Death of a Dyer (9 page)

“I thought James would stay in England forever,” he muttered.

“King Carleton, when faced with losing his properties, turned his coat,” Susannah said. “James came home a few times for visits—”

“Summoned home by his father,” Jack interjected. “In fact, King sent Nate to England to fetch him.”

“Nate? They loathed each other. Why did Carleton choose Nate?” Rees asked incredulously.

Jack shrugged. “I don’t know. But Nate appeared to be on good terms with the old man. And with James.”

“Better than good terms,” Susannah said, “James Carleton is—was Nate’s closest friend.”

“James finally returned permanently six or seven years ago, just before his father’s final illness and death. Anyway, Elizabeth is James’s eldest daughter and, I believe, the heir to all the Carleton properties.”

“I can’t conceive of King Carleton allowing his granddaughter to consort with riffraff like Nate Bowditch’s son,” Rees murmured. “And the James I remember wouldn’t either. He detested Nate.”

Susannah threw Rees the same scornful glance she’d employed when they were students together and he needed help with a math problem. “Elizabeth and Richard are meeting on the sly, of course, trying to keep the connection a secret.”

“How do you know?” her husband asked.

“They were seen. King Carleton gobbled up a dozen or more of the small farms hereabouts. Memories are long, and there’s always someone wanting to serve him an ill turn.”

Rees nodded. He’d known several families who had lost their land to Carleton and as a consequence became renters or, worse, homeless.

“Women’s chatter.” Jack growled.

“I would warn James,” Susannah said, ignoring her husband, “but I know he won’t listen. I’m so thankful Leah and Hannah are too young to attract Richard’s attention.”

“I’d kill him if he interfered with either,” Jack said. The absence of bluster made his threat all the more chilling.

“But Nate knew Richard was courting,” Rees said, recalling one of Molly’s statements. “He didn’t approve.”

Susannah’s eyebrows went up, and her mouth rounded: the very picture of surprise. “Why would Nate object? He should be jumping for joy. The Carletons are the largest landowners in the county.”

“And Nate isn’t far behind now,” Jack said. “My God, if the two heirs marry, they’ll
own
the county.”

“Nate?” Rees looked at Jack in surprise. “The son of a farmer? How did he acquire the cash? Certainly not from weaving?” He’d wondered about the new farm but thought maybe Molly’s portion explained the sudden wealth. Although her father was only a cobbler, so that couldn’t be the answer.

“I don’t know. A good businessman, I suppose,” Jack said with a shrug.

“Nate and James, friends? How can that be?” Rees asked, unable to absorb this unexpected news.

“They were business partners first,” Jack said.

“Anyway, it was you James hated,” Susannah said. “You bested him in everything. And everyone liked you, besides.”

Rees shook his head in disbelief. And now he must reacquaint himself with his old nemesis. Did James resemble his lean silver-haired father or was he portly and content? Try as he might, Rees couldn’t envision James as anything but a plump dark-haired boy with the pallor of someone who rarely saw the sun.

“Everyone wondered about the sudden connection between Nate and Mr. Henry Carleton,” Susannah said. “Especially when Nate bought the new farm and rented the old to Thomas.”

Rees’s mind veered into a different direction. “Could Richard be staying with Thomas? He is the boy’s uncle.…”

Susannah and Jack looked at each other. “Doubtful,” Jack said.

Susannah nodded in agreement. “The relationship between Thomas and Nate did not improve as they grew into manhood.”

“Besides, Thomas numbers three daughters in his large brood,” Jack added, lumbering to his feet. “Excuse me. Customers.” Three women, townsfolk by the look of their fashionable gowns and extravagant hats, paused inside the door. Jack bustled over, smiling, and gestured them to a table by the front windows. Another lady was sipping coffee there, and as her friends approached she took out a deck of cards from her reticule.

“Those ladies come regularly,” Susannah said, also pushing back her chair. “I believe they wish their husbands to remain ignorant of their pastime. Now, to my duties.”

Rees jumped up, bowing as she hurried away. But he sat down again to ponder what he’d been told. James Carleton back in Dugard? How surprising. And his daughter and Nate’s son together? Now, that was a connection Rees could never have imagined. Fascinating, but of no help in discovering Augustus’s whereabouts. Rees drained his cup, threw a ha’penny onto the table, and left.

