To The Traitor in My Bed - Chapter 38

However, it had been a long time since there had been any cases of death by freezing in Rochepolie or Landyke. This was, of course, thanks to the efforts of the lords of Rochepolie and Landyke, who had worked tirelessly to eliminate the tragedies that had claimed the lives of many over the years.

The tradition of even offering a place by the hearth to a murderer in these regions was not maintained for no reason.

The woman could have asked for help from the villagers of Rochepolie before heading all the way to distant Wigmore.

“Deirdre.”

Frederick entered the room, having finished his conversation with the mayor. The news of the young woman’s death by freezing, so close to Rochepolie—just twelve hours by carriage—seemed to have shocked him as well.

She turned to look at her husband.

“What did the mayor say?”

Frederick Fairchild, though slow and oblivious at times, was not an irresponsible man. Seeing the deep, gray eyes, Deirdre felt the urge to cry.

“He asked if we could take care of the deceased’s funeral in Rochepolie. Of course, I agreed to do so.”

“Is there any way to find her family?”

While the mayor was on his way, Anya showed them the deceased’s clothes and belongings. The clothes were plain but of considerable quality, as evidenced by the fine fabric and stitching. Among her belongings was a wallet containing a decent amount of cash and a few pieces of jewelry. The woman, then, was likely of noble or at least affluent commoner descent.

‘Why would someone like her have come here alone?’

This was the question that troubled Deirdre.

“One of the things she had was a ruby ring. If we can find out who made it, we might be able to trace its owner. I’ll take it to Swinton and see what I can find.”

Frederick said as he helped her remove her cloak.

“Anya said we can stay here for the night. So, rest, Deirdre. I’ll take care of the rest.”

But Deirdre felt she wouldn’t be able to sleep. Anya had deliberately called them instead of the border guards. The clear intention was for them to investigate the sad story of the dead woman.

Though not empty-handed, the woman had wandered alone in a foreign land while pregnant. Most likely, she had been fleeing from someone or something.

But the pregnancy didn’t necessarily explain everything. There were facilities throughout the kingdom that helped women who became pregnant due to premarital relationships or infidelity. Some of these facilities were as comfortable as hotels if you could pay, and they also helped arrange adoptions for the babies born there.

‘Could she have been involved in a crime…?’

The deceased woman had nothing to prove her identity. If she had been running from someone, it made sense that she would deliberately conceal her identity. However, there had been no notices issued for the search of a young woman in this area.

As Deirdre thought about various possibilities, one conclusion, which she had hoped to avoid, finally crossed her mind.

‘What if she was the illegitimate child of a high-ranking noble, and she was silenced for it?’

A child isn’t something a woman can make on her own. It wasn’t outside the realm of possibility that the man who had gotten her pregnant might have tried to eliminate both her and the child in order to avoid future consequences.

“Frederick.”

Deirdre wrapped her cold hands around her teacup. Despite the warmth from the hearth, the air in the treatment room was stifling and still the cold sensation lingered.

“What kind of man could abandon a woman carrying his child like that?”

He approached and placed a hand gently on her shoulder.

Like most Antwerp nobles, Frederick Fairchild was a guardian of the kingdom’s laws and customs. It was nearly impossible to forgive an affair where a noblewoman was impregnated or when harm was done to the woman or child.

While the kingdom’s laws and customs were usually more lenient toward men of higher rank, in cases like this, they applied the same strictness to them as well.

“If I find that guy myself, I’ll write to the judge myself to demand the harshest punishment.”

He said, then hesitated for a brief moment, and Deirdre noticed the slight pause.

“…Or perhaps I’ll petition the king himself.”

Those words made her flinch.

Count Fairchild was a royalist. He had always given answers that supported the king’s wishes whenever Christian consulted the council, and he always backed the king’s decisions.

Deirdre knew this well, and it was one of the reasons she had married him. She wasn’t particularly surprised by his stance.

But…

‘What if the father of the child was a royalist noble?’

The people of Rochepolie or Landyke would never do something as cruel as banishing a pregnant woman into the winter cold, even if she was a criminal. Moreover, the customs in this region didn’t punish those who offered help to such individuals.

However, if there was an insurmountable reason that made the recipient of the help unable to accept it, perhaps, the fear that the local lord, being a royalist, might inform another royalist noble about a fugitive hiding here…

The teacup in her hand suddenly felt cold. The tea spilled over, soaking her fingers as she set the cup down with a sound.

“Deirdre…?”

“I need to rest for a bit.”

She said, hoping her tone wouldn’t sound as if she was pushing her husband away.