Page 97 of The Twisted Root (William Monk 10)

"But the child was stillborn," Rathbone said in the silence.

"I reckoned so," Cleo agreed.

"And what was Miriam doing alone on the Heath in such a state?"

Cleo shook her head as if to deny the truth, drive it away.

Tobias was staring at her.

As if aware of him, she looked again at Rathbone imploringly. But it was for Miriam, not for herself. He was absolutely sure of that.

"What did she say?" he asked.

Cleo looked down. When she spoke, her voice was barely audible.

"That she had fled from the house with a woman, and that the woman had tried to protect her, and the woman had been murdered... out there on the Heath."

Rathbone was stunned. His imagination had conjured many possibilities, but not this. It took him a moment to collect his wits. He did not mean to look at Miriam, but in spite of himself he did.

She was sitting white-faced with her eyes shut. She must have been aware that every man and woman in the room was staring at her, and felt that her only hiding place was within herself. He saw in her face pain almost beyond her power to bear—but no surprise. She had known what Cleo was going to say. That, more than anything else, made him believe it absolutely. Whether it had happened or not, whether there was any woman, whether it was the illusion of a tormented and hysterical girl in the delirium of fever, Miriam believed it to be the truth.

Rathbone looked at Hester and saw her wide-eyed amazement also. She had known there was something—but not this.

He asked the question the whole court was waiting to hear answered.

"And was this woman’s body found, Mrs. Anderson?"

"No..."

"You did look?"

"Of course, we did. We all looked. Every man in the street."

"But you never found it?"

"No."

"And Miriam couldn’t take you to it? Again—I presume you asked her? It is hardly a matter you could let slip."

She looked at him angrily. "Of course, we didn’t let it slip! She said it was by an oak tree, but the Heath is full of oaks. When we couldn’t find anything in a week of looking, we took it she was out of her wits with all that had happened to her. People see all sorts of things when they’ve been ill, let alone in the grief of having a dead child—and her only a child herself." Her contempt for him rang through her words, and he felt the sting of it even though he was doing what he must.

Tobias was sitting at his table shaking his head.

"So you assumed she had imagined at least that part of her experience—her nightmare—and you let it drop?" he pressed.

"Yes, of course we did. It took her months to get better, and when she was, we were all so glad of it we never mentioned it again. Why should we? Nobody else ever did. No one came looking for anybody. The police were asked if anyone was missing."

"And what about Miriam? Did you tell the police you had found her? After all, she was only thirteen herself by then."

"Of course, we told them. She wasn’t missing from anywhere, and they were only too pleased that someone was looking after her."

"And she remained with you?"

"Yes. She grew up a beautiful girl." She said it with pride. Her love for Miriam was so plain in her face and her voice, no words could have spoken as clearly. "When she was nineteen, Mr. Gardiner started courting her. Very slow, very gentle, he was with her. We knew he was a good bit older than she was, but she didn’t mind, and that was all that mattered. If he made her happy, that was all I cared."

"And they were married?"

"Yes, a while later. And a very good husband he was to her, too."