Death of a Dyer (10 page)

“Abigail Jane, Mary Martha’s sister,” David said.

Lydia clenched her hands together in an agony of hope.

Rees gritted his teeth. “Mary Martha can talk the hind leg off a donkey,” he said, shaking his head.

“Abby isn’t like that. She doesn’t talk. Well, she does, but she doesn’t chatter like her sister. We would all prefer that.” Anger throbbed through Rees’s temples and he didn’t dare speak. “Lydia doesn’t want her reputation compromised by gossip any more than you do,” David added.

Rees turned to stare at her.

She met his gaze. “Although I want another woman by me, I don’t want the townsfolk believing I share your bed,” she said. “I too would prefer employing someone who keeps her own counsel. David assures me this Abigail is the girl.”

Rees heard Lydia refer to David with a shock of exclusion. He shook his head.

“Mother was often lonely,” David said. “She concealed it from you. And you never questioned it. She grew up here and she saw her parents and her brothers and sisters and a whole skein of cousins almost daily. And I still heard her sometimes, crying at night.”

Rees swallowed. “She—she did? She never said.”

“Lydia has no one but us.” He continued to contemplate his father until Rees felt like a worm on the end of a hook, squirming and unable to break free. Wasn’t it his job to protect Lydia? Not David’s.

He dragged his gaze to Lydia and said, “You’ll hire someone even if I say no, won’t you?”

She didn’t try to soften her response. “Yes. Eventually. But I’d much rather share this decision with you.” With David’s accusation reverberating in his ears, Rees did not want to argue.

David looked from Lydia to Rees and back again. “I have chores,” he said, rising to his feet. As David walked into the mudroom, throwing a final glance at his father, Rees turned to Lydia.

“I followed you here for a better life,” she said, raising her chin.

“I want you to stay,” he admitted.

She nodded. “You have memories of Dolly,” she said. “Just as I have memories of Charles. I understand. I accept that. For now.”

She might still return to the Shakers, Rees thought, his stomach lurching. He sat at the table watching her as she stirred up the fire under the water heating in the kettle. She was smiling and he longed to put his arms around her and kiss the delicate nape of her neck. But he didn’t have the right, by his own choice. Finally he rose to his feet and followed David outside.

Chapter Seven

Rees drove into town the next morning in the midst of church traffic, farmers and families in their Sunday best. Although baptized and confirmed into the stone Anglican church in town, he maintained his skepticism of all things religious. His mother would be horrified.

Buggies and carriages clogged Church Street, Market Street, and all the lanes around. Rees finally parked in the yard behind Potter’s establishment and walked the distance to Wheeler’s Way. The door into the blacksmith’s was shut and locked. He should have thought of that. Cursing himself for a fool, Rees hauled himself over the fence. All was silent. He knew someone would be here; the horses in their stalls must be tended whether Sunday or no, and he saw fresh water in the trough. As quietly as possible, he eased into the stable. He heard voices in the loft. He climbed the ladder, praying that the shuffling of hooves and odd whinny would cover any sound that he might make. The roof captured and held the heat, so with each rung up, the temperature noticeably increased.

He paused at the top of the ladder and peered into the sun-spotted gloom. Straw had been piled in one corner and a pallet stretched out upon it. Augustus sat with his back to Rees, facing a lanky dark-haired boy. He did not resemble Molly Bowditch, but Rees would have recognized him as Augustus’s brother anywhere. Both shared that heavy jaw and full sensual lips.

“I don’t trust him,” Richard said flatly. “He’s one of Caldwell’s, I know it.”

“He was your father’s best friend,” Augustus argued. “And your mother hired him. And he told me he doesn’t automatically assume you’re guilty.”

Richard, his expression agonized, looked at his brother and shook his head.

Augustus believes Richard’s guilty,
Rees thought, shifting his weight as he leaned forward for a better view. The ladder shrieked in protest.

Richard looked up, his brown eyes lighting upon the unwanted visitor. “He followed you!” he shouted accusingly, jumping to his feet. He glanced wildly around him for a way out and suddenly threw himself off the loft to the hay bales below.

