Death of a Dyer (17 page)

“I don’t often see visitors down here.” The voice took Rees by surprise and he turned to look at the laundress. A heavyset black woman, familiar to him from her shifts in the kitchen, Juniper motioned him into the laundry, where she was aggressively ironing wrinkled linen. Since this was Tuesday, most of the copper kettles were empty and stacked on one wall. But the fire was blazing and flatirons were lined up in a row on the hearth to heat. “Whatever are you doing here, Mr. Rees?”

“I’m looking for the shirt Richard was wearing the day his father died.”

She eyed him anxiously. “It’s stained with blood, Mr. Rees.” She bit her lip.

Rees nodded. “I know. That is why I want to see it.” She looked at him carefully, to see if he was serious, before waddling to a basket by the wall. She rummaged through the linen, treating Rees to a view of her tow-covered broad backside before coming up with a white shirt. The brownish stains speckling the right sleeve and belly were clearly visible.

“Do you think the lad murdered his father?” she asked.

“That’s what I’m trying to find out,” Rees said. “He might be innocent, but right now Augustus is in jail for it and if I don’t find the guilty man, he will catch the blame.”

She nodded, her eyes filling with tears, and handed Rees the shirt. He shook it out so he could inspect the stains more easily.

A large stain over the belly, exactly where Mr. Salley said it would be. Solid brown stained the right cuff, diminishing to a spray of dots that crept up the shoulder and down the right front. Exactly what one would expect if Richard had struck his father once or twice. “There’s not enough blood,” Rees mumbled. “Is this the only shirt?”

“Not the only shirt,” she replied dryly, “but the only one with bloodstains, yes.”

“Did you see anything else unusual?” Rees asked, hearing the desperation in his voice. She thought and turned again to rummage through a basket. This time she offered him a shawl knitted from many bright strands of yarn. “Rachel’s shawl?”

She nodded. “Rachel would never bring it up to the house. The mistress is that jealous.…”

“Marsh was looking for this.” A closer examination revealed faint smudged bloody fingerprints down the front edge. “Do you know who might have taken this out of the cottage?” Rees looked at Juniper, catching a fleeting worry speeding across her face before her expression went blank. She shook her head. “Anything else?” Rees asked. “Rags, maybe?”

Looking surprised, Juniper turned and fetched a rag with a swirly brown stain. “How did you know? This came down covered with vomit.…”

Rees took it from her. Mary Martha said Nate had tried to clean up after himself. He would have been alive then. Someone had entered the cottage after and put this into the laundry. Had that person also murdered Nate?

“Who sent this down?” he asked.

She shrugged. “It came in a basket from the cottage.”

“It’s not dyed green,” Rees muttered. Green had splashed Nate’s shirt and the floor.

“I don’t wash anything dyed,” Juniper said. “Marsh washes all that nasty dyed stuff.”

“But you knew the rags came from the cottage?”

“I regularly get rags, especially after the master—” She stopped abruptly.

She knows about the card players,
Rees thought as he stared at her. “After the master has company?”

She nodded. “Well, there’s wine and all,” she said. “Some of the gentlemen drink too much. And the drinks get spilled, so there’s table linens—”

“How often did they meet?” Rees asked roughly.

“I don’t know. Marsh might. I got something to wash only once or twice a month.”

Marsh again. Rees stared unseeingly at the brick wall over Juniper’s head.

“I hope I haven’t gotten the young master in trouble,” she said. “He isn’t wicked, you know. He’s just a boy. High spirited.”

Rees nodded without speaking and left. From the laundry door he stared up at the cottage window. Nothing moved. He climbed the hill and looked down again at the cottage. It appeared quiet, empty and almost abandoned. Yet again he considered running down and searching the place, but he suspected Marsh would come looking for him. Instead, he trotted down the overgrown lane toward the trees. Wheeled traffic had cut grooves into the mud and with the recent summery heat, the ruts were now as hard as stone. The lane narrowed to a worn footpath that cut left, toward the trees at the edge of the flax field. He followed it into the woods and through to a disguised clearing where the scars of wheels and many piles of horse droppings indicated heavy use. A thick screen of trees and underbrush shielded this small area from the main road. Rees understood why Fred, and probably the other hands who relied upon shank’s mare to reach their homes, preferred this route; it would be a much shorter walk to Dugard, especially if no one offered a ride.

