Death of a Dyer (32 page)

She nodded and began to sob. He looked at the children. The youngest, Georgina, leaned against her mother in white-faced exhaustion. Purple fingermarks circled her delicate wrist like a bracelet. “Come inside,” Rees said, trying to keep the burn of his increasing anger from his voice. “Oh, I am so sorry. I meant to deal with this and got busy and— Come inside and we’ll have breakfast.”

As Charlie and Georgina stepped out of the stall, Gwendolyn was revealed, huddled in the hay at the very back. “I’m very hungry,” she whispered, her eyes huge in her pale face.

Shedding straw with each step, the small party left the barn and crossed the road to the farmhouse. Lydia, who had followed Rees as far as the back porch, understood the situation immediately and quickly darted inside. When they entered the kitchen, they found four additional bowls full of mush waiting upon the table and a cup of coffee poured for Caroline. She was so distraught, she did not push it away in disgust; she disliked coffee as much as her brother enjoyed it.

“What happened?” Rees asked, sipping his now lukewarm brew.

Lydia cast a quick warning look at the children, but Caro said, “They saw the whole thing.” She paused, watching her children fall hungrily upon the food. “I asked him, as nicely as I could, not to go to the Bull.” She drew in a shaky breath. “He used to hit me once or twice, but since we moved to town—”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Rees asked.

Caro shrugged. “What could you do?” She shook her head. “It wasn’t so terrible before. But now, we’re so close to the Bull. He doesn’t play every night, but we have so little … I don’t know what we’re going to do.” The knuckles of the hand clutching the cup went white.

Rees thought of the deed to the Prentiss farm in the case almost within reach of his hand but held his tongue. Offering it now to Caroline, even if it were his to offer, would simply give Sam something else to lose.

“He’s begun striking the children with anything that comes to hand. Yesterday he struck Charles with a poker when he tried to protect me. And he slapped the baby.…” Caro bent her head over Georgina in an agony of grief and shame. Rees knew that his sister would never have confided this to him if it were not for her desire to protect her children.

“How did you come here?”

“We walked. We left last night, after dark.”

Lydia and Rees exchanged a glance. “They’ll have to stay at the cottage,” she said. “It has the most room.” Rees nodded reluctantly.

Caroline, sensing their intimacy, scowled. “And where will you sleep?” she asked Lydia with her usual venom. “As if I need to ask.” Lydia looked at Rees.

He rubbed his nose, thinking. “We’ll have to set up a bed in the master bedroom,” he said.

“Oh, and now you’ll tell me
you
aren’t sleeping there,” Caro said, the nasty tenor of her voice instantly reminding Rees of his childhood.

“I’m sleeping in the same room I had as a boy,” Rees said. “I set up my loom in the large room.…” He wanted to say more, but the presence of the children, and of Abigail who’d just arrived, restrained him. He turned to Lydia. “The hives?”

She smiled as though she knew exactly what he was thinking. “A few stings and the children will avoid them,” she said. “The bees are not as tolerant of ill-temper as we are.”

Rees glanced at his sister to see if she’d felt the jab, but she was intent upon her bowl of oatmeal. Her expression had settled into its usual discontented creases. He wished he didn’t feel so conflicted about her; his initial pity was already mixed with frustration and resentment at being dragged into her domestic drama again.

Lydia nodded at Rees. “I know you have some important errands today. Abby and I can resolve this little tempest. Go on.”

With a sigh of relief, he abandoned the problem to her capable hands and hurried out to harness Bessie to the wagon. Although it was past seven thirty, he hoped he would reach the Carleton home in time. A good steward of his property would already be out riding the fields but James, Rees guessed, would not be that responsible.

He bypassed Dugard and reached the estate midmorning. This time he paid particular attention to the fields. As he’d recalled, the more outlying properties lay fallow. Now he knew why.

With the approach of October, the maples lining the Carleton drive were turning orange and scarlet. Some had begun dropping their leaves, and the sun, still warm, shone through the bare branches. Rees sighed, dreading the approach of winter. At least he would keep busy weaving this winter. He expected to receive a lot of customers with Nate’s death, Dugard now had no local weaver.

He looped Bessie’s reins around the rail, telling the ragged boy who arrived to take the mare that only a pail of water would be necessary. He didn’t expect to stay long.

