A Death in Utopia (19 page)

"Oh, indeed I've seen him. He comes in quite often because he owns a lot of land around the city and he is always buying and selling. He's a jolly enough man if you don't cross him, but whew! What a temper he has if you do. I've seen him get angry even at the sheriff over some delay in his blasted deeds."

Every word Daniel heard made it sound more likely that Whitelaw could be a killer. He wondered what the reaction would be if Whitelaw found him working in the sheriff's office. He'd just have to keep his head down and hope for the best. Soon after he returned with Josiah to the office Daniel had a chance to see Whitelaw in action.

The sheriff was sitting at his desk going over some papers that had arrived by messenger, when there was the sound of loud footsteps on the stairs. The door swung open and Mr. Whitelaw came storming in. Did he always cause such a ruckus like a thunderstorm breaking hard on everyone in its path?

"Do you have my deeds, sheriff?" he asked walking toward the desk. When the sheriff assured him the deeds were ready, he drew a chair up to the desk and sat down.

Daniel was out of his line of vision the way he was sitting, but what if he moved and looked around? On coming in Whitelaw had looked at no one but the sheriff and seemed scarcely aware there were clerks in the room. Now he was talking to the sheriff in a low voice, oblivious to everyone around him.

Finally he stood up and said in a louder voice. "Well, I'll leave it to you then. I'll be away for several weeks starting a week Monday. I'm having trouble with some of my customers in New York. Last month I was down there for weeks. Didn't get back until mid-October. I might as well start my own factory here in Boston if those people can't learn to make proper oil lamps that can use our high quality whale oil. I'll come in to see you when I return."

With that he turned to leave and his eye swept over the clerks sitting on on their high stools. Daniel looked down at his desk as if he was working very hard, but he could feel Whitelaw's eyes on him and thought for a breathless moment that he paused.

Finally, Whitelaw turned and hurried out the door, clattering down the stairs just as he had come in. It was a close call, but Daniel had escaped a scolding and given the sheriff no reason to throw him out.

Not that his troubles were over. "Several weeks" Whitelaw had said "not back until mid-October" it sounded as though he wasn't anywhere near Boston much less Brook Farm when Winslow Hopewell met his fate. What did that do to all their clever ideas? If he had been in New York he couldn't be blamed, but if he was not guilty then who was?

Daniel had been so sure he'd found the culprit at last that he hadn't let himself doubt it was just a matter of proving Whitelaw had been out to the Farm that fatal morning. Now it seemed Whitelaw could not have been there. With a sigh, Daniel dipped his pen into the ink and went back to copying documents again.

When the light disappeared from the sky, Josiah found an oil lamp to work by, although the flickering light was unfriendly to the eye. At last Sheriff Grover told them they could leave. He gave Dan
iel a few coins and told him to come back the next day because there was a backlog of documents that needed copying. It looked as though he might have a job for as long as Charles stayed in Maine with his mother.

Dejectedly Daniel walked back to the boarding house. He was glad he had found work, but it was not what he had dreamed of. What he really wanted to do was to solve the mystery of Reverend Hopewell's death, write a story that would impress Mr. Cabot, and become a regular member of the newspaper staff.

Mrs. Costello had kept some of her stew hot on the stove for him. The stew warmed him and made him feel more cheerful, but finding a letter from Charlotte waiting for him was even better.

Dear Mr. Gallagher
,

I regret to tell you that my efforts have not been very helpful, but I have had several most interesting conversations. I talked with Tabitha Whitelaw who confirmed our belief that her sister-in-law is a bit frivolous and that her brother could well be jealous. She did not say this in so many words, but the tone of what she said left that strong impression on me. However, she gave no information about where her brother might have been at the time of Reverend Hopewell's death, so we are no closer to having any proof of foul play
.

When I returned to Brook Farm I also talked with Abigail who had significant news. She told me that she drove home from church with Fanny Gray who talked eagerly about troubles at the Third Street Church and her belief that there was at least one jealous man in the congregation. Abigail also suggested to me that perhaps Mr. Whitelaw would not have had to be at the Farm himself but could have sent someone else to warn Reverend Hopewell to stay away from his wife
.

