Death of a Dyer (24 page)

“Caldwell says he won’t, not with his connections,” Rees said glumly.

Susannah said nothing, but when Rees met her eyes he saw understanding and sympathy.

Three men, well-to-do farmers, appeared at the door and Jack heaved himself to his feet. As he hurried toward them, Susannah leaned across the table and said, “You know Caldwell is James Carleton’s man?”

Rees nodded. “I know. In fact, let’s talk about James. I know King Carleton hired Nate to fetch James back from London, not once but several times.”

“James spent the entire War in London, carousing if the gossip is to be believed.”

“Gambling away his patrimony?” Rees guessed. She shrugged. “Why Nate?”

“I don’t know. I suspect only Mr. Carleton and Nate knew the answer to that question. But Nate went over at least four times, maybe five, to fetch the boy. James always fled back to London. Well, I suppose he can’t be blamed; his mother and sisters were in London. Only his father remained here, and he was not a pleasant person even at the best of times. But when Nate went overseas for the last time, he returned with James’s entire family, including his wife, Charlotte, and baby girl. Elizabeth.”

“I see. So James and Nate became friends. And fellow card players. Did either one play deep? Especially James?”

“Not that we ever heard,” Jack said, approaching the table and sitting down. “Of course, Carleton is as rich as Croesus and owns half the property around town. And Nate didn’t do badly either.”

“I don’t think they played that often,” Susannah said, frowning at her husband.

“We don’t know that,” Jack said. “They were here once or twice and at the Bull maybe once or twice. Who knows where they were otherwise?”

Rees considered the cottage. They could have played cards there every night with no one the wiser. “I’ll ask Marsh,” he said.

Jack rose to his feet again and looked pointedly at his wife. “We’ve got to get back to work. With our cook gone—”

“One last question.” Rees drained his cup. “I don’t remember Caldwell from school.”

“His father came to Dugard as a laborer and then just remained here,” Susannah replied. “He was about ten. I was older then, sixteen, so you were in the Army. His mother took in laundry to survive.” She also stood up.

“Caldwell is younger than I am?” Rees asked in amazement.

Susannah nodded. “I always thought there was some mystery there. Cleanliness is still important to his mother.” She met Rees’s gaze. “And she continues to take in laundry even though Caldwell supports her.”

Rees nodded. Some mystery there, indeed.

He threw a coin onto the table and walked out to his wagon. Buggies and wagons now occupied all the spaces around him. Climbing into the seat was a struggle but he managed. Since he was already parked on Water Street, he followed the road east out of town.

Tired out by Caldwell’s snappy pace earlier, Bessie walked home and Rees was able to let the reins lie slack. He was grateful; the pace was gentle upon his wounded arm. She broke into an eager trot when they turned up the drive into the farm, but Rees let her have her head. David popped out of the barn when he heard the wagon wheels on the hardpan and ran to help.

*   *   *

Rees slept poorly Friday night; every time he rolled over, a burst of flame burned up his wounded arm. As a result, he overslept and when he finally went downstairs he found everyone gone, except for Abby. Lydia, of course, was at the Bowditch farm. “And David is at market,” Abby said.

After breakfast, Rees went upstairs. His sore left arm couldn’t throw the shuttle, but he could turn it and nudge it through the warp until his right hand grabbed it. Once he had a rhythm, and was able to weave fairly efficiently, he turned his thoughts from his personal concerns to Nate’s death. Tomorrow, when he’s at the Bowditch farm after the memorial service, he would speak again to Mr. Salley, the hand that had witnessed Richard fleeing from the cottage. Maybe he knew the owner of the chestnut. And also to Kate, the nursemaid. Had she seen anyone running from the cottage after Richard’s departure? The killer might have been hiding up stairs while the drama played out in the kitchen below. Rees suspected he would have fled through the lay-by and ridden away, but Marsh, if he were the other man, might have gone to the house.

Of course, Rees intended to finish searching the trunk hidden under the bed. He suspected—was almost certain, in fact—that the item for which Marsh searched was hidden there. Richard’s brief residence, and the upcoming memorial, prevented Marsh from searching for it, but after tomorrow he would have both time and opportunity. Rees must grab his chance now.

He turned his thoughts to Marsh. Could he be Nate’s murderer? He’d assumed Marsh’s innocence at first when everyone said he had gone to visit his sister, but now Rees knew the other man had been on the farm at that time after all. And he was probably the man with whom Nate had been arguing.

