Death of a Dyer (16 page)

Before Thomas reached him, a woman with a baby on her hip stepped through the front door and paused on the porch. A toddler, sucking upon his two middle fingers, clung to her skirt. She regarded Rees warily. “Can I help you?”

“I’m waiting for Tom,” Rees said, gesturing to the men hurrying toward them. He stepped forward, his arms outstretched. “Tom? It’s Will, Will Rees.”

“I recognized you.” Tom ran forward. He wasn’t smiling, and before Rees had time to react, a whirlwind of punches descended upon him. “It was your fault!” screamed the man, his fist connecting with Rees’s head and knocking him sideways. “You turned my brother—” Another punch sent Rees reeling. But when Tom flung himself at the weaver a third time, he was ready.

Grasping the other man in a bear hug that effectively trapped his arms, he lifted Tom so only his toes touched the earth. “Settle down!” Rees roared. When last he saw Tom, he’d been still a boy, barely into his teens. “What’s the matter with you?”

“Let me down,” Tom said in a muffled voice as his wife and sons rushed to his side.

“I will when you calm down,” Rees said. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Very well.”

Cautiously Rees released his grip and Tom dropped to the ground and staggered. Then he jumped back, into the protective circle of his family, and glowered balefully at his visitor. Rees regarded Tom in silence. Although he had the Bowditch eyes, that deep navy blue, and the same cleft in his chin as Nate, Tom’s hair was a lighter brown and his features more angular.

“I haven’t seen you for almost twenty years,” Rees said. “What’s wrong with you? Did I torment you when we were boys?”

“It’s what you did to Nate,” Tom cried. But his passion had diminished. His wife put a hand upon his wrist. After a moment, he became aware of the audience behind him. He turned and ordered his sons and the field hands back to work.

“And what was that?” Rees asked, bewildered. “We didn’t part on the best of terms, I admit.”

“You must know,” Tom cried, staring at him.

Rees shrugged helplessly, wondering at Tom’s hostility. “I will regret to the end of days that I didn’t mend our quarrel. But I am making amends; I’m searching for the villain who murdered your brother.”

Tom grinned without amusement. “I should have known my brother’s death would bring you back,” he said. He was no longer convinced of Rees’s guilt; now he just wished it to be true.

“I thought Richard murdered his father,” Mrs. Bowditch said in astonishment.

“That remains to be determined,” Rees said. “Do you think Richard is guilty?”

Husband and wife exchanged a glance. “No,” said Thomas. “We know Richard well and don’t believe it.” But his wife did not speak and she frowned.

Rees looked at her. “And you? What do you think?”

She glanced at her husband and then her gaze dropped. “It’s hard to believe,” she said in a quiet voice.

“He’s not here, if that’s your next question,” Thomas said.

“Would you tell me if he was?”

“Why are you even meddling in this?” Thomas asked.

“I’ve had some experience with this type of tragedy,” Rees said. “During the War. And Molly Bowditch, your brother’s wife, hired me to look into it.”

Mrs. Bowditch’s lip curled, and Tom spit upon the ground. “She wants you to clear Richard’s name,” he said.

“Probably. But you said you don’t believe in his guilt either.”

“Ask your questions, then,” Tom snapped.

Rees eyed him. “I apologize for interrupting your work,” he said, “but I thought you would be as interested in identifying Nate’s murderer as I am.”

Thomas’s eyes dropped. “Of course I am,” he said. “Although Nate and I didn’t get along, I loved him. But I won’t accuse my nephew either.”

“Then tell me what you think,” Rees said.

After several seconds of silence, Tom brushed back his hair from his damp forehead and said, “You’d better come inside.”

Rees followed them up the stairs and into the kitchen. Two girls, one about David’s age, were chopping vegetables at the table. Mrs. Bowditch shooed them outside. The older girl cast a curious glance at Rees but quickly followed her sister. Rees guessed they found few opportunities for play.

“You must remember how we fought?” Tom said, sitting down at the scrubbed farm table.

“Yes,” Rees said. “But often brothers grow closer as they age.”

“Tell him the truth,” his wife said as she sliced cake onto a plate.

“Do you know Nate rented this farm to me?” Tom did not wait for Rees’s nod. “I have something in Nate’s hand leaving this land to me. But not a will. Just a—a note, like. Nate refused to put it in his will or write out a contract. And now that harridan of a wife refuses to accept the note. She claims that Richard, as Nate’s eldest son, inherits everything.”

