Page 48 of Winterset

“Not too far.”

“It says here it happened on a Sunday evening. She might have been off that Sunday and had gone to see her family, then was walking back to Winterset when he attacked her.” Anna couldn’t suppress a little shudder at the thought.

“Do you suppose there would be anyone here who might remember her?”

“I should think it was all too long ago for any of them to still be working here, but if we could find out their names, some of them might still be alive.”

Reed nodded, and they bent their heads to the pages once again. Finally he sat back, letting out a groan. “I think I have absorbed all I can for the moment.” He looked at Anna. “Care for a walk?”

“That sounds very nice.”

They went out the back, wandering through the garden, which had obviously been cleaned up quite a bit, weeds pulled, and overgrown bushes and trees cut back. There was some semblance of order now, although the roses still grew in wild profusion, casting their heady scent in the air.

Anna’s hand was tucked into Reed’s arm. The sun was warm on her back, shielded from her eyes by the brim of her bonnet. It was a delightful day, she thought, seemingly far removed from the tales of murder they had been studying inside. And yet, murder had taken place not far from here only a few days earlier. It seemed impossible.

She breathed in the roses with a sigh of enjoyment, and Reed, a smile touching his full lips, broke off a bloom, carefully stripping it of thorns, and handed it to her. Anna brought it to her nose and sniffed deeply, her eyes shining with thanks above it. Her heart welled with feeling. This, too, could have been hers, she thought—long summer days with Reed, walking in the garden, side by side. Perhaps they would have been holding hands, laughing as they talked about their lives. There might even have been children running about. She pictured them laughing and intelligent, full of questions, something like the twins—perhaps even with their black hair, but with Reed’s silver eyes.

It was a picture so compelling that she almost let out a soft moan of longing. She had done the right thing, she knew. The honorable thing. It had been her only choice. But she knew with an ache just how much she had cut out from her life.

They strolled through the arch, covered thickly with a flowering vine, and a figure popped up in front of them, startling them.

“What the devil—oh, Grimsley. You gave us a turn.”

It was the caretaker, Grimsley, small and dark, wearing a cap pulled low on his head to shield his eyes from the sun. He swept the cap off now to Reed, revealing his stringy mop of graying hair, and bobbed a bow.

“My lord. Miss.” He nodded at them, grinning and twisting his cap in his hand. “Out for a stroll, eh? The old place is lookin’ better, innit? Now that I got some help. We’ll have it lookin’ tip-top in no time.”

“Yes, it is much improved, “Reed agreed.

“Sorry her ladyship and the young’ uns left,” Grimsley went on. “They was interested in all the plants, them boys.”

“Yes. They are generally interested in everything.”

“Too bad about them folks being killed.” Grimsley shook his head. “Strange it happened again.”

Reed shot Anna a look. They had not even thought about the gardener when they had been talking about the Winterset servants earlier.

“You were here then?”

“Oh, yes, I were just a lad then, twelve or so, I guess. But I helped me dad out sometimes. He was head gardener here before me.”

“And did you know the girl who was murdered?”

“Oh, no, sir, she worked at the Manor, now, didn’t she?”

“No, I meant the murder that happened a long time ago.”

“Oh. Aye, I think she did work here, now I think about it. But I didn’t know her, like. I only worked out here, you see.”

“Yes. Of course.” Reed paused, then asked perfunctorily, “And the murders—do you think they were committed by the ‘Beast’?”

“The Beast,” the old man repeated scornfully. “Nay, my lord, I don’t believe in any Beast. That’s just a tale, now, innit?”

Reed looked at him in surprise. “Yes, that is what I think. But most of the servants I’ve talked to believe that it is indeed the Beast of Craydon Tor who has been doing the killings.”

“Oh, them…” Grimsley made a dismissive gesture toward the house. “They’re new here, ain’t they? They don’t know nothin’.”

“And do you have a theory as to who it is, then?” Reed asked, his interest piqued.