He knocked on the door. To his surprise, Elizabeth opened it. Rees, who’d been expecting an argument with the jumped-up servant, was thrown and didn’t at first notice her tear-filled eyes. “What’s the matter?” he asked in concern.

“Nothing important,” she said. “I don’t want to inflict my problems upon you.”

“Obviously something important,” Rees said. “You’ve been weeping.”

She nodded, several fat tears rolling down her cheeks. “My parents have been fighting for three days,” she said in a hushed whisper. “Richard asked me to marry him, and my father gave his blessing. But my mother…” Fresh tears welled up into her eyes.

“She refuses?”

“Yes. She has set her heart on a title. She doesn’t care that I love Richard.”

Rees patted her clumsily on the shoulder. “I’m sorry. Where is your father now?”

“In his office. He’s always in his office.” She gulped and shuddered.

“I know the way.” Rees hurried down the hall and took the stairs at the other end two at a time. He knocked on the office door.

“Who is it?” James shouted. Without replying, Rees went in. “What are you doing here? I don’t want to see you today.”

Rees sat down in the chair and regarded his boyhood nemesis. His waistcoat was pale yellow silk, embroidered in a darker yellow. Would Mrs. Carleton be wearing yellow today or another color to clearly indicate the rift between husband and wife? “You lied to me.” Rees said.

“No, I didn’t,” James protested automatically. But his shoulders tensed. “About what?”

“You owed Nate a lot of money. I know, I have the chits in my possession.”

“They aren’t yours. You need to give them to me.”

“I believe they’ll go into the estate,” Rees said. “Yes, Nate did have a will. The reading is tomorrow at two. Richard will be a very wealthy man. I know; I’ve seen the deeds.”

All the blood drained from James’s face and he looked ill. “I would have won it all back if Nate was still alive,” he said.

Rees doubted that but he did not argue. “Is that why you want your daughter to marry Nate’s son? To recover your land?” As a relative, James would have pressured Nate—although Rees doubted that would have succeeded. “Now that Nate is dead, you believe you could persuade Richard to give you back your land.…” James’s silence admitted it.

“Was your father also a gambler?”

“No. His weakness was women—girls, really. As you know. He couldn’t leave them alone. He didn’t understand the lure of the game. When my debts became too high, he sent Nate after me in London. Nate asked to be paid in land, not money.”

“So, you’ve been gambling a long time.”

James smiled with a queer kind of pride. “I was a member of the Hellfire Club. But the cards don’t always love me.”

Rees thought of the deeds and the chits, and disappointment in Nate swelled within him. He would not have expected his old friend to take advantage of another man’s weakness. “And Nate has been gambling with you since you returned?”

“No.” James shook his head. “He refused at first.” His mouth curled into a gloating smile. “His weakness was a far greater sin.” Rees clenched his hands into fists and kept silent with an effort. James laughed. “My father was on his deathbed and Nate felt it was time for me to take on ‘adult responsibilities.’ But other men were eager to play cards with me. Your own brother-in-law, Willie. I do believe he gambled with your farm.” He chuckled.

Right now, Rees didn’t know which man he wanted to hit first: Sam or James. After several deep breaths, he asked, “So how did Nate end up with the deed to Sam’s farm?”

“Oh, he lost it before he went to manage your farm. Funny, Sam didn’t play often, and he won sometimes. But that evening he had such a run of bad luck. Almost like he was being punished.”

And maybe he was. Rees wondered if Nate cheated. “Is that why you killed Nate? Because you owed him so much money?”

James’s eyes bugged out of his head. He leaped to his feet and began shouting, “I didn’t kill him. Of course I didn’t. Why would I? I want his son to marry my daughter.”

“Your path to your economic recovery,” Rees said sarcastically.

James squirmed. “Don’t judge.”

“It was a connection Nate refused. In fact, if I understand it correctly, he was adamantly opposed.”

“He would have come around. The two children love one another.”

“You can’t even persuade your wife,” Rees pointed out.

“You can’t prove I was at the weaving cottage that night,” James said, turning cunning. “Several men owe Nate money, not just me. Sam Prentiss, and Corny Hansen to name just two.”

“But they didn’t owe Nate such a great sum,” Rees said.

“You’re really stupid, you know that?” James said. “Haring around looking at everybody else. Always the admired one. Even my father respected you. You fought back. But you know nothing about this. Nothing about Nate.” He paused.

