Death in Salem (39 page)

“You used a boarding knife?” William asked, sounding numb. “A knife used to cut blubber and bring it on deck? That's how you killed my father?”

Betsy cried out, and when Rees looked at her, he saw her sway and hold her hand to her mouth. Matthew, his cheeks as sallow as his sister's, said, “Please, stop.”

Rees ignored them, his gaze fixed upon Adam.

“This is mere speculation,” Adam said, his voice quavering as though he were trying not to laugh. “Why would we murder Jacob Boothe?” His eyes danced with mockery. “You have nothing against us.” William slowly rose to his feet. His face was white.

“Because of your sister, of course,” Rees said. “Anstiss. She's the one who mattered. Young girls marry and bear families of their own. But you blamed Jacob Boothe for taking her from you. Since you saw her infrequently, you persuaded yourselves Jacob was her jailor. That Anstiss was unhappy. And when she died, although she died from her illness, you were convinced Jacob Boothe had murdered her.”

“She wasn't happy; she was never happy,” said Mrs. Coville in a trembling voice. “She should have been home, with her family.”

“
We
were her family,” William said, staring at his grandmother in disbelief. “She was our mother. She belonged with us.”

Rees kept his gaze upon Adam Coville. “Why did you send your brother Edward out to sea?” Rees asked. “Peggy told me how unusual that was, that Edward should go out to sea at his age. He'd already served upon a whaling ship, just as you had. Did you think he had to be gotten away? Were you afraid he would speak? Or were you afraid he would murder again?”

Adam, the slight smile never leaving his face, shook his head at Rees. “You are a wonderful storyteller,” he said. “But you can prove nothing. Besides, wasn't my uncle murdered in the tunnels? Those are used only by the merchants, not by whaling men. I don't know them.”

“But I saw you.” Annie's clear soprano suddenly sliced through his baritone. Rees, who'd forgotten she was there, jumped. “You and your twin.”

Adam laughed, a strained sound that persuaded no one. “Be quiet, you silly child. I have no twin.”

“But Edward resembles you very strongly,” Rees said. “I remember noting the similarity when I first met you both. At a distance, in the dark, you might be taken for twins, especially by someone who didn't know you.”

“Did you kill my father?” William demanded of his cousin.

Adam shrugged. “Of course not.”

“And my cousin?” Georgianne demanded in a trembling voice.

“Why would I bother with a soiled ladybird?” Adam sneered at her. “Even my uncle would not be so desperate as to choose you or your cousin, not after Anstiss.” For the first time he sounded completely honest, his casual brutality bare and unforced. Georgianne went white. Rees's gaze went to Mrs. Coville. She was staring at the young woman with hatred. Georgianne pulled herself back into her upholstered seat, clutching the arms to tightly the skin on her knuckles looked ready to split. Mrs. Baldwin reached over and laid her hand soothingly upon Georgianne's.

“Jacob had already chosen his second wife.” Mrs. Coville's lips were trembling. “He killed my darling to make way for
her
.” The pronoun sounded like an epithet, it was hurled at Georgianne with such force.

“That's not true,” Georgianne protested. “He loved Anstiss very much.”

“Why else would he spend so much time with you? He did not appreciate my daughter.” Mrs. Coville broke down into sobbing, harsh guttural cries that sounded as though they were ripped from her. Adam put an arm about his mother. Xenobia, without being asked, quickly poured a cup of tea and pressed it into the older woman's hands. She took a couple of shaky sips and fought for control. As Rees regarded the old woman, the last pieces of the puzzle fell into place: click, click, click.

“The motivation behind Isabella's death was the most difficult to unravel,” he said. “After all, her connection to the Boothe family was tenuous at best: she was a cousin to Jacob's friend.” He nodded at Georgianne. “She wasn't killed with a boarding knife, but strangled with a scarf. Xenobia, would you hold up the shawl.” As she did so, Al leaned forward. “Did the woman you saw enter the house wear a wrap such as this?” Rees asked the boy.

“Yes. Except it was gray. But it had all those…” His hand made a motion in the air. “… things on it.”

