AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Which you know because…?”
“Because he would come by to see the children, or so he said, but it was always at suppertime. When I saidshecould make his supper, he’d tell me terrible tales of her cooking. No, she did not make any pudding. She may have said so, but she did not.” A moment’s pause. Then she says, “Was the pudding poisoned?”
“If you see her, could you ask her where it came from?”
She doesn’t answer.
“I have another question,” I say. “One for you.”
“You seem to have a lot of them, for a wee lass who only brings the tea.”
I shrug. “Curiosity is my utmost failing.”
She shakes her head but says, “Ask your question.”
I’m about to when the door opens, and McCreadie strides in, papers in hand.
“Mrs. Burns,” he says.
“I prefer Clara.”
A quick nod. Then he sets the papers down. “I have been investigating your former husband’s business dealings, as we consider other motives for his murder.”
“Thatis where you should start,” she murmurs. “Women were not the only victims of his lies and his charm.”
“So we have discovered. I wish to discuss these.” He pushes them forward. “I can read them to you if—”
“I know my letters, sir. I always thought that was why Andrew Burns married me. He could scarcely decipher a newspaper. He would bring all his business papers home for me to read to him. I even wrote his replies.”
She skims the papers on the table and pokes one with a finger. “I remember this one. The man found our apartment and came right inside, shouting at me while Andrew was away.”
“That must have been difficult,” I say.
She shrugs. “I didn’t blame the poor fellow. He had lost his wife, and he thought he was getting a proper burial for her. He had paid Andrew to make sure she was six feet under, and then he went and saw the gravediggers at work only to discover they were removing other bodies to make room for her.”
“They were…” I stare at McCreadie. “They were taking out bodies to put in new ones?”
“There is a limited amount of burial space in the kirkyards,” he says.
I gape before reading the page myself. “And the case wasdismissed?”
Clara’s brow furrows, likely at my choice of words, and McCreadie says, “The court did not pursue it.”
I scowl. “Because the poor man paid to have his wife buried six feet down and he got it. What he didnotget was a promise that she would stay there.”
“Yes, it is a common enough practice,” McCreadie says to me. “Bodies are buried on top of one another in full kirkyards, and if you wish to be buried deeper, you pay for that, and others—who have no such assurances—are moved.”
“Movedwhere?” I wave off my own question. I don’t want to know. “I know the church—kirkyards are overcrowded, as you said. That is where private cemeteries come in.”
“But it is not always easy to convince people that such burials will still permit entry to heaven.” He looks at Clara. “Excuse our digression, ma’am. Miss Mitchell is new to Edinburgh, and some things require explanation.”
“You provide it very kindly, sir,” she says. “My mother used to say one can judge a man’s character by how he treats animals. I have learned she was wrong. A man can be very kind to animals and terrible to people. A better measure is how he treats women.” Her gaze drops to his hand. “You will make some woman a fine husband someday.”
“Oh, I do not know about that, but you are very kind to say so. As for this case, was the selling of such burial plots common for your husband?”
“At one time. He had quite the swindle going.”
“His alone?” McCreadie asks. “Or did he work with anyone?”
