Page 4 of A Treacherous Treasure

“You don’t?”

“Near the body, we found a hole in the ground that seemed to have been dug with a shovel. We think whoever killed him planned to bury the body.”

“I see.” Rebecca saw no reason to alter her opinion that he’d been killed by the angry, jealous husband of one of Arthur’s paramours.

The coroner, a thin man with a thick black moustache, began to speak.

“Mrs. Heywood, when did you last see your husband?”

“Yesterday, about five o’clock in the afternoon. He left with his gun and said he was going shooting.”

“Alone?”

“Yes.”

“Is that unusual?” The constable took up the questioning again.

“Somewhat. I don’t know. I’ve only been married to him for two years.”

“And he did not return?”

“Not that I know of. Sometimes he doesn’t come home and I don’t know where he is. That is not unusual, and I did not think it very strange when he did not return home.”

The coroner cleared his throat. “He appeared to have been dead for a few hours. The time of death was probably sometime yesterday evening.”

Rebecca took this in. Had he died immediately, or had he been on the ground for hours before succumbing? She rubbed her temple as her headache worsened.

“Why wasn’t I told?” Her mother-in-law’s voice came from down the hall. “I will hear what is said about my son.” She came bustling into the room, wiping her nose with a handkerchief.

Rebecca felt her shoulders tense as Arthur’s mother turned red, puffy eyes on her.

“What did they say?” she demanded, as if the men weren’t in the room.

“Mrs. Heywood, please accept our condolences for the loss of your son,” the constable said in his deep, gravelly voice. “The coroner was saying that he believes the time of death was yesterday evening, perhaps around six or seven o’clock.”

Mrs. Heywood’s expression slackened, as if she didn’t know what to say. Rebecca had never seen that look on her face before.

The coroner said, “Would you like us to send for the midwives—there are two excellent ones hereabouts—to come and prepare the body?”

“I will not have a stranger touching my son’s body.” Mrs. Heywood’s imperious tone sent a shiver across Rebecca’s shoulders as Arthur’s mother raised her chin. But a moment later, her face began to crimp up, and soon she was wailing again, that high-pitched sound that made Rebecca want to jump up and run away.

Rebecca folded her hands together in her lap and squeezed until her knuckles ached.

“My poor boy,” she said between sobs, as the wailing dissipated. “My poor, poor boy.” She held the handkerchief up to her nose.

The men looked uncomfortable. Women of polite society did not cry and wail, especially in the company of others. But Mrs. Heywood did as she pleased.

The coroner and the constable stared at the floor and then each other. Finally, they stood up. “We must go. Mrs. Heywood.” They nodded at Rebecca, then at her mother-in-law. “Mrs. Heywood.”

They hurried from the room, no doubt relieved to get away from the display of raw emotion.

“And his father dead these three years.” Tears streamed from Mrs. Heywood’s eyes. “I don’t know how he could have lived through seeing his son like this, murdered at the age of twenty-eight, his life cut short. I will never get over this, never.”

She started to wail again.

Perhaps Rebecca should try to comfort her mother-in-law, but she doubted that her efforts to embrace the grieving woman would be well received. Instead, she went up to her room and spent the rest of the day crying, praying, writing to her mother and sisters, and avoiding Mrs. Heywood.

Chapter Two