“Wasn't that Peggy?” Georgianne asked, her forehead furrowing. “I thought she—you said…”

“No,” Rees replied. “The more I considered Peggy, the more I realized that of all the Boothe children, she had the least reason to fear her father's remarriage. She and William.” He bowed at the other man. William did not return the acknowledgement. He seemed stunned into paralysis by the revelations. “Both Matthew and Betsy expressed concern that they would lose their inheritances. One of the first things Matthew told me was that after William's share, which was the bulk of the estate, and the dowries for the daughters, the remaining percent was divided equally among the children. If Jacob had fathered a child with another woman, that child would—or could,” Rees amended, “demand a portion. Peggy didn't care about that. She was earning a substantial income of her own from her shipping business. Betsy and Matthew, however, would be made poorer.”

“Another heir would beggar us,” Matthew said with feeling. He did not realize the implications of his careless words until all eyes turned first to him and then to Betsy. She gulped. All the bright vivacity fled from her face, leaving it pale and frightened.

“But I didn't … I would never…”

“I agree. The lady seen entering into Mrs. Foster's house was dowdy,” Rees said, adding with some asperity, “I couldn't imagine you ever appearing less than fashionable. In any event, you and Peggy both had been out driving with Mr. Morris during the time in question. So I concluded that neither you nor Peggy were guilty, and that Isabella was strangled by someone else.”

“Was it you?” Georgianne accused Mrs. Coville. “Did you murder my cousin, an innocent woman?” Her voice rose with mingled grief and fury. “She could be silly, but there was not an ounce of harm in her.”

“My father gave my mother a shawl exactly like mine, except it was gray,” Betsy said in a strange, hard voice. “And she gave it to her mother. You.” Mrs. Coville gasped and raised a trembling hand to her mouth. She looked every bit of her sixty or so years.

“It was not Mrs. Coville,” Rees said. “She rarely visited Salem. I doubt she would have the strength anyway. And although I blame myself for telling the Coville family of your and Isabella's existence, I never mentioned an address.”

“It would have been an easy thing to obtain,” Georgianne said, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Who else would think to murder Isabella? There are no other females involved in this sad tale.”

“No,” Rees agreed. “But there are men involved in amateur theatricals who would think nothing of dressing as women.”

With a soft rustle, everyone in the room turned to stare at Matthew. Blood flooded into his face and then fled, leaving his cheeks a pasty white. “I didn't do it,” he cried in mingled fear and outrage. “I admit I took a few things from the cellar, but that's all.” Adam laughed. Rees wanted to punch that arrogant amusement from his face.

“I did consider you,” Rees said to Matthew. “You were furious at the prospect of losing even a penny of what you believed you deserved. And you knew where Mrs. Foster lived. You'd followed her. But you aren't a killer. And,” Rees looked around at the group, “both Matthew and Betsy knew of Isabella Porter's existence. They'd seen Georgianne and Isabella together and knew the difference between the two women. The person who killed Isabella thought
she
was Georgianne Foster.” Rees's gaze fastened upon Adam Coville. He was still wearing his smile and staring at Rees as though none of this concerned him. “You wouldn't know, would you?”

“Me?” Adam chuckled. “Have you run mad, Mr. Rees? I told you. I don't care about Jacob's ladybird.”

“But Edward did, didn't he? He felt as your mother does, that Jacob had chosen another woman over his sister, and had in fact murdered Anstiss so he could marry again. And he participates in amateur theatricals as well, doesn't he?” Rees glanced at Matthew.

“He—” Matthew cleared his throat, “He does. Did.”

“It would be an easy thing to borrow a silk wrap from his mother, as well as a hat.”

Adam flung a glance at his mother, mingled horror and disbelief chasing away his supercilious sneer. “You're accusing my brother of strangling a woman?” His tone and his desperate pleading stare at his mother begged her to refute Rees's accusation. But she did not look up from her clenched hands. “Mother?” Adam's voice broke. Rees saw Adam's face change when he realized she'd known all along. “You knew?” She did not reply.