And the Carletons. Rees sighed. He didn’t fancy another argument with James Carleton, and anyway he wasn’t sure he could drive out to the estate. He moved his left arm experimentally. A shock of pain shot down his biceps. Maybe David would be willing to help? Oh, how Rees hated to be dependent.

“Mr. Rees.” Abigail hesitated in the doorway. “You have a visitor. A Mr. Potter? I put him in the parlor.”

Rees stood up so suddenly, the bench fell over, and ran downstairs.

George Potter had not seated himself. Instead he roamed around the perimeter of the room, examining the silhouettes upon the wall. In his black jacket and buff breeches, he looked like a townsman. But his waistcoat was plain linen and Rees suspected that in Potter’s mind he was casually dressed.

“This is a surprise,” Rees said.

Potter turned with a nervous smile. “It’s market day. The street outside my office is congested with people. And the noise! I thought a quiet drive out to your farm would be just the thing.”

“Hmm,” Rees said dubiously. “Why are you really here?”

“You asked me for some information. Remember? Cornelius Lattimore?”

Inviting Potter to sit, Rees dropped into a chair. “You know who he is?”

“I asked my father. He knew. Mr. Lattimore is an attorney, practicing out of New Winstead.”

“Of your father’s generation, I suppose?” Rees asked. Potter nodded.

“Yes.” He frowned. “Where did you hear the name? Was Nate planning on employing him?”

Abby’s sudden entrance with a tray spared Rees from answering. He didn’t know what he would say. Nate, after all, had not chosen to consult his friend George Potter. Abby offered Potter a cup, not one of the earthenware mug Rees used for every day but one of his mother’s thin porcelain cups. Potter looked at it in surprise and then at the pound cake nestled on a china plate beside the teapot. Rees realized he would have ignored the duties of a host; he must remember to thank the girl.

When Abby withdrew, Potter turned to Rees and said, “Where’s Miss Farrell?”

Rees didn’t know what to say. Confess that she was working at the Bowditch farm? What would Potter think? That Rees couldn’t support his family?

Potter watched the play of emotions speed across his friend’s face and put down his teacup. “You know,” he said, “no one will blame you for remarrying.”

“What?” Rees stared at the other man in astonishment.

“How long has Dolly been gone? Six, seven years?”

“Almost eight.” He cleared his throat. The sympathy upon Potter’s face compelled Rees to look away.

“It’s time, Will. I know you loved Dolly. But wedding vows say ‘Until death do you part’ for a reason.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I’ve seen you look at Miss Farrell. You won’t persuade me you don’t desire her. Or is it that—well, she is a Shaker. I suppose she doesn’t wish to wed.” The pity with which he regarded Rees made him squirm.

“I said I don’t want to talk about it,” he repeated so loudly, Potter jumped. He glared at Rees. A cold silence settled around them. After a fleeting hesitation, Rees said, “Why were you at the Bowditch farm when I went to question Richard?”

Potter stiffened. “Molly came to me and asked me to be there. She’s frightened for her son.”

“Hmmm. How old were you when you married?” Rees asked.

“Twenty-two,” Potter said in surprise.

“I was but eighteen. Richard is seventeen. In a few months, he’ll reach his majority. And he’s looking to wed. I think Molly needs to stop sheltering her son behind her skirts.” He wanted to ask Potter how his wife would feel about his friendship with Molly Bowditch but bit his tongue at the last minute.

“I don’t think she should be blamed for wanting to protect her son from a murder charge,” Potter said, rising to his feet. “Especially since she feels Caldwell will take the easy way out and hang the boy.”

“Caldwell will not,” Rees said. “Whatever he may personally feel, the constable doesn’t believe Richard will even appear in court. What’s more, James Carleton believes the boy is innocent. You’re too close, George.” He stopped himself from remarking upon Nate’s choice of an out-of-town lawyer, but Potter understood.

“I suppose I’ll see you in town,” Potter said angrily, putting on his beaver hat. He walked quickly from the room. Rees followed him to the porch with some vague intention of calling after his old friend. But he didn’t know what to say, and anyway Potter was already mounting his bay.

