'Where did she come from?'

'She was a miller's daughter from Bishop's Lynn. I used to go there to buy my flour. Her maiden name was Culpeper.'

Corbett glanced away. A miller in a place like Bishop's Lynn would be very prosperous. Why had he allowed his daughter to marry a village baker? Fourbour seemed to read Corbett's mind.

'Amelia had been involved in scandal. She became pregnant, but the child died.' The words came out in a rush.

'And you asked for her hand in marriage?'

'Yes, yes, I did. Her father was only too pleased. He bestowed a large dowry and Amelia did not object. At first our marriage was happy but, about eighteen months, ago-' Fourbour pushed his fingers through his thinning hair. 'Yes, I think it was then, Amelia became secretive and unhappy. She would go for long walks or ride out on the moors. I would object but she said the villagers didn't like her, she had to get away.'

'Do you know where she went?'

'Sometimes, I think, as far as Holy Cross convent.'

'Didn't she have any friends?'

'No, not really. On May Day and Holy Days she tried to join the rest of the women on the green, but they always ignored her. The same was true when she went to church.' Fourbour licked his dry lips. 'Amelia said she used to be jostled.'

'Did she see the priest?'

'Twice. But Amelia said she didn't like Father Augustine. She found him rather cold.'

Corbctt nodded understandingly. 'And the evening your wife was killed?'

Fourbour rubbed his face in his hands. 'Amelia had been agitated,' he replied slowly. 'Just before dusk she saddled our horse and said she would ride out on the moor.' The baker's voice broke. 'The horse came back by itself. I and my apprentices went out to search. We found her there, hanging from a rope that had been thickly coated with pitch. Lord knows, it was black as soot out here. If it hadn't been for the white of her face, we wouldn't have glimpsed her. One of my apprentices saw her first. He saw her hanging. I said not to approach her. I just couldn't believe it.'