Death in Salem (17 page)

Rees shucked his clothing and stepped into the rapidly cooling water. “Tomorrow,” he said, soaping his long freckled legs, “we'll call upon the Boothe family. I want you to meet Peggy Boothe and the slave Xenobia. And I must question Matthew.” He paused in his ablutions, the sliver of Lydia's fine Castile soap held aloft. “That boy is mixed up in something, I know it.” When Lydia did not comment, Rees looked over at her. She was asleep. Rees sighed; it looked as though he would have to make a supper from the last of the oranges.

*   *   *

The following morning Lydia and Rees arose at dawn, both ravenously hungry. Lydia lifted her blue dress from the hanger and sniffed it, making a face. “Smoke,” she said. “I'll wash this with your shirt, I suppose.” She pulled a clean dress from her valise. Woven of linen, it was dyed pink with madder, and made in the modern loose style with a ruffle at the waist. She shook it but the wrinkles left by its stay in the canvas valise remained.

“Is that new?” Rees asked.

“Yes. Don't you recognize the cloth?” She smiled. “It's some of the dyed linen left you by Nate Bowditch.”

“It's pretty.” Rees had investigated the murder of his estranged childhood friend a year ago. Sometimes he still dreamed about Nate, an old boyhood friend who'd been murdered the previous summer. Although Rees had found the guilty party, it didn't soothe the estrangement between them, and he thought he would be sorry for it to the end of his days. Getting older seemed to mean an increasing number of regrets.

He dressed quickly and then sat and waited while Lydia dressed and combed her hair. By the time they were ready to go forth and search for breakfast, the sun had been up for an hour. Billy was long gone; Rees had watched the boy leave the house in the dawn gloom and disappear down the street.

They stepped into the early morning sunshine and headed to the Moon and Stars. The proprietress greeted Lydia with a smile. After a hearty breakfast of rabbit pie, fish cakes, and bread they returned to Mrs. Baldwin's, and Rees harnessed Amos to the buggy. He did not trust the skittish Bessie with his pregnant wife. Although he could, and would, walk to the Boothe mansion, he thought Lydia might tire, as she had the day before.

They arrived at the house before nine in the morning. Although most of the working people had been toiling at their jobs for an hour or more, Rees thought it likely that Betsy and Matthew Boothe were still asleep. But Xenobia would almost certainly be awake and busy at her chores, and Rees was cautiously optimistic that Peggy would be up as well.

The servant who opened the door pinched his lips tightly together, but he said nothing as he stood back and permitted them entry.

Rees paused at the door to the inner hall, surprised to find it crowded with young people, mostly men but a few women as well. As he looked around, he realized this was the theater group. Adam Coville hesitated on the fringe, his arms crossed and his expression thunderous as he watched Matthew. Grinning and happy, Matthew seemed to be the center of the activity. Everyone was talking to him at once. Peggy sat on the steps leading up to the second level, watching the scene with an amused smile. When she saw Rees and Lydia, she jumped to her feet and attempted to force her way through the crowd. Even as tall as she was, she promptly disappeared from sight in the mob.

Edward Coville thrust his way through the throng, heading for his brother. Rees noticed that most of the youths moved out of Edward's path, turning to him with varying expressions of sympathy. Several clapped him on the shoulder as he passed. He pushed by Rees and Lydia without acknowledging them in any way, his face creased by misery. Adam put an arm around his brother's shoulders, and they went through the door together.

“I wonder what happened,” Rees said, turning to stare after the brothers.

“He and Mattie competed for the same part,” Peggy said, breaking through the mob and hurrying toward them. The skirt of her dark blue gown was streaked with black. “Edward won, but he just withdrew from the play.” She paused for breath.

“What play are they performing?” Lydia asked. As Peggy gestured them toward the morning room, Matthew began trotting toward them.

“
As You Like It
by William Shakespeare,” Peggy said.

“I have the lead now,” Matthew said. His pale hair was tousled and his face flushed with pride and excitement.

“I cannot imagine how you have managed to fund this little pastime,” Peggy said. “The rental of the Assembly House alone must be very dear.”

“We were given a discount,” Matthew said, his words clipped. “But of course, you, a woman unconnected to the world of the theater, would not know how these things work.”

“Hmmm,” said Peggy, not noticeably crushed by her brother's remark. “I think you'd better pray William continues giving you the generous allowance Father did. Otherwise, this company may be searching for another lead.”

