‘He was murdered,’ Woodburn muttered, almost to himself.
‘Well, it’s a shame the court didn’t agree with you, sir,’ Mrs Bradshaw replied. ‘And do you know what they did with his body, Mr Hawkins?’
‘Yes, indeed.’ Everyone knew what happened to the corpses of those who committed self-murder. It was not pleasant. ‘In truth I’d really rather not-’
‘They buried him at a crossroads, with a stake plunged in his heart,’ Mrs Bradshaw said with some relish, pounding a fist to her huge chest. ‘Not even a bier to keep the worms from his poor body. And now his spirit haunts the gaol, never to rest. Mr Jenings the nightwatch saw him standing by the governor’s house in the middle of the night, all pale and grim with a noose still wrapped about his neck. And Mrs Carey swears she heard footsteps and a terrible groaning beneath the chandler’s window but when she looked out there was no one there. I’m scared to walk the yard at night in case he looms up out of the dark-’
‘Enough!’ Woodburn bellowed, making Mrs Bradshaw flinch and stutter to a halt. He gave a low moan. ‘Forgive me,’ he muttered. ‘I cannot bear to think of it…’
Mrs Bradshaw patted his shoulder, clearly thrilled by the drama. ‘Mr Woodburn saw the body,’ she mouthed in a stage whisper over the chaplain’s shoulder. ‘They found it hanging in the Strong Room over on the Common Side, all beaten and bloody. Barely recognised him, did you, sir?’
Woodburn gave a little sob and pressed his handkerchief to his lips. ‘God rest his soul,’ he whispered.
Mrs Bradshaw patted his shoulder again. ‘A man doesn’t beat himself black and blue before hanging himself, does he, Mr Hawkins?’
I frowned. ‘I hope Mrs Roberts discovers the truth, for her own sake.’ As the widow of a suicide, she would be shunned by all decent society. I felt a surge of pity for the proud young woman who had saved me from Joseph Cross earlier that morning. Her reputation had been ruined through no fault of her own. ‘Does she suspect someone in particular?’
Mrs Bradshaw laughed. ‘Oh, we all suspect someone in particular.’ Her laughter died away and she glanced about her with an anxious expression. For a moment her gaze settled on Kitty, her maid, who was still playing with the little boy by the fire. She lowered her voice. ‘Captain Roberts had a roommate. He was there the night of the murder, lying in the very next bed just a few paces away. He says he didn’t hear a thing – claims he slept through it all. But the devil never sleeps, does he? How does it go…’