Rees stared at James. That was the second time James had referred to some secret he knew. Rees had dismissed it the first time, but now …

James broke into Rees’s thoughts. “It’s time for you to leave. Don’t visit me again.”

Rees rose and stamped out of the house, not because he was obedient or frightened of James but because he had nothing further to say. Not yet, anyway. He climbed into the wagon and started back to town, replaying the conversation in his head. Although Rees wanted to believe James was lying, he couldn’t. He thought James really did know something, something about Nate, and just couldn’t help gloating about it. Especially to Rees, the farmer’s son who always bested him. The intensity of James’s jealousy was sobering.

There still was no proof Carleton had been at the cottage that day. That astonishing debt provided a good reason for murder, but it didn’t prove James had actually done it.

And he had sounded sincere when he swore he had not killed Nate. If that were true, and Rees reluctantly believed it, then he still did not know the identity of Nate’s killer.

As the wagon trundled toward town, Rees realized there was something more. Someone had told Rees something important. Who was it? Someone at the Bowditch farm? It was something that had to do with James, but cudgel his brain as hard as he could, Rees could not call it to mind. It had not seemed important at the time, and he had not noted it.

He paused in Dugard, pulling up in front of the ruined jail. Caldwell was nowhere about, and with a sigh Rees crossed the street to the Bull.

The constable leaned on the bar. He looked up in surprise. “Why, Mr. Rees, it’s been several days since I’ve seen you.” He motioned Rees to an empty table. “This is what passes for my office these days.”

“Where do you put the lawbreakers?”

“In the tack room at Wheeler’s. Last man I had inside was your brother-in-law,” Caldwell said. “He went after some poor farmer, thinking he was you. Be careful, he’s half-mad with anger and drink. Now he claims you’ve stolen his family.”

“I found my sister and her brood hiding in the stable,” Rees said. “They walked to the farm from town. Caro’s face is all bruised and Charlie’s arm is broken. You can tell Sam from me that if he sets one foot on my property, I’ll shoot to kill.”

Caldwell looked at Rees. “You better be sure he isn’t sneaking up behind you. In his current mood, he’s dangerous.”

“Sam won’t dare trouble me,” Rees said.

Caldwell shook his head uneasily but didn’t press the point. “How’s the boy?” he asked, lowering his voice.

“Fine. No trouble that I can see. David likes him.”

“Mr. Isaacs has a new apprentice.” Caldwell paused. “He’s threatening to accuse Augustus of running away—”

“Oh Lord! He knows Augustus was in danger.”

Caldwell shrugged. “Best thing for the boy is to have someone buy out his term.” Rees didn’t reply. He felt as though dependents were attaching themselves to him like burrs. “Did you come here to talk about the fugitive?”

“In a sense. Have you seen the slave takers recently?”

“Not for several days.” Caldwell looked at Rees in surprise. “Why?”

“Just wondering if it’s safe for Augustus to return to town.” He paused. “Have you heard about Ruth, the Andersons’ cook?”

“Miss Susannah told me Ruth ran off to get married.” Caldwell met Rees’s gaze. “You think those Southern crackers took her?”

“Makes sense, doesn’t it? She disappeared right around the time I took Augustus out of jail.”

Caldwell pursed his lips and nodded. “Unfortunately, yes. Have you suggested this to Mrs. Anderson?”

Rees shook his head. “I don’t know, exactly, and I think Susannah would rather believe Ruth ran off to marry.”

Caldwell nodded. “Care for a drink?”

Rees shook his head. “I’m going to the Contented Rooster for something to eat.” He started for the door but turned back. “Did you ever join Sam Prentiss and the others who played cards?”

Caldwell shook his head. “Not me. I work too hard for my few pennies to piss them away over a few squares of pasteboard. Besides, I don’t have anything to gamble with.” He paused and then said, “Anyway, most of the gamblers were the rich men in town. They wouldn’t spit on me, forget about playing cards. And they usually played somewhere secret, not at the Bull.”

Rees nodded and went out to his wagon. He wondered what Caldwell would say if he knew that James Carleton was in danger of losing everything over those squares of “pasteboard.”

Again the coffeehouse was empty and Rees had his pick of tables. He chose his usual table between the fireplace and window. Jack Jr. brought him coffee with sugar and cream and a short wait Susannah sped out of the kitchen with a basket of fresh Sally Lunn bread. Although her flyaway hair was neatly coiffed under her cap, linen still swaddled her right hand and she looked anxious.