The shiver running up her spine owed nothing to the light spring breeze and everything to the memory of the gruesome tale she’d overheard one of her workers relating to another.
“Found ‘er in the river, they did.”
Thinking the men spoke of one of her cattle she’d moved forward, only to stop at the man’s next words.
“They do say as ‘ow ‘e killed ‘er and threw ‘er body over the side of the bridge, they do.”
“I heard tell Ned Granger never denied it.”
She recognized her foreman’s voice.
“Some even claimed he enjoyed the infamy of it all.”
“’e would too.”
Whether she made some sound or not, she’d never know when the men spun round, spotted her presence, and after doffing their caps moved away, still talking in low voices.
Now after the discussion and revelations of the night before, she gave careful consideration to her fears. Was it possible Harold’s death may not have been the accident the coroner claimed? Certainly she’d given it thought a few days ago but dismissed it as far-fetched. Now? Now she hated the thought her fears may be justified. Too many emotions to identify churned, coalesced, and gnawed at her gut.