“He must,” Matthew said. But he frowned. Rees would have wagered William was not so supportive of the young man's hobby.

“You've chosen a wonderful play,” Lydia said. Matthew broke into a wide smile.

“Yes. I thought for our first production we should choose a comedy. And one by Will Shakespeare,” as though he and the playwright were on close speaking terms, “would do nicely.”

“Well, you can't rehearse in the front hall from now on,” Peggy said in an unsympathetic tone. “The rest of us still live here.”

“Don't worry,” her brother replied shortly. “We're looking for another space now. And anyway, we'll soon move to the Assembly Hall to practice on location.”

“I have a few questions for you,” Rees said.

“Later. I am far too busy at present.”

“Matt,” one of the young men called, “are you coming? We want to begin.”

“Immediately,” Matthew said over his shoulder. Turning back to his sister, he added, “And you can't use the morning room. We need it for the rehearsal.”

With a pained sigh, Peggy said to her guests, “In that case, please come into the breakfast room.” She shot her brother an angry glance, promising retribution, but he had already directed his attention to the acting troupe. “Honestly,” she said in annoyance, “my brother is a man obsessed since he returned home from Harvard.”

“You have no interest in theatricals?” Lydia asked.

“It does look like fun,” Peggy admitted, “but my father would never permit his daughter to participate in something so unladylike. And William doesn't even want Matthew involved. I think my older brother wishes the theater was still banned, as it was a few years ago.”

She guided them to a door at the back and threw it open. This space was located behind the other chamber and looked to be furnished with castoffs from the other more public rooms. A used plate and half-drunk cup of coffee sat alone with an open account ledger beside them. An inkwell was positioned at the top of the place setting, and black drops speckled the white tablecloth around it.

“Now,” Peggy said, “we can talk.” She fixed her gaze upon Lydia. “You must be Mrs. Rees. I am very happy to meet you.”

“I apologize for arriving so unexpectedly and unannounced,” Lydia said.

“Please, don't. As you can see,” said Peggy, gesturing at the noisy hall outside, “we are not so formal here. Please, sit down. Would you like breakfast? May I offer you some tea or coffee?”

“You seem busy,” Rees murmured, eyeing the ledger.

“Yesterday William found me at my desk in Father's office and was quite appalled. So unfeminine, you know.” She made a moue of disgust. “The long and short of it is, he locked the room. I can no longer get to my desk. Fortunately I had already—” She stopped talking abruptly, as though afraid to say too much.

“Surely
he
doesn't bother with the household accounts,” Lydia said in a sympathetic tone.

Peggy threw her a grateful glance. “No, although now he wants to see every entry. My father was always content to allow me to handle it. But I know you didn't come here to discuss such domestic issues.”

“My husband has told me of your recent loss,” Lydia murmured. “I'm so sorry.”

“Thank you.” Peggy looked at Rees. “That loutish deputy has been sniffing around Xenobia again. I hope you have better news.”

“Nothing definite,” Rees said. “I did speak with the Covilles, though.”

“You see there is something wrong with Dickie,” she said with a shake of her head.

Rees avoided replying to Peggy's comment. “I also spoke to Adam and Edward.”

“I daresay they were preparing one of their ships for a whaling run?”

“Yes.”

“Anyone would think the whales were put in the ocean for their exclusive use,” Peggy said tartly. “Their ships are constantly on the hunt.”

“Edward will be serving as captain on this one,” Rees said.

Peggy's eyebrows rose. “So, that is why he withdrew from the play. He said he had to work. I thought he meant in the counting house with his brother. Why is he going out to sea? Bit old for it, I should think.”

“Peggy! Surely you aren't entertaining Mr. Rees and his wife standing over a dirty breakfast table!” Betsy paused in the door, glaring at her sister. “What is wrong with you? I vow, you have no more sense than a goose.” She wore a Chinese shawl of scarlet silk embroidered with all manner of exotic scenes over a plain white dress. Her fair hair lay loose upon her shoulders, breathtaking in its beauty. Rees realized he was staring and quickly shifted his gaze to Peggy. She was smiling at her sister, her lips twisted.

“You aren't even completely dressed,” Peggy said. “Don't lecture me.”

