Death of a Dyer (3 page)

“Such beautiful children,” Rees said. They were beautiful, but he sounded false.

“Thank you.” Mrs. Bowditch smiled at him. “My children are my world.” Both heard the clatter of buggy wheels and Munch’s loud barking. “I daresay Dr. Wrothman has arrived.” A faint flush tinted her cheeks; she looked like a young girl caught in the first blush of love. “More coffee?” Lifting the silver coffeepot, she poured, her excited hands spilling the liquid upon the tray.

Rees murmured his thanks, shocked by her attachment to another man so soon after Nate’s death.

Munch’s barking stuttered into silence, his recognition of the visitor proclaiming him a regular caller. “Down, Munch,” commanded a resonant male voice. A gray-haired balding gentleman strode into the room, the dog at his heels. Rees rose to his feet and extended his hand.

“Dr. Wrothman, Mr. Rees,” Mrs. Bowditch said, smiling warmly at the doctor. Rees looked hard at the other man. Portly and barely an inch taller than Molly, the doctor was at least fifteen years senior to her. He bent over her hand. Rees noted the furtive caress of her palm and the easy manner between them; their connection was long-standing, then. A spasm of pity and anger in Nate’s behalf swept through Rees, leaving him very sad.

Wrothman turned intelligent gray eyes upon Rees. “Ah, the weaver who will prove Richard’s innocence.” His jovial tone didn’t quite mask the mockery in his voice.

“Only if he is innocent,” Rees said quietly. “In that case, I will do my very best.” He met the doctor’s gaze, and after a moment Wrothman’s expression relaxed.

“You will find Richard troublesome,” he predicted.

“But a good lad nonetheless,” Mrs. Bowditch cried with quick intensity.

The doctor glanced at her and said to Rees, “I know Mrs. Bowditch will find your efforts a comfort.”

Rees bowed. No love lost between him and Nate’s son, then, he thought.

“Will you escort Mr. Rees to the root cellar?” Molly asked, a touch of acid in her voice.

“Of course.” Wrothman turned. “Are you ready?” Rees nodded and reluctantly deposited his cup on the table. The doctor threw him a quick mocking glance. “I find such examinations easier on an empty stomach.”

“I’ve seen my share of the dead,” Rees replied shortly.

“Oh yes, you were a soldier in the Continental Army, weren’t you?” Wrothman motioned Rees to his feet.

“Yes,” Rees said. Although the War for Independence was twenty years and more in the past, for the men who’d fought in it, the War might have happened yesterday.

“You must have been just a boy,” Wrothman said. “I served with General Washington at Trenton.”

Rees looked at him with more interest. “Did you, now?…”

“Gentlemen,” Molly cried with an impatient clap of her white hands. Wrothman bowed apologetically to her.

“And Mr. Rees.” Molly held out a small leather bag that jingled. “Something upon my account.”

Rees took it with a bow. David and Lydia would be glad to see it.

Chapter Two

Rees followed Dr. Wrothman through the front hall and to the back of the house where they descended the stairs to the lower level. That proved to be the winter kitchen. Windows ran along the northern wall. A large fireplace, built angled into the room with an attached stove in the German fashion, occupied the southern wall. Although the stone floor was swept and the kettle simmered gently over the coals, no one seemed to be about. Dr. Wrothman walked toward the door at the other end of the kitchen, and the woman sitting on the step snapping beans leaped to her feet. Rees had a confused impression of a light brown face above a blue dress before Wrothman made an abrupt turn to another door, flung it wide open, and started down the four wooden steps to the darkness below. Shelves on either side contained pickled vegetables, relishes, and even from the top step, Rees could see barrels of brined meat and other foodstuffs lined up in orderly rows against granite walls. One tiny window on the northern wall struggled to light the entire interior.

Wrothman lit a lantern and handed it to Rees. “Mrs. Bowditch refused to allow the body in here, with the food. Or in the springhouse, for that matter. It’s in the back.…” He nodded to a low door set in the middle of the wall ahead.

“Nate is not an ‘it,’” Rees said, taking the lantern and going to the door. In the cool damp, the wood had swollen and he had to yank with all his strength to open it. Even bent almost double, he smacked his head upon the lintel. The walls inside were partially of granite bedrock and partially of stone blocks, the floor dirt. It was very cold. Rees stared at the canvas-shrouded form, suddenly unwilling to approach. He wanted to remember Nate as a boy—so handsome and funny, all the girls circled around him like bees around a honey pot, and arrogant with that air of invincibility. Rees shuddered. He dreaded uncovering Nate’s secrets, but he could easily imagine a cuckholded husband coming after him.