“An innocent woman,” Rees said. “She wasn't even Jacob Boothe's friend, not really. Georgianne Foster was out that day.” Adam tried to say something but could not force the words out. “You see, Mr. Coville,” Rees added in a soft voice, “murder can become a habit. And it's easier with practice. You might see a difference between the executions of Jacob Boothe and the sailor and the cold-blooded murder of a woman, but to your brother, they were all the same.”

“But a woman … a woman we didn't even know.” Adam closed his eyes and took in a deep breath. Rees could see Adam building up his defenses, brick by brick. “Of course, you have no proof,” he said at last. “No eyewitness of the actual crime. And certainly no confession. You have nothing.” He turned to his mother. “We are leaving.” But he made no effort to help her from her chair and did not offer her his arm. Everyone in the room remained silent as they watched the Covilles depart. Even Swett seemed stunned.

Rees fixed his gaze upon William. He looked as though he'd aged twenty years, his shoulders rounded with the weight that had descended upon them. He raised his eyes and met Rees's. William believed the explanation—and Adam's reaction was as good as a confession. And Rees, staring at the anger beginning to break through William's shocked numbness, decided he would not want to be in either Adam or Edward Coville's shoes.

“So,” William said, “Edward is the murderer?” His voice was empty, as though all his emotions were used up.

“Well,” Rees temporized, “he strangled Isabella Porter, we can be certain of that. And he killed the mate, who had the temerity to ask for money. I didn't realize it at the time, but I saw the mate in the Witch's Cauldron buying drinks for all the crew. He said he had come into money—I should have guessed he was talking about blackmail money. I think Edward held the knife that stabbed your father. But it was Adam who planned it and helped. Someone would have had to hold Jacob.” He stopped abruptly, hearing a gasp behind him. “It wasn't only Dickie who thought Anstiss had been stolen away. The entire family thought so. And when she died…”

“They blamed my father,” William said.

Rees nodded.

William looked at Mr. Swett. “I will need your help. They can't be allowed to get away with this.”

Swett's mouth curved down unhappily but he did not protest.

As Matthew and Betsy joined William, Rees backed up until he felt the chair at the back of his knees. He sat down, suddenly very tired. He had done what he had contracted to do; it was time to go home.

Rees turned to Lydia and Annie, but before he could speak, Twig called to him. “Will?” His voice sounded unusually tentative. Rees looked at his old friend questioningly. “We are getting married.” Twig gestured to Xenobia. “Will you come for the wedding?”

“You and your wife, of course,” Xenobia said quickly.

“Of course,” Rees said. “But what about…?” He motioned to William. “I mean, are you free?”

“I will let Peggy's Letter of Manumission stand,” William said, raising his voice over Betsy's sobbing. Matthew was patting her shoulder and looking as though he wished he were elsewhere. “They're free to marry.” He regarded Rees with a direct and steady look. “I owe you more than any sum of money I could pay.”

“For what?” Betsy wailed. “No one will ever want to marry me now.”

“Mr. Morris broke the engagement,” Xenobia explained in a low voice. “He said there was entirely too much scandal in this family.”

“But I saw him escorting one of the Derby daughters,” Twig said, “so I think he decided to marry in his own class.”

Rees eyed Betsy. He did not doubt she would marry soon and marry well; she was so beautiful. But he could not imagine living with someone so self-absorbed. It would be like marrying ice: hard, inflexible, and always cold. A sudden shiver overtook him. Benoit had won the better of the two sisters, and Rees hoped he appreciated it.

“There's one more thing,” Rees said, turning his attention back to William. “These lads, Billy Baldwin and Al…” He gestured at the street urchin.

“White,” Al put in helpfully. “Alfred White.”

“They want to go to sea. Can you make a place for them on one of your merchant vessels?”

“Of course,” William said, bobbing a little bow. “You have solved three murders. It is a small thing to hire cabin boys.” He looked first at Billy and then at Al. “Come to me at my place of business on Monday.”

“He's only fifteen,” Mrs. Baldwin said.

“Not a baby,” Billy said with a scowl.

“Don't worry,” William said, looking at the boy's mother. “I'll make sure he's well looked after.”

“Thank you,” Rees said. With a satisfied sigh, and feeling that everything had been resolved, Rees turned to Lydia.

“Is it finally time to go home?” she asked with a smile.