“I am not wearing a dirty old gown,” Betsy said. “Look at it. What have you gotten on it? Ink? Oh my, you know how difficult ink is to wash out of linen.”

“I didn't want to chance splattering ink upon my mourning clothes,” Peggy said. “I only have the two gowns made thus far.”

“But people have seen you out of mourning, and dirty besides.”

“Enough, Bets.” Peggy's voice took on a snap.

“Your shawl is quite lovely,” Lydia said in an admiring tone, breaking into the brewing quarrel.

“Yes, thank you,” Betsy said, looking down at it. “My father brought it back from the East. He brought three; one for me, one for my sister, and one for Mama.”

“But Mama gave hers to Grandmamma,” Peggy said.

“Yes.” Betsy looked down at the embroidered silk around her shoulders in satisfaction. “And I've never seen you wear yours, Peggy.”

“I have not found the proper occasion,” she said. “Certainly it is not appropriate to wear a silk shawl to breakfast.”

“And why aren't you meeting with our guests in the morning room?”

“It's being used for the rehearsal,” Peggy said.

“I certainly hope those—those mountebanks do not continue using our hall,” she said. “My fianc
é
would be horrified.”

“Matthew promised they would find another place.”

“Good.” Betsy turned to Lydia, who was regarding the sisterly scene before her with a smile. “I am so eager to make your acquaintance,” Betsy said, clasping Lydia's hands in hers. “Although I can't support meeting guests in this room,” she glanced around her shabby surroundings with a grimace, “at least I shall have an opportunity to talk to you.” With a nod promising nothing, Lydia withdrew her hands from Betsy's.

“I wonder if Xenobia is available as well,” Rees said.

“My goodness,” Betsy said, “we shall have everyone in here before you know it.”

“I'll see if I can find her,” Peggy said. “She's probably in my mother's bedchamber, sorting her clothing and so on.” Tears suddenly flooded her eyes. “And now … my father's things will have to be looked at as well.”

Lydia stretched out a hand and clasped Peggy's. “I'm so sorry.”

“I wonder,” Rees said, diffident because he knew he was being very forward, “if I could take a quick look at the bedchamber?”

“My mother's?” Peggy asked in surprise. “There is nothing to see. She was ill a long time.”

“Your mother and father slept separately then?” Rees said. It was Jacob's quarters he'd been hoping to inspect.

“Their rooms connected,” Peggy explained. “But my father wasn't in his chamber when he was so foully struck down.” Tears bloomed in her eyes and Rees knew that, despite her melodramatic speech, she was sincerely grieving.

“Sometimes seeing the surroundings of the poor victim prompts a sudden inspiration,” Lydia said.

“Yes,” Rees agreed, nodding his thanks at his wife. “Frequently the dead man leaves behind some indication of the reason for the murder. A letter or something like it. So it is important that I examine your father's living quarters.” Peggy shook her head as though trying to understand Rees's request.

“My father's bedchamber? I assure you, you'll find nothing there.”

“I know my husband,” Lydia said, jumping to Rees's aid again. “If he doesn't see these rooms, no matter how innocent they may be, the omission will nag at him. Better to allow him to peek in at them now than listen to him complain for the next few days.”

“Oh, let him see Father's room,” Betsy said, biting into a piece of bread with her sharp white teeth. “It will take longer to argue over it than for him to peek inside.”

“Very well,” Peggy said reluctantly. “But I don't want you touching anything.” Rees nodded to show he understood, although he knew he might not necessarily be able to keep to that rule. “Follow me, please.”

They threaded their way through the rehearsal to the central staircase. The wall of the first landing was dominated by an enormous painting of a military scene. Rees took an instant dislike to the bright reds and yellows, especially when seen from this close perspective. A bit too red and angry in his opinion. The stairway divided, with six steps rising to the second floor on the right, and six on the left. Rees and Lydia followed Peggy up the right. The hall went around the stairs, with a series of doors leading into bedrooms. Most of the doors were closed, but there were two that stood open. One clearly led into Betsy's room; the faint scent of her perfume emanated into the hall and clothing covered the floor, the chair, and the bed. The second open door, opposite the painting, led into a larger room. Light streamed through the interior windows and out into the hall beyond. Xenobia's humming, which resolved into a dirge with incomprehensible words as Peggy and her visitors approached, drew them forward, into Anstiss Boothe's bedchamber.