Death of a Dyer (31 page)

“I see.” Rees knew George Potter would be hurt by Nate’s defection but understood all too clearly why he’d chosen an attorney outside of Dugard’s society.

“Now that I know of Mr. Bowditch’s death, I will arrange a reading of the will,” Mr. Lattimore said. “I daresay Silas Potter will allow me to use his office for the purpose; I see no point in compelling all of those identified in the will to travel from Dugard to New Winstead.” He paused and added, “I hope you know I can say nothing until then.”

Rees nodded. He knew Mr. Lattimore would refuse to share the particulars of the will. He sipped his tea, although he didn’t care for that beverage, to give himself time to think.

Mr. Lattimore came to some decision. “Today is Tuesday. If you will carry a message to Mr. Silas Potter, perhaps we can arrange the reading for Thursday.”

“That will be helpful,” Rees said in relief.

“And I have a number of documents Mr. Bowditch left with me for safekeeping. He asked me to surrender them to someone trustworthy. He mentioned your name particularly.” He pulled a rough tow sack from his drawer and handed it over the desk. “And this accompanies whatever is in the bag.” Lattimore drew a large map case from beside his bookcase.

Rees pulled the drawstring. Inside were several rough squares of paper torn from a larger sheet. They looked familiar, and his fingers itched to pull out those scraps. But he did not want to examine them in front of the lawyer. “Did you look inside?” Rees asked.

“I did not.” Mr. Lattimore offered Rees a chilly smile. “Of course not. I hope you will eventually share their contents with me. I am … curious.” His expression clouded. “Nate promised to return with more items to safeguard, but he never did.”

“When was that?” Rees asked.

“A few weeks ago. No longer than that.”

“That is right before he was murdered.” Now Rees could barely restrain his curiosity, and his fingers began to knead the bag.

“Please, inspect them if you wish,” Mr. Lattimore said, removing a sheet of parchment from his desk and dipping his quill into an inkstand. “I must write a request to Mr. Potter anyway.”

Rees pulled out a handful of the paper scraps and began unfolding them one by one. For a moment there was no sound but the scratching of the pen upon the paper. “What the—?” These scraps were the companions to the gambling chits Rees had found in the trunk, only there were many more in the sack and most of them were signed by James Carleton. Rees pulled the case over and untied the string. Some of the large sheets inside were maps, but they were accompanied by deeds. Many deeds. The earliest, signed by Henry Meacham Carleton, known to all as King, began in the late 1780s. Rees guessed this was the method by which Carleton had paid Nate for dragging James back from London; the sums paid for the properties were unusually reasonable.

Although King Carleton’s signature sprawled across the early documents, all the subsequent deeds bore James’s signature. Rees quickly added up the sums owed by James to Nate in his head; the few scraps in his hand alone totaled over two hundred dollars. With the number of chits still to be counted, well, Rees thought the grand total must be several thousand dollars. And a quick inspection of the faded maps indicated that Nate already owned most of the Carleton estate. Now this was a secret worth murdering for. Rees sank back against the chair’s back, overcome with horrified dismay.

“Not what you expected?” Mr. Lattimore asked, noting Rees’s stunned expression.

“No. I’m … surprised.” Surprise didn’t seem a strong enough word for the emotions churning through Rees’s gut. “But this is very helpful. I believe I know now who murdered my friend.” The depth of his regret startled him. He and James had never been friends, probably never would be, but they’d been boys together. And James had suffered at the hands of his father as much as, if not more than, everyone else. “And I’m sorry.”

Mr. Lattimore nodded. “People are never quite what you expect, are they?” He sanded his letter and blew gently upon it. “Here. Take this. Tell Silas that if Thursday is not convenient, to send word. Otherwise, I shall deliver myself to his office at two o’clock that afternoon.”

With a nod, Rees shook the letter to remove the final bits of dust and folded it into thirds. He stowed it carefully inside his jacket. “It’s been a pleasure meeting you, Mr. Lattimore.”

“I’ve included a list of those individuals I expect to attend,” Mr. Lattimore said. “You are among them, Mr. Rees, so I look forward to renewing our acquaintance.”

Rees, startled that Nate had included him, extended his hand. “Good-bye Mr. Lattimore.”