“It is a sad comment on human nature,” Thomas’s wife said, “when a man cuts his own brother out of inheriting the family farm. Nate owns—owned so much. Why couldn’t he allow us the use of this farm upon his death?”

“You might be in the will,” Rees said. Was it possible Thomas killed his brother for this farm?

“And she without a farming bone in her body!” Thomas’s wife said.

“And Richard?” Rees asked. “Why do you believe he isn’t a murderer?”

Thomas shrugged.

“The boy has a temper,” said Mrs. Bowditch.

“But he doesn’t have the stomach for it,” Tom said. “Did you talk to Augustus? He’s the closest thing to a friend Richard has.” His wife made a moue of distaste. “Marsh virtually raised the two of them.”

Rees nodded. “So I understand.” He paused and then added in a burst of candor, “Why wouldn’t you protect your nephew if it came to it? Weren’t you close to Richard?”

“When he was a boy, he was here all the time,” Tom said. “Both him and Grace. Well, we still see her regularly. But Richard? No.”

“Why not?” Rees asked.

Thomas stirred slightly but did not speak, leaving his wife to tell the tale. “He became … flirtatious with my girls. I hoped that family feeling would prevent Richard from…” She paused. Rees nodded to show his understanding. “Anyway, Tom caught the boy kissing my Anne in the barn. He’s not welcome anymore.”

“When was that?” Rees asked.

“A few months ago,” she replied, glancing at her husband for confirmation.

“Maybe six to eight weeks ago,” Thomas said. “He changed about that time, I’m not sure why. He was very angry with his father.” Now he paused.

“What did Nate say when you told him about Anne?” Rees asked.

“That Richard was sowing his wild oats,” he replied briefly, his eyes settling upon his wife. Rees knew Thomas was holding something back, and knew as well that he would not confide the truth in his wife’s presence. “Anyway, Richard has not visited us since. So you see, we would not hide him here.”

They sat in silence, each busy with their own thoughts. Rees could think of no more questions, and anyway Lydia was probably wondering where he was. Rising to his feet, he thanked Mrs. Bowditch with a bow.

“I’ll walk you to the door,” Thomas said, also standing up.

“Dinner will be ready soon,” his wife said.

Tom nodded. “I’ll fetch the boys.”

He paused upon the step and the two men silently shook hands. As Rees turned toward his wagon, Thomas said, “You came home so infrequently. I know my brother missed you, but you never visited him.”

Rees turned. “We … quarreled,” he said.

Thomas searched Rees’s face as though trying to dig out the memory. “I see,” he said finally. “Are you home for good now?”

“I’m still a traveling weaver,” Rees said.

“But you own a farm,” Thomas argued. “Why would you choose to leave everyone you love, everyone you know, behind?”

That’s why,
Rees thought. When he looked at many of his childhood acquaintances, he saw the child they’d been behind the adult mask, and he suspected they saw his young self in him. But he was no longer the little scrapper who jumped into a fight at the drop of a hat, the tearaway at the heart of every spot of trouble. The beast, that temper he regularly had cause to regret, was under better control now. Dolly had begun his change, and all the subsequent years on the road had schooled him into someone different. But as long as he lived in Dugard, those who knew him as a child would always expect him to be that angry boy.

“Weaving is all I know,” Rees said. It was not an answer and he knew it.

Tom nodded, understanding what Rees really meant. “Nate took a long time to settle, too,” he said. “He went to Boston and New York and even London.”

“Yes, Nate went to fetch James Carleton,” Rees said, relaxing now that the conversation was no longer about him.

Thomas grinned. “Nate remarked one time that James risked Hellfire. Not sure what he meant, but I know he gambled deep.”

“I wondered about the connection between Nate and Carleton,” Rees said. “Remember? He bullied James mercilessly. How did they become friends?”

“I don’t know. First Nate became an associate of King Carleton. Money and success followed. I always thought it was a more sophisticated form of bullying. After a while I felt that I didn’t know him at all.”

“I know,” Rees said sadly.

The two men stood in silence, reflecting upon the boy they’d both loved and the man he’d become. Then, with a curt wave, Tom turned and trotted back to the fields. Rees watched him go, wondering if any of the secrets Thomas kept to protect his brother had resulted instead in his murder.

“Mr. Rees?” A shy light voice broke into his thoughts. He turned to see the older of the girls, fair-haired like her mother but with Thomas’s blue eyes.