These are troubling thoughts and I am eager to talk them over with you. Perhaps you could come out to the Farm on Wednesday afternoon if you do not have other work or perhaps next Sunday
.

Cordially
,

Charlotte Edgerton

Charlotte's letter gave Daniel a new idea. He had not considered the possibility that Benjamin Whitelaw might have sent someone else to talk with Hopewell, or possibly to threaten him. But how could he discover who it might be? If he had to investigate all of the officers and men who worked on the Whitelaw ships, it would take months. Some of them might have sailed after the crime was committed and would by now be far off in the Southern seas. Whaling trips often lasted for years. He and Charlotte would never be able to track all the men down.

He went up to his room and paced up and down the small space trying to think. The very walls of the room, mustardy yellow with a few brown streaks where water had leaked in around the tiny window, reminded him of illness. He'd seen the yellow faces of folks with jaundice that was slowly killing them. But he wasn't going to think such gloomy thoughts. He was going to make a new life in this new country and somehow he would find a way to win back Mr. Cabot's respect.

They needed to find someone who had been out in the early morning when Reverend Hopewell was taking his walk. There were good reasons for many people to be up before dawn during the short autumn days to attend to chores especially on a farm. Abner Platt had been there; that's how he had seen Rory O'Connor. He jumped to the conclusion that Rory was the murderer, but there must have been someone else out that morning. Platt might not have even no
ticed someone else because his first thought was that an Irish tramp must have been guilty. What if he was so eager to blame the crime on Rory that he neglected to mention anyone else he had seen? Perhaps if Daniel went back and questioned him there would be more to learn. And that wasn't all. What about Rory? Daniel spread out a piece of paper and added a few drops of water from the shaving pitcher to his precious small jar of ink.

Dear Miss Edgerton
,

Thank you for your letter and your sensible idea that someone might have acted for Benjamin Whitelaw. This is important because I learned today that Mr. Whitelaw was traveling to New York at the time of the Reverend Hopewell's death. We must find out whether he might have had an accomplice working with him
.

Our task now is to discover whether anyone saw a stranger around the Farm on the morning of the death. Perhaps you could interview Mr. and Mrs. Platt. They might have more information than they have given us so far. I am afraid I was clumsy when I asked questions at the Platt farm and may have learned less than I could have done if I had been more diplomatic
.

As for me, I have found work in the sheriff's office replacing a clerk who is visiting his mother. I will have to continue to work there for the rest of this week because I must pay my board and expenses. However I will seek out Rory O'Connor and question him about whether there might have been any other person lurking about the Brook Farm property that morning
.

My time will not be my own for the rest of this week, but I will visit you on next Sunday and we can compare the information we have learned. You can be assured I will be thinking of you and wishing you well for the remainder of the week
.

Your respectful and affectionate friend
,

Daniel Gallagher

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

Charlotte Talks to a Farm Wife

November 16, 1842
.

Charlotte waited eagerly for Daniel's letter, but was sharply disappointed when it arrived. So Benjamin Whitelaw was nowhere near Brook Farm when Winslow died—what did that mean? She had been sure he was the man responsible. Violet Whitelaw was a weak, silly woman. Charlotte could understand why listening to her talk about her interest in the minister might lead her husband to do something he would regret. She had heard stories enough about matrons in some of the fashionable parishes who somehow confused their adoration of the Deity with their admiration of his servant in the pulpit.

Daniel's suggestion to talk with Abner Platt and his wife Hetty made sense. Daniel had aroused Mr. Platt's anger by his attempt to spy on the barn, but perhaps she could approach Mrs. Platt. She might not have been quite so annoyed by the suspicions of outsiders because no one had questioned her yet. Like all farm wives she would have been up before dawn, so perhaps she saw someone in the area but never thought to mention it. Charlotte resolved to visit
her after dinner on Wednesday, when she would have time to sit and talk for a few minutes.