He shook his head. Was it only the card players who used this secret way or others? And what other skeletons would he discover in Nate’s closet?

With a final glance around, Rees retraced his steps through the tree break. As he started up the overgrown lane toward the hill, Marsh, Munch at his heels, appeared at the top of the slope. Although the dark face remained empty of emotion, his tense shoulders looked angry. Rees was glad he hadn’t gone into the cottage; Marsh would surely have followed.

In silence he trailed Marsh to the kitchen. Rachel must have been waiting for him; she popped out of the kitchen as soon as he stepped into the yard. Marsh threw Rees a glance and went inside. “Augustus?” Rachel whispered.

“He’s safe,” Rees replied.

“Still in jail?”

“For the time being.” Rees said. He considered sharing his plan for Augustus’s escape but decided against it. He doubted Rachel could hide her joy at his escape, and anyway one of the women helping in the kitchen came outside just then.

“Rachel?”

Rees’s gaze, which had passed over the woman without really noticing her, snapped back at the sound of her voice. Lydia?

“Yes?” Rachel turned. Lydia’s nervous gaze fastened upon Rees. “Did you need something?” Rachel asked with some impatience.

Lydia dragged her eyes from Rees. “The large bread bowl?”

“Ask Mary Martha.” Sensing the sudden undercurrent, she turned to Rees and she said, “Our new kitchen maid.” Rees nodded, staring at Lydia. “We took on some additional help, at least until after the memorial service.” He found himself incapable of speech.

Lydia smiled up at him. “Mr. Rees,” she said with the amount of interest appropriate to a first meeting.

If Rees had been younger, he probably would have exploded. But now, older and a little more thoughtful, his consciousness of Rachel’s curious gaze kept him still. Several seconds went by. Lydia’s smile wavered and Rachel cleared her throat. Rees squawked some kind of greeting and inclined his head. Then the moment was past. Lydia nodded politely in farewell and returned to the kitchen with the other women.

Rees turned to Rachel. “Don’t worry. I will keep Augustus safe.” He began walking up the slope toward his wagon, unaware of the curious glance she threw after him. He climbed into it and started down the lane just as though his day had not been turned upside down. But as he steered Bessie onto the Dugard road, the dizzying shock began to fade and he became conscious only of the fury building inside him. Didn’t she know she had put herself into danger? As well as imperiled his investigation?

He drove home rapidly, pushing Bessie into a steady canter. At first enraged only with Lydia, he realized as he reconsidered the situation that David must have played a part in this as well. Besides the wagon, Rees owned only a buggy, and if Lydia had driven herself, he would surely have noticed its absence in the barn. So, someone had driven her and that someone must be Rees’s son.

David was working in the barn when Rees rolled up the drive and he came out when he heard the sound of wheels. Recognizing his father’s furious expression, David paused a few feet away and waited in silence for the storm to break.

Rees jumped down from the wagon. “Why did you drive Lydia to the Bowditch farm?” Although he attempted to speak calmly, his voice rose into a roar as he unleashed his fury at Lydia toward his son.

“She would have driven herself,” David said. “You should know that about her.”

“Why didn’t you restrain her?” Rees demanded, knowing he was being unreasonable but too angry to care.

“How? By tying her down?” David shook his head. “It wouldn’t have worked. Lydia is like Mother in that.” He paused and when he spoke again his voice trembled. “Mother hated being left alone all the time, but she at least had family and friends around her. Lydia needs the company of other women.”

“I see,” Rees said. “This is revenge. When you are a man you’ll understand how important it is to earn a living, to support your family.”

“I do understand,” David retorted, his own voice rising. He paced a few steps. “I saw Uncle Sam. He wasted money and sold the livestock to make it up. If it hadn’t been for the money you brought home, every cow, every sheep would have been sold and my uncle’s creditors might still have taken the farm. So don’t tell me I don’t understand. I’m old enough to know you had to travel, old enough to appreciate the brass you brought back for us. But to be gone a year or more? Was that necessary? No. You didn’t return, because you didn’t wish to.”

