmity enough to be sought for, it would seem. But she wasted no time in idle comment. At any moment, Mrs. Pakefield might recollect her place and clam up.
“Who is Molly Tisbury?”
The woman’s head came up at that, and there was malice in her eyes. “Runs the tavern over yonder, where they took and brought Duggleby last night. Not that there’s need for her to crow over that, for I’d not have had the brute on no table in my coffee room, that I can swear to. And if she thought to make me jealous by such a boast, she knows by now she’s disappointed.”
It was evident to Ottilia that a lively rivalry existedbetween the two public houses, despite their different functions in the area. It was not hard to seek a reason, for it was obvious that while the Blue Pig catered for the genteel part of the population, the greater part must of necessity patronise the Cock and Bottle. It did not take much imagination to perceive how jealousies might arise in either bosom. Ottilia made a mental note to send her husband off as soon as she could to glean what he might at the more common tavern. And to find out where the body was now.
“Was Duggleby found dead where he lay, do you know, or did he die later?”
“He were dead in the forge,” sighed the landlady. “The wonder is the whole place weren’t burnt to a cinder.” She drew in a sharp breath. “Which is as well, for I daresay it wouldn’t have took much for them devils to fling poor Mrs. Dale into the flames instead of setting the boys on to stoning her.”
“Dear me,” said Ottilia. “I had not heard about the stoning. I must say she did not look very much like a witch to me.”
Bewilderment wreathed Mrs. Pakefield’s features. “You’ve seen her?”
“I met her at the smithy a little while ago.”
“She went in there, did she?” Shaking her head, the landlady tutted. “She’d have done better to have stayed away.”
Ottilia brought her ruthlessly back to the point. “How widespread is this belief that the poor creature is a witch, Mrs. Pakefield?”
The landlady’s features formed into a glare. “Ignorance, that’s what it is. Not that I’d expect nothing less from as silly a female as you could hope to meet.”
“Molly Tisbury?” Ottilia guessed.
“Yes, and if it don’t show how fitted she is for her station, I don’t know what does. She’s the ringleader.”
“Indeed? And how many is she leading?” asked Ottilia, unfailingly persistent.
“All of ’em, far as I can see,” snapped the landlady. “Can the girl help it if she’s got the sight? To think that creaturedared to dictate to me in my own home, saying as I should turn the poor young thing away from my door and refuse to serve her. As if I would!”
Ottilia played an ace. “How fortunate you are not among those who choose to persecute her. She must be glad of your sympathy.”
Mrs. Pakefield looked a little uncomfortable at this. “Well, she don’t come in often. She ain’t what you’d call one of them as seek society, Mrs. Dale ain’t. A bit of a loner, she is.”
“Well, if she is shunned by half the countryside, that is scarcely surprising,” said Ottilia tartly before she could stop herself.
The landlady flushed, and her tone sharpened. “I’ve said as I ain’t one of them, ma’am.”
“Good gracious, of course not,” Ottilia said at once in a conciliatory tone, trying to retrieve her slip. “I was rather thinking of such persons as Molly Tisbury and her ilk.”
The glare returned to the landlady’s face. “Yes, well, she may change her tune soon enough. Seems the
“Yet it appears someone did so.”
“So Molly Tisbury says. Not that I’d believe nothing she said, for a worse fibster you couldn’t hope to meet.”
Ottilia’s mind was already afire. There was enmity enough to be sought for, it would seem. But she wasted no time in idle comment. At any moment, Mrs. Pakefield might recollect her place and clam up.
“Who is Molly Tisbury?”
The woman’s head came up at that, and there was malice in her eyes. “Runs the tavern over yonder, where they took and brought Duggleby last night. Not that there’s need for her to crow over that, for I’d not have had the brute on no table in my coffee room, that I can swear to. And if she thought to make me jealous by such a boast, she knows by now she’s disappointed.”
It was evident to Ottilia that a lively rivalry existedbetween the two public houses, despite their different functions in the area. It was not hard to seek a reason, for it was obvious that while the Blue Pig catered for the genteel part of the population, the greater part must of necessity patronise the Cock and Bottle. It did not take much imagination to perceive how jealousies might arise in either bosom. Ottilia made a mental note to send her husband off as soon as she could to glean what he might at the more common tavern. And to find out where the body was now.
“Was Duggleby found dead where he lay, do you know, or did he die later?”
“He were dead in the forge,” sighed the landlady. “The wonder is the whole place weren’t burnt to a cinder.” She drew in a sharp breath. “Which is as well, for I daresay it wouldn’t have took much for them devils to fling poor Mrs. Dale into the flames instead of setting the boys on to stoning her.”
“Dear me,” said Ottilia. “I had not heard about the stoning. I must say she did not look very much like a witch to me.”
Bewilderment wreathed Mrs. Pakefield’s features. “You’ve seen her?”
“I met her at the smithy a little while ago.”
“She went in there, did she?” Shaking her head, the landlady tutted. “She’d have done better to have stayed away.”
Ottilia brought her ruthlessly back to the point. “How widespread is this belief that the poor creature is a witch, Mrs. Pakefield?”
The landlady’s features formed into a glare. “Ignorance, that’s what it is. Not that I’d expect nothing less from as silly a female as you could hope to meet.”
“Molly Tisbury?” Ottilia guessed.
“Yes, and if it don’t show how fitted she is for her station, I don’t know what does. She’s the ringleader.”
“Indeed? And how many is she leading?” asked Ottilia, unfailingly persistent.
“All of ’em, far as I can see,” snapped the landlady. “Can the girl help it if she’s got the sight? To think that creaturedared to dictate to me in my own home, saying as I should turn the poor young thing away from my door and refuse to serve her. As if I would!”
Ottilia played an ace. “How fortunate you are not among those who choose to persecute her. She must be glad of your sympathy.”
Mrs. Pakefield looked a little uncomfortable at this. “Well, she don’t come in often. She ain’t what you’d call one of them as seek society, Mrs. Dale ain’t. A bit of a loner, she is.”
“Well, if she is shunned by half the countryside, that is scarcely surprising,” said Ottilia tartly before she could stop herself.
The landlady flushed, and her tone sharpened. “I’ve said as I ain’t one of them, ma’am.”
“Good gracious, of course not,” Ottilia said at once in a conciliatory tone, trying to retrieve her slip. “I was rather thinking of such persons as Molly Tisbury and her ilk.”
The glare returned to the landlady’s face. “Yes, well, she may change her tune soon enough. Seems the
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