Cheating the Hangman by Judith Cutler

a sentiment with which Toone concurred, pressed on us string bags of supplies: bread, bacon, cheese and a little brandy. Then there were more wrinkled apples. Lastly a small bundle appeared, produced from behind Susan’s apron.
    ‘The food’s from your own larder, so it’s not right you should thank me,’ Mrs Trent said awkwardly. ‘But what young Susan here’s got is from us. Ourselves. It’s not much. The little mite has clothes from the box. But these are a few garments for the poor wench. And young Robert – he’s made his own gift. Show Dr Campion, Susan.’
    I believe all our eyes filled. Robert, who had nothing of his own, had whittled a little teething ring.
    Even Toone was moved, coughing quietly behind his hand.
     
    I felt it better to visit Sarey on my own, lest the sight of a well-dressed stranger overcome her. Meanwhile, Toone, armed with the apples, attracted a mob of urchins; I was quite certain that the doctor within him would notice and treat any obvious injuries and ailments, and that the gentleman within would decline any payment.
    Sarey was nursing little Joseph when she called to bid me enter the apology for a cottage. An Old Master might have seen her as a latter-day Virgin with her infant Son. I saw her as an exhausted woman, old before her time, her hair lank and grimy, dirt in her very skin. Her dress had obviously been turned at least once, the blue in the seams showing what colour the grey, washed-out garment had once been.
    I was reluctant to embarrass her by referring to the contents of the bundle, which I left wordlessly beside her. I hung the bags of supplies alongside the pitiful bundles of herbs that seemed to constitute her larder: rats were always on the lookout for free meals, even in a house as well-regulated as the rectory. Her eyes followed me: clearly she was famished.
    Cutting a slice of bread and a hunk of cheese for her – Toone had drummed into me that I must not let her overeat after so much involuntary fasting – I dandled the baby for a few minutes. I did not have it in me to delay her further by demanding we say grace, instead waiting till she had finished every last crumb to thank God for the food. Only then did I ask her if she knew anything of young Snowdon’s activities in the village.
    ‘Mr Snowdon?’ Sarey looked baffled.
    ‘The day young Joseph was born, I saw a young gentleman riding fast from the village. It might not be Will Snowdon, of course. He might be someone completely different.’
    This time her reaction was less clear. ‘Young gentleman? Hereabouts?’
    ‘He rides a grey horse.’
    ‘And why might you be wanting to see this man on a grey horse?’
    ‘To ask him a few questions – nothing more.’
    Her face told me clearly that in her experience a few questions always meant more. ‘Don’t know nothing about any man on a horse.’
    ‘Young Molly Fowler’s baby – it must have had a father. And in my experience a village lad would do theright thing by his sweetheart. That baby’s father didn’t.’
    ‘You’re thinking this young man of yours might be the one as …? But why should he come a-visiting when she was lying cold in the earth?’
    Pale and sick this young woman might be, but she did not lack native wit. If only she and more like her had had the benefit of a school like Jem’s.
    ‘Do you think he might have wanted to make reparation to her family – tell them he was sorry and offer them … compensation?’
    ‘Pay them blood money, you mean?’ she asked, through narrowed eyes. ‘No, I’ve not heard tell of any young man – but I was sickly myself, being confined, as you know.’ Her eyes filled, but as Joseph whimpered she gathered him up tenderly. ‘Best you asks others that knows more than me.’
    Clearly I would get no more information from her. In any case, I needed to speak of her churching, and to ask what else she might need.
    ‘Looks like someone’s sent a lot already,’ she said, as if registering the