Rees got on the road immediately and started the long drive home to Dugard, his thoughts in a whirl. Now he knew James Carleton’s secret: his gambling, an addiction that had cost him most of the property left him by his father, all of it lost to Nate, the “lucky devil.” Already facing financial ruin, Carleton would almost certainly lose his family and most of his friends as well if the truth escaped. That was a secret many men would protect at any cost. Rees needed to speak to James again.

Once in Dugard, Rees drove straight to George Potter’s office. Although he did not relish telling his old friend that Nate had chosen an attorney from another town, Potter would have to know. Rees, fingering the letter in his pocket, thought he might as well get that chore over with.

Sally Potter showed Rees upstairs to her father’s office. George, who’d been working in his shirtsleeves, hastily shrugged into his coat. “Will,” he said in surprise. And then, catching Rees’s expression, “What’s wrong?”

“I know where Nate’s will is.”

“Where?”

“He retained a lawyer in New Winstead, that gentleman Cornelius Lattimore. And in fact, Mr. Lattimore offered to read the will here, in Dugard, at your father’s office.”

“My father no longer keeps an office,” Potter said, struggling to absorb this shock.

“I thought I might at least inform your father of Mr. Lattimore’s intentions,” Rees said.

“Why did Nate go to New Winstead?” Potter asked, sounding both hurt and annoyed. “He was my friend.”

Rees said nothing. He agreed with Nate’s judgment in this case. George Potter, friend to James Carleton as well as to Nate, and fellow card player, could not be trusted to keep silent. At best.

“I’ll tell my father,” Potter said.

“I have a letter.” Rees extracted it from his pocket and held it out.

Potter took it, his expression sour. “We’ll have to meet here,” he said. “I’ll surrender my office for this occasion.” He did not sound gracious.

“I’m sure Nate had his reasons for choosing Mr. Lattimore,” Rees said. “Maybe you’re mentioned in his will.”

Potter threw him a skeptical look. “And why would I be? Especially since we were not the comrades I thought we were.”

“Now I’m going to the Contented Rooster for some dinner. The taverns I passed in New Winstead did not appeal.” Potter snorted. Rees withdrew, leaving his disgruntled friend turning the letter over and over in his hands.

The coffeehouse was nearly empty, but then it was almost two and late for dinner. When his beef stew arrived, however, he revised his reasons for the poor custom. It was not so toothsome as he expected; the beef tough and stringy, the potatoes slightly scorched. Jack Jr. confided that his mother was finding the cooking a bit of a struggle. But at least the food was hot and the coffee was excellent as usual. As Rees drank the last of his cup, an urchin with dirty face and hands and broken boots came inside to find him.

“Mr. Potter sent me with a message,” he told Rees. “He spoke to his father and they’ll be in attendance on Thursday when the other gentleman arrives.”

“Very good,” Rees said, handing over a farthing. George Potter would have typically delivered the message himself, and the fact that he did not indicated how very angry and hurt he was. Rees hoped he would be less upset when they all met for the reading of the will.

He stopped by the kitchen door and peeked in to greet Susannah. She paused to say good-bye, her hair flying around in a halo and her right hand wearing a mitten of linen strips. “Burned myself,” she said, wiping her left elbow across her forehead. “I’ve always shared the cooking, but I never realized how much Ruth did. I vow, Will, if Ruth returns, I’ll double her pay.”

Rees looked at her sympathetically. He doubted Ruth would return, and although he wouldn’t swear to it, he suspected the slave catchers had taken her. He’d heard nothing of them for the last few days. He should ask Caldwell if they’d disappeared from the Bull; no doubt he had stopped searching for them long ago.

“Do you know anyone willing to cook for us?”

Rees shook his head and turned to go. He would not mention this opportunity to Lydia, just in case she took it into her head to accept.

*   *   *

After supper, he spread the deeds and the few maps out upon the kitchen table. Lydia took the sack of chits and began removing them, one by one, adding up the amounts for James Carleton in her head.

“The total is two thousand five hundred twenty-one dollars and sixty-five cents,” she said at last.

“How much?” Rees’s voice rose to a squeak in astonishment.

“Two thousand five hundred twenty-one dollars and sixty-five cents,” she repeated. “I know. I couldn’t believe it either. I added it up twice. And if I’m off by a penny or two, it is still a great sum.”