Chapter Six

Once outside, he crossed the road and went down Wheeler’s Way. Although the yard was on the opposite side of the stable wall, he could hear the sounds of horses; Wheeler’s stalls must be full today. A short walk brought him to Isaacs’s smithy, cheek by jowl next to the gunsmith. Several horses were tied up outside, and a crowd of men stood in the doorway laughing and smoking. Rees brushed past them and stepped inside.

The short, grizzled Isaacs hurried to him. “What may I help you with, Mr. Rees?”

“Nothing. I want to speak to him.” Rees nodded at the young man wielding the hammer. He was lighter skinned than Rachel, but possessed of her long lithe legs and arms and thick eyelashes. His heavy prognathic jaw and full lips kept him from a girlish beauty. Except for the leather apron protecting his chest, he was naked to the waist and streaming with sweat.

“We’re very busy today, as you can see,” Isaacs said, gesturing to the waiting horses.

Rees glanced at them. Besides the horseshoes and various farming implements, Augustus must also be working on the barrels and other metal parts to some rifles. “I daresay he can take a short break, can’t he?”

Isaacs looked at Rees thoughtfully.

“Very well. For you. Your father was one of my best customers.”

Rees raised his eyes to Augustus. Although the young man must have heard them, he gave no sign. The hammer continued to come down,
clang, clang,
on the shoe, without breaking rhythm.

“Augustus,” Rees said. The young man flicked an antagonistic glance at the weaver and continued hammering. “Augustus!” Rees bellowed. Still, the pounding did not cease. The weaver approached the anvil. “I’m looking for Richard,” he said quietly. “But I can shout out my questions and everyone can hear our business if you wish.”

Augustus looked at him with dislike and stilled the hammer. After grabbing a towel from a nearby rail, he wiped himself down and stepped through a side door into the smithy yard. A sickly maple provided some shade, dappling the hides of the two farm cobs tied to it. Stables formed a back wall, adjoining the garden wall of Isaacs’s cottage.

Augustus lifted a dipper of water from the barrel under the tree and drank deeply before speaking. “I left that house when I was twelve,” he said, sitting down upon the bench. “I don’t even visit my mother. Why do you think I know anything about Richard?” His instant protestation immediately persuaded Rees that Augustus knew exactly where Richard had gone to ground.

“Because you grew up with him. Because you’re as close as brothers. And because he has no one else.” Augustus looked at the sky and said nothing. “I’m trying to help him,” Rees said. “I’m not convinced he’s guilty. But before I can determine his innocence, and before I can fight for him, I must speak to him.”

Augustus’s gaze swept around the stable yard. “I live in the loft of Isaacs’s house, above his family. I couldn’t hide Richard if I wanted to,” he said. Rees eyed the boy skeptically. Although the lad’s exact words might be true, Rees heard an evasion. “But I’ll send word if I see Richard.” Augustus jumped to his feet. “Break’s over.” He hurried into the smith and a moment later the relentless pounding began again.

Rees stood there burning with frustration.
Damn kids!
But as he turned to walk away, he noticed the windows lining the wall just under the stable roof. The loft would make a fine hiding place. Then he glanced at the men outside in the lane and saw Isaacs watching him from the smithy door. Rees knew he couldn’t investigate right now. But first thing tomorrow morning, when most good people were in church, he would return and explore the loft and the area more completely.

He cut through the alley by Wheeler’s, plunging into the crowds of farmers thronging Market Street. With his height, and with David’s, Rees could see his son standing on the other side of the street. David’s head swiveled from side to side as he searched for his father.

Rees waved and, began shoving through the congestion, cut across toward the table. The back of his neck began to tingle. He stopped, his eyes darting from side to side, but he saw nothing. He spun around.

His sister Caroline, almost unidentifiable in her broad-brimmed straw hat, stood not twenty feet from him. Although he couldn’t see her face, her proud carriage and the arrogant tilt of her chin made her easily recognizable. “Caro?” Attempting a cautious smile—she was, after all, his baby sister—he stepped toward her.

She tipped her head back and stared balefully at him from under the broad brim before spinning around and fleeing into the crowd. “Caro, wait.” Rees expected to hear her calling for her husband but didn’t. He thrust his way through the crowd after her, but she had disappeared. Rees stopped and stared around him, searching the faces. Regret swept through him, an ache far more painful than he expected. This might be his only chance to make things right between them.