Wednesday morning went slowly as Charlotte helped her students with their struggle to learn to read. They were copying a short verse from their primer. Timothy, as usual, was the first student to finish his lesson and he proudly presented his slate with every word copied correctly and clearly. Charlotte thought of how proud his father would have been of him if only he had been spared and tears stung her eyes. She was more determined than ever to find out what had happened.

When the morning finally ended Charlotte led her charges down to dinner and watched to see that they all were silent and attentive during grace. After that she was free to enjoy her own dinner and enjoy every mouthful of the delicious pork and beans. It was no trouble to join the cleaning crew afterward and help clear the tables. One of the things she liked most about Brook Farm was the way everyone helped with chores without complaining. She thought, as she often did, that the Ripleys had devised a fine scheme for living, although not many people in the outside world seemed inclined to join.

After dinner she slipped on a warm cloak and started toward Mr. Platt's farm. The weather had turned very cold this week. Snow threatened every day, but so far had produced only a few short snow showers that ended almost as soon as they began. Not a soul was on the road as she walked up a barely-marked path to the weatherbeaten farmhouse. Behind the house was a large vegetable patch barren now except for a couple of languishing pumpkins too small to bother harvesting.

The kitchen door was closed tight against the wind, but Charlotte knocked sharply and heard a child's voice cry out "Someone's at the door". A minute later the door opened to reveal a sturdy woman wearing a dark blue dress and red-checked apron. Her blonde hair made her face look youthful even though it was graying at the temples. Behind her the kitchen was warm and fragrant from a large kettle of soup bubbling on the stove.

"Good afternoon," she said. "You are one of the young ladies from Brook Farm, aren't you?"

"Yes, I am, Mrs. Platt. My name is Charlotte Edgerton and I am a member of the Community. I teach the young children there, children about the age of your son here." Charlotte stepped inside the kitchen and enjoyed the welcoming warmth. "I wonder if I could talk to you for a few minutes about the recent unfortunate events at the Farm."

Mrs. Platt invited her to sit at the large wooden table and insisted on making tea. While they talked she busily peeled and diced potatoes for the soup. Her son quietly played with the potato peels pushing and pulling them around the table and twisting them into figures like stick men.

Charlotte scarcely knew how to begin, but she plunged in. "You have no doubt heard that one of the guests who was visiting the Farm was struck down early one morning several weeks ago. I know your husband was out early that morning and saw a man on the road that he thought might have been responsible. As it turned out the sheriff decided that man was not involved."

"Yes, I know all that," Mrs. Platt said in a gentle, plaintive voice. "That's what the sheriff told Abner, although he still isn't sure that the Irishman wasn't to blame. He said to me, 'Hetty, the good people
at Brook Farm aren't going about hurting one another. If it's not the tramp then who could it be?' and I have to agree the Irishman seems the most likely."

"Were you out early that morning, too?" Charlotte asked. "Did you see the Irishman or anyone else about?"

Hetty Platt considered this seriously before she answered. "I went out early to feed the chickens just like I do every morning. You should hear the racket that rooster makes waking us all up before dawn. We couldn't sleep late even if we had a mind to." She stopped for a minute to put a bowl full of potatoes into the soup kettle. Then she came back and started peeling more.

"It was a foggy morning as I recall and I couldn't see as far as the other side of the road. When I walked toward the chicken coop, I heard a noise across the way. A few yelps like a dog was being disturbed and of course their roosters started crowing too, same as ours. I saw one figure—a man—walking toward the patch of trees beside the barn. Later I thought that must have been Reverend Hopewell. It makes me shiver to think of it."

"But you didn't see anyone else?" Charlotte leaned across the table eager to catch every word.

"The sun was just coming up and I was busy with those chickens. I heard the baby start crying here in the house and I wanted to get back to tend to him. I scarcely paid the Brook Farm place any attention. They do things differently there. Those folks do their farming any time of day and they don't seem to think much of real farmers like us."