“That’s not true!” Rees shouted, knowing David spoke only the truth. “I’m not a farmer—”

“You were a husband and a father.” David cut him off without mercy. “Or did you forget that?” He turned on his heel and walked away.

Rees glared after him. How could he describe the choking smothering feeling that swept over him when he considered the prospect of staying on the farm? Day after day, week after week, month after month, with nothing to show for it but a bent back and dirt ingrained into his callused hands. “I feel trapped,” he said. David didn’t turn around.

Rees stamped into the house. Abigail, her face reddened by the heat, was ironing. She looked up as he entered and just as quickly looked away. Rees knew she’d heard the raised voices outside. And she probably agreed with David and Lydia. Rees tramped angrily upstairs to his loom. He threw the shuttle a few times and noticed his hands were trembling. A few more passes and his shakiness diminished. He began to regret losing his temper with David, but his anger at Lydia did not fade.

The Bristol wagon came for Abigail, and her high voice floated up to the open chamber window and into Rees’s ears. The lower burr of David saying farewell was audible, too, but less distinct. Although Rees couldn’t hear the words, there was something in the boy’s voice that betrayed David’s growing attachment to Abby. Rees sighed. Another problem. The wheels creaked away, and shortly after Rees’s buggy rolled down the drive. Now that David was gone, Rees went downstairs to see if there was any dinner left in the larder. He ate cold chicken standing up, washed his hands, and returned to his loom. But he couldn’t concentrate. All his being listened for the sound of the buggy’s return, and yet when he heard the vehicle trundling up the drive he couldn’t force himself to go downstairs and face Lydia.

Her light step tapped upon the stairs and he felt her presence behind him but he did not turn. “I know you’re angry,” she said. “You might as well scold me. I know that’s what you’ve been waiting for.”

“Why did you hire on at the Bowditch farm? Especially after I asked you not to,” he demanded, spinning around. “Isn’t there enough work for you here?”

She lifted her chin, and he could see her considering and discarding several responses. “I want to help you,” she said. “And you didn’t ask, you commanded—”

“I don’t want you threatened!”

“But you think nothing of bringing Augustus, a possible murderer, to the farm?” she said with a flash of temper.

“I don’t think he—”

“Fortunately, David agrees that Augustus could not possibly be a killer, else I should be worried.”

“You discussed this with David?” Rees’s voice rose until it squeaked.

“We discussed it, yes. I tried to talk it over with you, but you were too busy being king.” Tears pricked at her eyes but she scrubbed them angrily away. “Your concern is not for my safety. You’re afraid someone will discover the connection between us. Well, no one will. Because there is none. I am not your wife, nor your sister nor even your cousin. I’m only a housekeeper. And, as such, you have no authority over me.”

“But I do,” he said, knowing as soon as the words flew out of his mouth, they were a mistake.

Her mouth twisted. “No, you don’t. I think you’re scared. You know I’ll hear more than you will. I learned something already; everyone liked Nate. No one cares much for his wife.” When Rees did not speak, she added, “I was your partner in Zion. I want only to be your partner again.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were planning this?” Rees said. He sounded hurt even to himself.

Lydia examined his expression and heaved a sigh. “I see. You feel betrayed. Perhaps I should have said something. Only telling you would have felt too much like asking permission. And you would have refused it, playing the lord and master.” She smiled without humor. “Then I would have done it anyway. Even if I were your wife and you forbade me. I want to be your helpmeet, not your servant, not someone inferior.”

“I only want to protect you.”

“From what? Living?” She looked away from him. “What do you want, Will? A docile dependent woman? Someone who makes you feel strong in comparison? I expected more from you.” She turned around and ran down the stairs, leaving Rees staring after her in dismay.

He turned back to his loom. For the next hour and more he wove, but he ripped out his rows as often as he put them in. Lydia’s words echoed in his head, painful in their truth. Why was he behaving so much like his father? The memories of his mother surrendering over and over to her drunken spouse still made him cringe. And, if he were honest, he loved Lydia’s feistiness. Of course, it scared him, too. Didn’t she know she could be putting herself in danger? Realizing he’d stopped weaving, the shuttle lifted motionless in his hand, he began working again. But his punishing thoughts continued.