For it was that Constance did nothing to deserve such a sense of trepidation. The death of Uncle Anthony was not of her doing and the poison found hidden in her shawl must have been placed there by one of the maids, for that she was certain. She was also certain that if she did not clear her name sometime soon she would undoubtedly face the hangman's noose. She wondered if it would be a public execution. Would hardfaced womenfolk in well worn clothing, knit and salivate? Would others mutter, "Show is over now. Let's have an ale or two down at the Ship Inn?" Would they then dance on the tabletops and flash their drawers because they had had a jolly good afternoon, watching me swing? What maketh man so dreadfully dark in certain places yet be so kind in others? she pondered.

 

The kind policeman did offer her a little hope. He seemed to understand her wretchedness and had a little understanding, or so she thought. He had bought her sweet tea and gingerbread.

That time she had sat with him, she had felt his eyes bore into her very soul, almost as if he was there with her on that fateful night. She sensed that he understood.

 

Uncle Anthony had been suffering from a fever for a while. She had sought the physician who had travelled far enough that she had had to provide him with a bed for the night, an evening's supper and a cold breakfast plate. Yes, she had tried some of her trusted remedies, the feverfew and lungwort to name but two, but she had not, NOT, poisoned her uncle. Granted, he was mean, a proper curmudgeon with a cruel, cold heart but Constance had only been biding her time there with him, until her father returned home. It had been seven years now and although he wrote to her often, she did not sense that any return was imminent.

 

Jane had arrived that same evening, simply turned up on the doorstep unannounced and sat herself down to warm by the fire. She looked perished. Having not seen or spoken to her cousin for more than a year, Constance found the situation more than a little disconcerting but tried her utmost best not to show it in her manner.

 

Offering her hot milk, bread and a little cheese, for she appeared famished and somewhat malnourished, she was relieved when Jane began to speak in a less confrontational tone. It appeared that she had fallen upon hard times and was in need of a place to stay. Unable to offer her anything more than just a few days, until she had thought of a way to approach her uncle, she was more than a little shocked at her cousin's indignation. In fact the two young women were at odds with each other for the rest of the evening until retiring to bed. The snow fell hard outside as the wind howled through the windows.

 

The following morning, Uncle Anthony was found dead in his bed. The police suspected that it was death by poisoning and Constance was arrested and escorted to the jailhouse, where she pleaded her innocence. The kind policeman agreed to send for cousin Jane in order that she could bring her the things that she needed and to seek for her a lawyer. But she did not come. Constance could not help but wonder if Jane had had something to do with her uncle's death.

Having enquired several times as to why her cousin had not yet visited, she was dumbstruck upon hearing…

 

"Miss Littleton, we have sought your cousin Miss Edwards, as you have asked. Having called at the residence where you lived with your late uncle, we found no-one there. All was as you left it, there being no indication of any visitor. 

 

"But she sat with me, the night before my uncle's passing. She had very few belongings and seemed extremely fragile, both in body and in mind. I'm sure that she must still be there. Would you not call again, please?" 

 

"Miss Littleton, we have investigated further on your behalf, for what you face is death by execution, should you be found guilty of poisoning your uncle."

 

"But I did not do it. You must believe me. Maybe it was Jane."

 

"Miss Littleton, Miss Jane Edwards has been deceased since last January..."

 

© 2023. Mrs WH