Rees looked at the maps and deeds spread out before him. “And these documents disclose all the property that went to Nate from the Carletons.”

“Was the elder Mr. Carleton a gambler, too?”

“I don’t think so. I never heard anything.” Rees looked up at Lydia and added, “Of course, I never heard anything about James either.”

“Why don’t we sort out all the deeds signed by Mr. Carleton the elder and see what’s left.”

Rees thought that a good suggestion and carefully extracted the deeds with King Carleton’s characteristic bold scrawl. There were only a few. And here was the deed to the Prentiss farm, signed over by Samuel Prentiss.

“Is something the matter?” Lydia asked.

Rees put that deed with King Carleton’s. “No.” He quickly riffled through the remainder; all bore James’s more tentative signature. “It looks as though he paid off his debts to Nate with the more outlying properties first.”

“Is there any land left?”

Rees shook his head. “I don’t know; I don’t have a map of the entire Carleton estate. I recognize many of these farms, though, as those King Carleton took away from some small landholders.” Now Rees understood why so many of those outlying fields were untilled. Carleton no longer owned them, and Nate hadn’t bothered. Did Marsh know about them? “James may still own the original Carleton property.”

“Not if he paid these,” Lydia said, holding up a fistful of paper. “I wonder if he could even hold on to the house, these debts are so substantial.”

“Tomorrow I’ll speak to James Carleton once again,” Rees said. He knew that even if James confessed, there was little likelihood of judgment. But murder could not go ignored.

At that moment, David entered the kitchen. He’d taken off his boots upon the back porch and he padded into the kitchen in his stocking feet. He looked curiously at the stacks of paper on the table but said nothing. Since his outburst, and Augustus’s advice, he’d been trying to behave with careful rectitude. Rees hated to see the pall his son’s restraint threw upon him. But this time his curiosity proved too strong; he peered over Lydia’s shoulder. “What are those?” She tried to cover the chits but didn’t move quickly enough. David whistled soundlessly. “I guess the rumors are true,” he said.

Rees regarded his son in surprise. “What rumors?”

“Elizabeth was taken out of school early,” David said. “I heard some gossip at market. Wondering, you know, if her father was having money problems.”

Rees nodded. She’d said something about that when they’d spoken, but he hadn’t paid attention. “What else?”

“Well, Mr. Carleton’s problems are bad enough that the shopkeepers don’t want to extend credit for seeds or feed. And Mr. Duncan, the tailor, said Mr. Carleton owes him for two waistcoats.”

“And each of them costing a year’s pay for the average working man,” Lydia said, not even trying to hide her disapproval.

“I wish I’d known that before,” Rees said. Although, without the gambling chits in hand, he would not have realized the magnitude of the problem. “Thank you, David.”

“I helped you?” David asked tentatively.

“Yes, you certainly did,” Rees said, smiling. David returned that smile, his entire face aglow.

Chapter Twenty-four

Rees overslept the next morning, and by the time he went downstairs Lydia had mush and coffee prepared. She smiled at him and he thought how wonderful it was to see her there in his kitchen. She poured him a mug of coffee and placed it before him as he sat down. Humming, and for the moment content, Rees chipped a chunk from the sugar cone and dropped it in. Cream followed, lightening his brew to caramel, the exact color of Augustus’s skin. Rees took his first sip, holding it in his mouth to savor it.

“You’d better come now, Dad,” David said, plunging through the back door. “We have a problem.”

Dad?
Rees put his cup upon the table. “What happened?”

“You need to come with me.” David looked both angry and sad.

Rees followed his son to the stable. Since all the horses were running loose in the paddock, the stable should have been empty. David pushed his father inside and pointed to the back. With a testy sigh—
Why all the mystery?
—Rees walked toward the rear wall, peering into the stalls, until he reached the final one. He stared at his sister in shock. Caroline, flanked by her three children, looked up at him from their nest in the straw. All of them were dirty and furred with chaff.

“I didn’t know where else to go,” she whispered. A large bruise purpled her left cheek, and blood from her split lip stained the collar of her dress. Charlie, her eldest, cradled his left arm as though it hurt him.

“Oh, Caro,” Rees said, moving forward to lift her upright. “What happened? Was it Sam?”