Swallowing convulsively, Rees forced himself forward and slowly teased the shroud away from the body lying upon a bed of ice. He would not have recognized the lined gray face on the bier as his boyhood friend. He jumped back, fighting an almost inconsolable sorrow. He never got to say good-bye, he thought, wiping away the tears that filled his eyes despite his effort to prevent them.

“I’ll find the man who did this to you,” he whispered to his old friend. Penance for the long estrangement between them.

“Are you all right in there?” Wrothman called through the door.

“Fine,” Rees growled. A moment’s deep breathing and a stern lecture on treating this body as he would any other gave him the strength to continue. Carefully he rolled the linen down to the foot of the table. He couldn’t—wouldn’t look into Nate’s gray face again, at least not yet. He looked instead at the shoeless feet. Dirty from long wear, one stocking bore a hole in the toe. Rees could clearly see the nail with its pattern of white lines. And the stockings, like his breeches and linen shirt, were harlequin colored with a rainbow spattering of dyes. Rees’s gaze focused upon Nate’s collar. Green spray fanned across the linen, touched his lips, and speckled his right arm but did not color the chest. He must have been wearing an apron, Rees thought, glancing from side to side for it. He did not see it. Green dye stained Nate’s callused hands as well, occluding the red scaly rash covering his palms. Rees spotted white lines identical to those on the toenails ridging the fingernails.

Rees gulped and determinedly dragged his gaze to Nate’s colorless face. The dimple in his chin was the same, but not that curly dark hair, of which Nate had been so proud. His pallid bald pate shone through the few remaining white strands. Deep furrows ran from nose to lips and scored his forehead. Nate, the beautiful boy, now looked twin to his father. Rees wondered if he looked so old. At least he hadn’t lost his red hair.

The same angry red rash visible on his palms stippled Nate’s cheeks. Some time close to his death he’d been struck in the face; dried blood trickled from one nostril and a fist-sized bruise marked his right cheek. Bruises like fingers upon his nose betrayed a determined effort to cut off his breathing, and something like a scutching knife, the heavy wooden blade used to beat the bark from flax, had been brought down upon Nate’s skull. The right side of his head was bruised and bloody, but then head wounds did bleed heavily. The wound did not look serious enough to cause death. Rees muttered, “Oh, Nate, what happened to you?” How he wished he and his old friend had talked, at least once, to make their peace with each other.

“Are you all right?” Wrothman asked again.

“Fine!” Rees shouted.

He examined the body once again, holding the lantern high so as to have the maximum amount of light. When he was sure he’d seen everything, he lowered the lantern to the dirt floor and pulled the canvas shroud over the bloodless face. He stood still, eyes closed and hands folded, saying good-bye. Then he picked up the lantern and joined Wrothman on the other side of the door.

“Who found Nate’s body?” Rees asked as they walked up the stairs.

“One of the kitchen maids; Mary Martha something. Young woman with hair as red as your own.” His eyes rested with disfavor upon Rees’s coppery mane. “She brought his breakfast down to the weaving house and found him.”

“Did he commonly spend the night in the cottage?” Rees asked, allowing his surprise to show.

Wrothman nodded. “More often than not. He was passionate about his work.” Rees heard Wrothman’s censure but didn’t comment; he also thought Nate’s behavior odd. “Marsh will take you down to the cottage. But, I should warn you, nothing has been cleaned.…”

“Good,” Rees said. Frequently the killer left something of himself only to have a zealous maid scrub it away.

“Few of us visited him there. We were not invited, and that includes Molly and Richard,” the doctor added, almost as an aside, his mouth puckering.

“What happened after the girl found the body?”

“What do you think? The silly wench fell into a fit of hysterics and ran back to the house screaming.” Wrothman gestured Rees ahead of him into the kitchen. “Molly sent a boy to fetch me and I drove over immediately.” Again Rees noticed the doctor’s intimate familiarity with Mrs. Bowditch’s given name.

“Marsh?” Rees asked as he followed the doctor outside.

“He was visiting his sister.” Wrothman went into the kitchen garden and picked a few mint leaves. “Crush them under your nose. I find it helps with the smell of corruption.” Rees did as instructed and inhaled the spicy scent.