Finally accepting she was gone Rees turned and retraced his steps to join David. “Did you see your aunt Caroline?”

“No. She won’t speak to me anyway.” David handed the empty basket to Lydia. Her cheeks and hands exhibited the scarlet flush of sunburn. “I took most of the crates to the wagon already. Will you take the table?”

Rees nodded. “You two go on,” he said, horribly conscious of the curious eyes all around them. “I’ll meet you.…” He waited until they’d disappeared around the corner of Market and Church Streets before hoisting up the table and following.

Many farmers were abandoning their stalls. Like Lydia, they’d sold their wares and now streamed toward their wagons. Rees knew that once he passed this first row of vendors—some with carts displaying their produce, others with wheelbarrows—the crowd would thin. But trying to push through the humanity crushed in around him was like walking through molasses: slow and tiresome. Rees used the table to open a path.

“Rees. Oh, Rees.” From his position on the elevated wooden sidewalk, Caldwell gestured to him. By sidestepping a few steps, Rees managed to reach the sidewalk and step up. “See the slave catchers?”

“Slave catchers? How can you tell?” Rees looked all around but didn’t see anything unusual. Few farmers in Maine owned slaves. However, escaped slaves sometimes made their way to Dugard. Since the Fugitive Slave Act of 1793 permitted their recapture into perpetuity, slave takers were sometimes seen in town.

Caldwell pointed at two men. A thick black mustache distinguished the older of the two, but the younger man seemed little more than a boy. Their linen suits were almost as dirty as Caldwell’s shirt. They traveled in a small empty circle as the townspeople pushed away from them in revulsion. “They were watching Marsh.”

“But Marsh is free,” Rees objected.

Caldwell threw him a scornful glance. “Do you think that matters? They won’t go south empty handed.” He sighed. “We better get the word out; all the blacks should stay hidden until I can move these fellows along.”

“Are there any escapees here?” Rees asked in a low voice.

Caldwell shook his head. “None that I know of. But not everyone tells me either.”

“Aren’t the catchers supposed to bring their captive in front of a magistrate?” Rees asked, watching the men tack from side to side, their eyes constantly moving.

“A legal provision regularly flouted. Anyway, the current magistrate on circuit is Cornelius Hansen.”

“Piggy Hansen?” Rees cried, aghast.

“I see you know the gentleman,” Caldwell said.

“He was a cruel bully as a boy,” Rees said.

“He hasn’t changed much,” Caldwell said. He and Rees exchanged a glance of understanding. “Of course, Marsh is probably safe, if the catchers take that step. Judge Hansen and his wife were good friends with Nate Bowditch, and I believe Molly still socializes with Mrs. Hansen.”

Rees stared at Caldwell in shock. As a boy, Nate regularly thrashed Piggy. “So, where is Marsh?” he asked.

Caldwell smiled. “He left rather hastily. I am sorry to report that the crowd surrounding him prevented the catchers from following him. I told him to inform his mistress and suggested she might want to make other arrangements for market day, at least until they’re gone.”

He and Rees shared a grin. “Good,” Rees said.

“Planning to have a picnic?” Caldwell asked, gesturing to the table and laughing at his wit.

“Market day,” Rees said, grunting and jerking the table to his shoulder. Since the crowd here was marginally thinner, he was able to push through it. He finally reached the corner of Market and Church. A left onto Church and another left onto Wheeler’s Way. Rees finally reached the wagon.

“That took longer than I expected,” David said.

“Too many people,” Rees said, and climbed into the seat.

Lydia and David spent the ride home congratulating each other on a successful day. Rees was happy for them, he was, but he was also aware of something different about their relationship. As though they were joined in some purpose. As though the first barricades were up against him. He could feel himself stiffening into granite, putting up his defenses. He was not surprised when, at the close of dinner, David said, “I want to discuss something with you, Father.”

“Father? That sounds serious.”

“I’ve found someone to help Lydia.” He paused, waiting for his father’s explosion.

But Rees was looking at Lydia, whose expression of hope, anxiety, and belligerence tugged at him. “Who is it?” he said in a resigned voice.