“Which daughter are you?”

“Flora.” She clenched her hands together. “I’m in school with David. Will you tell him hello for me?”

“I will,” Rees said, with a smile.

“Maybe, when you call upon us again, you’ll bring him?”

“Perhaps,” Rees said.

“Flora.” Her mother’s voice carried clearly to the yard. “Where is that girl?”

Flora quickly bobbed a curtsey and fled.

Still amused, Rees clambered into his wagon and turned Bessie in the wide arc to face the road. David would be happy in Dugard. Like Nate, he would have his choice of girls.

Rees’s smile faded. Nate so dominated his thoughts right now that Rees almost expected him to haul himself into the wagon seat and cry, “Hey, Will, let’s go fishing.” Sudden grief brought burning tears to Rees’s eyes, and he pulled over at the end of the lane. He wiped his eyes with a grubby handkerchief. “What the Hell happened to you, Nate?” he said aloud. What had happened to that laughing boy?

Chapter Thirteen

As he drove out to the road and turned Bessie’s head toward Nate’s farm, Rees replayed his visit with Tom. Had he told the truth about Richard, or had family feeling trumped other concerns? Regretfully Rees concluded that Tom had been truthful: Richard wasn’t staying with his uncle. So, where was that elusive lad? He’d proved surprisingly successful at escaping Rees’s attention.

Then, as Rees turned the wagon west, his thoughts turned to Tom’s behavior—the wild anger, the conflicted affection he still felt for his brother—and he wondered what had happened between them. The break between them seemed to stem from something more serious than normal sibling conflict.

Rees turned west at the junction of the lane with the main road. Although today was only Tuesday, the traffic traveling east into town seemed unusually heavy. One of the vehicles, a fine carriage, he recognized from the Bowditch farm. Although Rees could not see Molly within the shadows, he certainly knew Fred Salley, who sat in the box. The groom acknowledged Rees with a brief nod but was far too conscious of his own consequence to do more than that.

Rees usually drove the back road, not this main thoroughfare. When he passed a small but thick copse of trees, he wondered if they screened the lay-by described by Mr. Salley. If so, the weaver’s cottage must be close by, completely hidden by vegetation from casual traffic and yet with its own entrance. Rees almost turned around to look for it, but the morning was rapidly disappearing before him. Anyway, he would find it much simpler to mark the location from the cottage first. No doubt the card players were all familiar with that entrance, he thought sourly.

He pulled round to the back drive and parked in his usual spot. A quick look through the kitchen door showed him a hive of activity, Rachel and several other women rushing around, preparing dinner. As his shadow fell through the door, Mary Martha looked up. “I’m just looking for the laundry,” Rees said.

“Summer kitchen,” Rachel said, dropping her wooden spoon and approaching him eagerly. “That brick building across the road.” And then, looking at Rees curiously, she added, “Why?” He could almost see Mary Martha’s ears flapping.

“I want to talk to the laundress for a moment,” he said, purposely vague.

“Is Juniper there?” Mary Martha asked. She couldn’t help herself; she had to jump into the conversation.

“Yes,” Rachel said. With a nod of thanks, he turned away. “Mr. Rees. Wait.” Rachel took a few steps after him. But Mary Martha ran up behind her. With a frustrated groan, Rachel said to Rees, “Will you stop back in the kitchen before you go?”

“Of course,” he said. She went back inside. Rees started down the lane, toward the path that ran behind the barn along the pond to the laundry house. He paused at the crest of the hill, contemplating at the cottage and wondering if he should grab this opportunity to search. As he hesitated, Marsh came out the front door. Rees promptly turned down the footpath, so quickly, he thought Marsh could not have seen him. He didn’t want Marsh to know how curious he was still about the cottage and how determined to conduct a thorough search.

The narrow path ran behind the barn toward a small brick structure sitting on the banks of the pond. Rees didn’t blame Rachel from returning to the regular kitchen as soon as she could. The summer kitchen was far away from the house and in a valley. Carrying food to the house must be difficult.

He paused at the door and looked around him. Drying laundry festooned the trees and bushes around him, and he could smell the hot steamy smell of washing. When he looked over his shoulder, he could just see a corner of the weaver’s cottage through the pointed evergreens and the maples and oaks beside them. Some of the leaves already blushed pink and yellow; fall was fast approaching. That window above the sugar maple was the one by Nate’s bed, and as Rees fixed his gaze upon it he caught a flicker of movement.