“Wait, wait!” Rees called after him. “Richard. I just want to talk to you.” He began scrambling down the ladder, but by the time he reached the stable floor, Richard had disappeared through the door. Although Rees ran into the yard and looked all around, he knew he was too late. Still, he had to try. Climbing the fence to the alley, he glanced in both directions. Nothing but a faint haze of dust. Rees trotted north to Water Street. Even the Contented Rooster was closed now, at least until dinnertime. And he saw no sign of Richard.
Damn!
Turning around, he started back to the smithy. He planned to say a few choice words to Augustus.

But Augustus, who’d also jumped the fence to follow his brother, was caught in the tight grip of the two slave takers. He’d put up a fight; his nose streamed blood and an ugly gash went from eyebrow to cheek around his left eye. But he’d been unable to vanquish the two other men. Now they dragged him toward the horses tethered at the end of the street.

Without a moment’s thought, Rees steamed toward them, shouting. “Let him go! Let him go!” They speeded up into a clumsy trot, Augustus fighting their hold.

Unencumbered, Rees caught up to them. He grabbed the older of the two catchers and, spinning him around, hit him with all his strength. The catcher released his hold upon the prisoner and dropped to the ground like a felled tree. Augustus wrenched himself out of the other’s grip and pushed the young man away. The young catcher reached into his pocket. Rees didn’t know if he’d pull out a pistol or a knife or something innocuous; he didn’t pause to find out. He hit the boy as well and watched him drop. Panting, shaking his stinging hand, Rees stepped back.

Running feet pounded up behind him and as Caldwell’s penetrating odor ballooned around the combatants, he pushed Augustus backwards. One of the deputies, a tavern rat from the Bull from the look of him, stood over the older of the two men. Caldwell held a flintlock pistol.

“I have a description,” the older catcher cried. He pulled a paper from his pocket and brandished it.

Caldwell snatched it out of his hands, skimmed it, and handed it to Rees.

He read aloud, “Five dollars reward. Ran away from subscriber about six weeks ago. Understands blacksmithing. Mulatto about five feet nine inches tall, thirty years of age, and greatly addicted to drink. Answers to the name Hercules.” He looked at the man and said angrily, “This boy is not even twenty. And he was born here.”

“We want to see a magistrate,” the catcher retorted. “By the Act of 1793—” He sounded as though he were repeating a lesson drilled into him. Rees suspected neither of these men could read.

“Is that why you were dragging Augie down the street, because you were bringing him to a magistrate?” Caldwell asked. “And on a Sunday, too.”

“You calling me a liar?” the catcher bellowed.

“I’ll call you worse if you don’t get out of town,” Caldwell said. “I’ve known this lad since he was born. You’re lucky I don’t jail you for kidnapping.”

The older fellow, lanky and almost as tall as Rees, hesitated. Then he smiled, gap-toothed, and pulled himself upright. “Sorry. We made a mistake. Sorry.” He pulled his companion up and they began walking away.

Rees touched Augustus, who was trembling with terror, on the shoulder.

“I won’t lay money on them leaving,” Caldwell said, staring after the two men as they hurried toward their horses. “You were lucky Mr. Rees happened along, Augustus.” Then he turned to Rees in puzzlement. “Why were you here?”

“I thought Augustus might know more about Richard than he claimed,” Rees said, not altogether truthfully. He fixed a stern eye upon the lad. “And indeed I found him in Richard’s company.”

Caldwell turned to glare at Augustus. “You lied to me, boy.” Augustus didn’t speak, but his expression was defeated. “I think a day or two in jail will be just the thing. It’ll teach you not to lie to the law.”

Augustus threw Rees a pleading look. “I’m innocent. Why should I go to jail?”

“It’s not safe for you to stay here, not until those damn crackers go home,” he said, not unkindly. “I hope it won’t be for more than a day or two.”

Caldwell nodded at Rees. “Yes. I’ll release him when those catchers leave town. Now, for jail.”

“First,” Rees said, tipping the boy’s face up so he could see the cut, “let’s stop and see if Dr. Wrothman is around. This cut looks ugly.”

Caldwell glanced at Augie and nodded. “Very well.”

Rees kept a tight grip upon Augustus’s arm as he followed the constable north through town. The doctor lived on the outskirts, not in a fine mansion but a stout house with at least two floors. An ell to one side boasted its own door, and as they approached the door opened, and Dr. Wrothman stepped out.

He stopped short when he saw Augustus. “What happened?”

“The slave takers caught him,” Caldwell said. “There was a scuffle.…”

“I should say so,” Wrothman said. He paused on the step, and Rees wondered if he were trying to decide whether or not to treat the lad.

“I don’t want blood all over my jail,” Caldwell said.

Wrothman looked at the blood and pulled a face. He opened his door and ushered them in. Caldwell sat down and averted his face from the operation, but Rees stepped up to the table. He wanted to keep an eye, and a quick hand, on the boy, but also he wanted to question the good doctor without Molly nearby.

“You think I killed your friend, don’t you?” Wrothman said as he washed the blood from the gash.

“Did you?” Rees asked.

“Of course not.”

“You had good reason.” Rees glanced quickly at Augustus and did not continue.

Wrothman smiled. “Did I? Maybe. He should have paid more attention to his wife. But I didn’t do it. I couldn’t. I was twenty miles west of here, delivering a baby.” He cut his eyes toward Augustus. “The Collier baby. You know Enoch Collier, don’t you?”

Augie nodded. “Doesn’t he already have five or six kids?”

“Seven. It’s eight now.” He leaned forward to dab at the cut.

Augie pushed his hand away. “Stings.”

“I’ll be happy to give you the direction, if you like.” The doctor looked at Rees with a smug expression. Rees knew the doctor must have done exactly as he said to look so confident. But that didn’t mean Wrothman hadn’t conjured some other method of murdering his mistress’s husband.

“Thank you. I’ll take it,” Rees said, just to see if any slight discomfort crossed the doctor’s face. But he maintained his arrogant smile as he tied a linen strip over Augustus’s wound. As Rees joined the constable, and they escorted Augustus back into the sunshine, Rees said, “I’d like to smack that grin right off Wrothman’s face.”

“I doubt you’ll be offered a chance,” Caldwell said in amusement. “He’s entirely too sure of himself.”

Although Augustus scowled furiously, he did not protest as they marched him the three streets over to the jail. Rees held the boy as Caldwell fetched a large key from his desk in the middle of the main room. Then they hustled Augustus into one of the two cells and Caldwell locked the barred door. Augustus rattled it a few times before turning to the bench and subsiding upon it.

“See? I told you. Local boy hears more,” Caldwell said to Rees as he dropped the key back into his drawer.

Rees sat down in the chair by the desk and looked around. Since his childhood, the jail had been rebuilt: larger and of fine chestnut wood. He rose to his feet and ran his hand over the smoothly planed wall. Sometimes he regretted not apprenticing with a carpenter; he loved working with wood. Then he looked at the desk, now stained with white rings and the blackened marks left by burning cigars, and shuddered to see such careless damage.

“I’m sure you know many things I don’t,” he said. “I’ll check on the boy tomorrow.” Turning to the cell, he shouted at Augustus, “The constable will make sure you have food and water!” He raised his brows at Caldwell. When the constable sighed and frowned in reluctance, Rees fumbled in his pocket for a few coins.

Caldwell nodded, more eagerly this time, and put his hand out. “You know,” he said as he clutched his fingers around the money, “it will prove expensive to keep him here for longer than a day or two.”

“You can’t release him too soon. I don’t think any of us want to see him dragged south,” Rees protested.

“We need to find him a safer billet.” Caldwell looked at Rees sternly.

“I’ll give it some thought,” he promised, although he couldn’t think of a safer place than the jail.

“Join me for a drink at the Bull?” Caldwell stood up.

Rees hesitated and then nodded. “Very well.”

Caldwell carefully closed and locked the office door behind him and they crossed the street to the tavern.

Since today was Sunday, and midday, few men stood at the bar. Caldwell ordered a whiskey, Rees ale. It was thin and sour, without the flavor of Marsh’s home-brewed.

“So, where do you think Richard Bowditch has gone now?” Caldwell asked, swiping his tongue around his mouth to suck up any stray drops.

Rees shrugged. “I don’t know. He doesn’t have anyone else,” he said. Anyone but Elizabeth Carleton; the thought popped into his mind.

Caldwell glanced at him. “You won’t lie to me, now, will you, Rees?”

“If I discover something definite, I promise I will tell you.” A door at the back opened and four men stepped out, wreathed in smoke.

As Rees glanced at them, recognizing George Potter and someone he thought must be Piggy Hansen, Sam Prentiss detached himself from the group. “What are you doing here?” he snarled, bearing down upon Rees.

“Come on, Sam,” said Hansen. Formerly a plump boy, he had matured into a corpulent man with thinning hair.