“I seem to be irritating everyone I meet,” Rees said aloud. He lingered on the porch, looking at the first of the changing leaves. With the approach of late September, some of the overeager sugar maples had put on their autumn scarlet. Brown leaves, although not so many as would come, littered the driveway. Only a few weeks of good weather left before the cold grasped the farm in its icy fingers. Rees dreaded the coming of winter; he felt trapped after only a few weeks of cold and the enforced habitation inside.

The sound of hooves drew his attention and when he looked down at the road he saw dust. Potter must be returning. But instead of a lone horse, a buggy turned into the drive; David pulled up in front of the porch, arriving home much earlier than Rees expected. And Amos was lathered up and blowing hard. Augustus, who must have been keeping watch, ran out from the barn toward the horse. He uttered a short high-pitched cry of distress. Rees, who’d been wondering why David had not sprung from the seat as he usually did, raced down the steps.

David, leaning heavily upon Augustus’s arm, climbed carefully down from the seat. He moved stiffly and when Rees raced around to the front, he saw bruises stippling David’s jaw. His nose was still dribbling blood.

“What happened?” Rees cried.

“I’m all right. He took me by surprise,” David said, wincing as he stepped gingerly down from the high step.

“Who took you by surprise?” Rees demanded. “Who?”

“Uncle Sam. He saw me at market. He went for me. Luckily, I’d already sold most of the eggs, so only a few were broken.”

Rees regarded his son in growing anger. “He attacked you?”

“It wasn’t that serious. Your friend Caldwell stepped in and arrested him.” David smiled faintly. “Last I saw of my uncle, he was being dragged away—to the tack room at Wheeler’s Livery, since there is no jail right now.”

“Was he drunk?” Rees asked.

“No more than usual.” David shook his head. “He really thinks this farm is his and he blames you for taking it away.”

Rees said nothing. Ejecting his sister and her husband from the farm had been an ugly business and it hadn’t ended. How long before Sam and Caro accepted the truth?

“Let’s get him inside,” Augie said, putting his shoulder under David’s arm. Rees hastened to the other side and together they assisted the boy into the kitchen. Abigail immediately ran for the medical supplies. “I’ll take care of Amos,” Augustus said.

Rees said into the sudden and probably short-lived moment of privacy, “I’m sorry.”

“This wasn’t your fault.” David collapsed into a kitchen chair with a huff of effort.

“Yes, it was. I should have paid more attention all along.” Rees looked at his son in shame.

“Uncle Sam wasn’t so bad before. He just got worse and worse, I don’t know why.” Perplexity creased David’s brow.

“I’m sorry I blamed you for Lydia’s decision. She’s … strong-willed.”

“I know you want to protect her. I understand.” He looked over his father’s head. When Rees turned, he saw Abigail waiting by the door with a basin of bandages. She smiled at David as though they two were the only ones in the room. “But Lydia won’t allow that. No, that isn’t right. It’s not the caring that’s behind the desire to protect, it’s the restriction of her independence.” He stopped, frustrated with his inability to fully describe Lydia’s feelings.

“Making her an inferior,” Rees said in understanding.

David nodded. “She thinks you’re demeaning her.” He paused. “I suppose I should have told you.”

“You would have been caught in the middle,” Rees said, not liking the picture he saw of himself. “You like her?”

“Yes,” David said with a nod. “Mother would have approved.…” Unsettled by the approving inclusion of both Dolly and Lydia in one sentence, Rees said nothing.

Abby approached the table, subtly forcing Rees to move back. She began sponging away the blood from David’s face, leaning closer to him than Rees thought necessary. And touching him with glancing pats and caresses. The connection between them was so intimate, Rees felt as though he were intruding. He backed away but did not dare leave the young people in the kitchen alone. He must somehow find an opportunity to talk to David.

And he must deal with Sam.

Chapter Nineteen

Rees went to the church on Sunday morning for Nate’s memorial. But he froze outside, unable to pass through those double wooden doors. He hadn’t been inside this small stone building since Dolly’s service almost eight years ago. Recalling her funeral brought on a flood of strong feelings that rooted him to the courtyard outside, despite the curious and disapproving glances directed his way.

David and Lydia both had already gone inside. She hadn’t come up to the house yesterday, upon her return from the Bowditch farm, and although they’d driven into Dugard this morning, David’s presence had inhibited Rees from speaking openly. She, in turn, was polite but Rees felt her continuing reserve like a knife to the heart. Especially since she and David talked comfortably together, without restraint.