“Thank you.”

“You’ll want to wash your hands before dinner. Rachel will show you.” Wrothman nodded at the woman in the kitchen door standing with a large bowl in her arms. Rees recognized the blue dress. “Rachel, this is Mr. Rees. Please show him where he can wash.” With a nod, Wrothman turned and walked up the grassy slope to the front of the house.

Rees shot a glare of dislike at the doctor’s back. Although accustomed to disdainful treatment at the hands of many a master and mistress, he could not abide such snobbery from another visitor, nay, employee. Then he turned his attention to the cook and, for the first time, her appearance registered. Rees stared. She lowered thick black lashes over unusual amber eyes, her expression resigned. Pale golden skin, a delicate rosebud mouth, a dainty nose, and thick glossy hair pulled back into a bun. The severe hairstyle emphasized her startling beauty rather than detracting from it.

Suddenly realizing he was behaving with unacceptable rudeness, Rees glanced away.

“Come inside, please,” Rachel said. She went lightly up the step and into the shadows.

Rees followed her into the kitchen and past the cellar door. Although the fire had been banked, the stifling heat from dinner’s preparation lingered. Perspiration popped out all over his body.

With another slight smile, Rachel directed him to the right side and the small alcove next to the cellar door. A small window high up on the wall allowed entry to a narrow band of sunlight that illuminated the sink underneath. Rachel splashed water from a jug into a small basin and handed Rees a bar of coarse soap. He plunged his face and arms into the water, gasping with the shock of the cold.

Rachel handed him a roughly woven towel. “Please follow me, sir,” she said. “The mistress is waiting dinner on you.” Rees dropped the towel and followed her deeper into the room.

All the natural light came from the windows on the northern wall and the narrow slit over the sink. As they walked past the large oak table, scrubbed white, and past the pantry, the kitchen became progressively darker. Rachel opened the door by the stairs leading to the main floor, and light streamed in. She did not ascend but stood aside with lowered eyes.

Rees went up alone, pausing at the top to get his bearings. Marsh saw him hesitating and took a few dignified steps in Rees’s direction. “This way, please,” he said, gesturing Rees into the small family dining room at the back. Only Mrs. Bowditch and Dr. Wrothman sat at the table, although a third place awaited Rees. He didn’t rate the larger formal dining room, and he was glad of it. Even sitting down at this table felt awkward. He wouldn’t have minded so much if Nate sat across from him, instead of Dr. Wrothman. He seemed to be waiting for Rees to use his fingers or tear at the meat with his teeth like a savage.

Rees looked at the vacant chair beside him and asked, “Is Richard not dining with us?” No one replied, but a self-conscious blush flooded into Mrs. Bowditch’s cheeks.
He’s bolted,
Rees thought.

“The truth is, Mr. Rees, we don’t know where he is.” Dr. Wrothman said, just a beat later.

Rees regarded Mrs. Bowditch in disbelief. “No one has seen him?” he asked.

Mrs. Bowditch leaned forward. “After the morning when his father’s body was discovered and the constable all but accused him of the murder, Richard told me he didn’t do it and fled.” Her voice throbbed with passion. “We haven’t seen him since.”

Rees looked into Molly’s terrified eyes.
She’s afraid,
he thought.
She believes her son did murder his father.
“So, he’s gone,” he said aloud, “and no one knows where he is?” Molly nodded. Rees wondered if she was lying. He must speak to the constable, and soon.

Marsh brought up the fricasseed chicken steaming in its own gravy. Rachel, carrying a plate of greens and a basket of hot biscuits, hastened after him. Her pretty calico skirts whispered with her movement, and Molly threw her an angry glance. “Where is your apron?”

“Is there anyone who might have wanted Nate dead?” Rees asked abruptly. “Excluding Richard, of course.” His bluntness, and obvious rudeness, shocked everyone into silence. But, as he’d hoped, Rachel took the opportunity to flee the room.

“Everyone,” Wrothman said.

“No one,” Molly said at the exact same moment. She turned a frown of reproof upon the doctor.

“He could be … irritating sometimes,” Wrothman said.

I’ll wager you knew that firsthand,
Rees thought, staring at the other man. The relationship between the doctor and Molly Bowditch implied a strong reason to remove Nate. “I’ll want to see the cottage as well,” Rees said.