This was the first opportunity Ian and Rachel had had for private conversation since the day before, and she asked him at once about the dead man that Constable Jones had found.
“Does thee know who he is?”
“Nay, no one does. Seems he was a stranger to the town.”
She nodded and squeezed his arm gently.
“Thee took a great time to learn that.”
“Aye, well. Uncle Jamie thought at first he might ken the man, so we went back to have another keek at him.”
He was always truthful with Rachel, and she with him—but he did take pains not to tell her things he knew she would find distressing, unless he thought it really necessary. What Jamie had told him about Frank Randall’s book could wait for a bit, he thought, but plainly the stranger bothered her, and he told her why the sight of the dead man had disquieted Jamie.
“Mrs. Fraser? Abducted and raped?” Ian could see she was appalled. “And your uncle thinks this stranger might have to do with the—the man who did it?”
“I dinna think it likely, nor does Uncle Jamie,” Ian said, as nonchalantly as he could. It wasn’t a lie, after all … “It’s only that the stranger bears a wee resemblance. If it should be he was the man’s kin, for instance …”
“If this man was his kin, then what?” Tiredness had shadowed Rachel’s eyes, but they were still clear as a trout stream.
Well, that was a good question. While he was searching for some reasonable answer, she asked another.
“Do you know where the man—the criminal—is? So that you might send him word of a dead kinsman?”
Ian concealed a smile. Rachel naturally would think that even a vicious rapist deserved to hear of a kinsman’s death—and would undoubtedly go herself to tell him, if necessary.
Fortunately, it wouldn’t be necessary.
“I dinna ken exactly what happened to him, but we’ve had certain word that he’s dead.” He made a quick note to get his mother alone and make sure she kent what was going on, lest she inadvertently tell Rachel just why they were sure the rapist was dead.
Rachel’s sigh lifted her breasts briefly, so the swell of them showed above her shift; Ian had the fleeting thought that when he talked to his mother when they stopped at an inn tonight, she might be induced to take Oggy out for air at some point.
“May God have mercy on his soul,” Rachel said, but her face had relaxed. “Does Mrs. Fraser know?”
“Aye, she does. I didna speak to her about it, but I think she’s … better in her mind for knowing it.”
Rachel nodded soberly.
“It would be terrible for her, to know he was alive. That he might … come back.” A small shudder passed through her, and she hugged her wrapper around her shoulders. “And terrible for Jamie, too. He must be relieved that God has taken the burden from them.”
“God works in mysterious ways, to be sure,” Ian said. She looked sharply at him, but he kept his face calm and after a moment, she nodded, and they left the subject of dead fat men behind them in the dust.
JAMIE HAD LITTLE business left to conduct in Salisbury; he’d got what he came for, in terms of making a connection with Francis Locke, and learned what he needed to. Still, Salisbury was a large town, with merchants and shops, and Claire had given him a list. He felt his side pocket and was reassured to hear the crinkle of paper; he hadn’t lost it. With a brief sigh, he pulled the list out, unfolded it, and read:
Two pounds alum （it’s cheap）
Jesuit bark, if anyone has it （take all of it, or as much as we can afford）
? lb. plaster of Gilead （ask at apothecary, otherwise surgeon）
2 qts. Sweet oil—make sure they seal with wax!
25 g. each of belladonna, camphor, myrrh, powdered opium, ginger, ganja, if available, and Cassia alata （it’s for ringworm and toe gunge）
Bolt of fine linen （underclothes for me and Fanny, shirt for you）
Two bolts sturdy broadcloth （one blue, one black）
Three oz. steel pins （yes, we need that many）
Thread （for sewing clothes, not sails or flesh）—four balls white, four blue, six black
A dozen needles, mostly small, but two very large ones, please, one curved, one straight
As for food—
Ten loaves sugar
Fifty pounds flour （or we can get it from Woolam’s Mill, if too expensive in Salisbury）
Twenty pounds dry beans
Twenty pounds rice
Spice! （If any and you can afford it. Pepper, cinnamon, nutmeg …？）
Jamie shook his head as he strolled down the street, mentally adding: