Delivering the Truth (20 page)

twenty-eight

I left Patience a
few minutes before noon, satisfied Billy was nursing well. I assured her she was doing the right thing, and that I thought I had convinced Jotham, as well. I didn't speak of the foreboding nursery rhyme version he had sung. At a pang from my stomach, I decided to head for home and have a bite to eat before my first client arrived. I really needed to carry some kind of sustenance in my satchel to tide me over. A whole-meal biscuit, perhaps, and a bit of cheese. I decided I didn't have it in me to visit Nell at this time. I must see her, but I could pay her a visit later this afternoon.

I cycled slowly up Highland to Hillside, turning right. The clatter of horseshoes swiftly became louder behind me, followed by a streamlined black gig passing so close by I could have touched its shiny metalwork. Two men occupied the
two-wheeled
vehicle. The passenger threw back his blond head and roared with laughter, his hat flying off into the street. A moment later, he tumbled out of the gig and fell on the ground. I dismounted, letting my bike fall to the side, and rushed to him. The driver pulled the horse up a few yards away.

“Young man,” I said as I knelt by the man's supine form. He was indeed young, barely out of his teenage years. He wore a fine gray suit in the latest style, although his tie was askew and there was a
wine-colored
stain on his collar. I patted his cheek and took a closer look at his face. His eyes were closed, but I recognized him as Lillian's brother Alexander.

“Alexander Locke? Can thee hear me?” I laid my fingers on his neck to take his pulse. I let out a breath when I felt a slow but regular beat, although his skin was cool and clammy.

His eyes popped open. “Hello, beautiful. Are you an angel?” His words came slowly. “I must be in heaven.” His smile was lopsided.

“My name is Rose Carroll. I'm going to examine thy head. Please don't move.”

He winced slightly as I lifted his head from the ground, bracing it with one hand, and felt his crown with my other hand. I let his head down gently. My hand showed no blood and I had felt no lumps. I stretched open his eyelids one by one, then sat back on my heels. I rested my hands on my knees.

“Does anything hurt? Thy arms or legs?”

Stretching, he tested his limbs. “All as usual. Why d'you talk like that?”

“I'm a member of the Society of Friends.”

“So I've been rescued by a Quaker angel, it seems.” He smiled in a lazy fashion.

“How did thee come to fall out of the carriage?” I asked as his
dark-haired
friend strolled up, a friend of about the same age who seemed not at all concerned about Alexander's fall.

Alexander extended a hand to the other man. “Lend me a lift, old bean.” The man helped him to sitting before acknowledging me.

“I'm Alex's classmate.” He suppressed what sounded like a giggle. “He's always falling out of things. And into things.”

They both burst into laughter.

I stood, brushing off my knees. “Thee seems to be well enough, Alexander. Do see thy doctor if a severe headache comes on.”

“Aren't you a doctor, Miss Angel? You know everything and came out of nowhere.” Alexander's lazy smile was back as he also stood. “You should call me Alex, you know.”

“I'm a midwife, not a doctor. Thy sister's midwife, in fact. And since neither of you appears to be carrying a baby, I'll be on my way.”

“Ooh, Lillian. Naughty, naughty Lillian.” Alexander shook his head slowly. “Good luck with her.”

I mounted my bicycle and headed away.

“Ride safely,” he called after me. “And don't run into any more crazy boys.”

“I'll do my best,” I replied, glad to get away from the two. From his constricted pupils as well as his behavior, I could tell Alexander was clearly drugged with something, perhaps morphine. Probably his friend was, too. No wonder Alexander fell out of the gig. But what had he meant by “naughty” Lillian?

Josephine Gilbert opened the door as the nearby church bell rang four times, Lizzy on her hip. “Rose, come in.”

“Is Nell here?” I asked, stepping in. I gave Lizzy's round belly a little squeeze, making her laugh.

Guy's mother nodded, then pointed her chin toward the sitting room.

“She's still in a bad way,” she whispered, shaking her head.

“The tea isn't helping?”

“It is not, more's the pity. She's been drinking it. At least I think so. Maybe she's dumping it out the window when I'm not watching.” Her dark eyebrows were drawn together and she pressed her mouth into a flat line.

“Mo!” Lizzy exclaimed, leaning toward me. “Mo.”

Her grandmother's face lightened and she chuckled. “She's saying
more
—more tickling.”

Lizzy nodded, repeating her request, so I tickled her behind her ear. After it produced more giggles, I gave her belly one more gentle squeeze.

“Nothing like a baby to cheer the spirits,” Josephine said.

I smiled in return. As I opened the door to the sitting room, I heard the demand for “mo” turn into a wail disappearing in the opposite direction.

Nell sat in a rocking chair by the front window, gazing out. Her chair creaked with every forward rock and
thadumped
with every return. The room smelled stale, even sour.

“Hello, Nell.” I pulled up a stool next to her, but she kept her eyes on the window. The stale scent came from her. “How is thee faring?” I patted her hand and kept smiling. “How do you like the tea I sent over?”

She tore her eyes away from the view of the street and stared at me. Her eyes looked like they had seen a great darkness—or were still seeing it.

“How should I fare?” She cocked her head. “I, who have brought death.” She stopped rocking.

My heart sank. “What is thee talking about? Thee brought life. Lizzy is thriving.”

Nell shook her head. “No, I brought death. I didn't want to.” Her long fingers grabbed repeatedly at the cloth of her skirt, pleating the same piece again and again. Her unkempt nails caught at the fabric.

“Whose death?”

She gazed at me with wide eyes. “You don't know?”

I shrugged, hoping she'd explain.

“You do know. You're only pretending.” She snorted. “He said people would. Anyway, the Devil made me do it.”

“Do what?” I leaned toward her.

She shook her head again. She locked her gaze with mine. “You don't understand.”

“I'd like to.”

“You can't. He said so.”

“Who, Nell? Who is he?”

She laughed, a
high-pitched
warble, but the corners of her mouth were turned down. It wasn't a laugh of joy. “The Devil, of course.” She focused on the window again and resumed rocking. Back and forth.
Creak, thadump. Creak, thadump.

twenty-nine

That evening we joined
hands around the table in silence, after the manner of Friends, before we ate. The entire Bailey family, plus Zeb and Annie, were gathered. My eyes closed, I felt Faith's petite but strong hand on one side, her skin increasingly roughened by the hard work of a textile mill girl. In my other hand rested Luke's slender fingers, still young and smooth, not yet developed into the hand of a man. The air smelled of savory comfort.

“Blessings on this food, this family, and our friends,” Frederick said.

In near unison we squeezed hands, opened our eyes, and fell to eating. After my antenatal client visits and my call on Nell Gilbert, I'd put together a meal for all—a white chicken stew with the end of last year's potatoes perked up by some early ramps I'd found, plus fresh cornbread, and an apple grunt. The work of preparing supper had calmed my roiling brain, and I had tried to put thoughts of murder away for later. I'd laid the table with a cheery cloth and cut a few forsythia branches, which now sat in a vase broadcasting their happy yellow sunshine around the room. The only thing that would improve the scene would be David at the table again, but I knew I would see him tomorrow night.

Now we passed dishes, ate, and conversed. The twins vied with each other to tell the story of a fight they'd seen at school, while Faith and Zeb seemed content to eat quietly next to each other.

“Elihu even got sent to the woodshed,” Mark announced, wiggling in his chair.

“He hauled off and slugged Otis,” Matthew added, with excitement warming his voice.

“Now boys, that doesn't sound very peaceable, does it?” I said.

“Rose, when can we try out thy new bicycle?” Mark asked.

I laughed. “It's too big for thee. And I need it for work. Luke or Faith can go for a ride on First Day if I'm not out at a birth, and they can teach thee when thee grows.”

“Me, too,” Betsy said, bouncing in place.

“Thee, too.”

Frederick frowned at me. “How much did that cycle cost thee? Perhaps if thee can afford such a luxury, thee might want to start paying a monthly rent.”

I held my tongue. He'd offered me the use of the parlor free of charge, for which I was grateful, but his recent moodiness seemed to be taking a miserly turn.

“Father, she needs it for work, just as thee needs thy horse,” Faith said in a quiet voice.

Frederick grunted out a low “hmph” but said no more.

I'd had enough of his dark mood. “Annie, how are thy reading lessons coming along?” I asked.

Annie sat across from me, between Frederick and Betsy, who glanced up and smiled at Annie.

“I finished Betsy's first reader,” Annie said with pride in her voice. “I'm on to the second one.”

“You'll be reading Alcott before you know it,” Faith said.

“My friend Annie Webster at school says she's going to be a policewoman when she grows up,” Betsy piped up. “Can she do that, Father?”

I laughed, and Frederick gazed at his youngest without smiling. “Of course she can,” he said. “Thee has learned of the importance of equality, both here at home and in First Day School.”

“But she's not a Friend.” Betsy shook her head.

“One doesn't have to attend Meeting to practice equality,” Faith said. “As long as there isn't a law against women in the police, your friend should follow her dream. And if there were a law, perhaps she can find a way to change it.”

Betsy nodded. “I'll tell her. And Father, may I invite John Whittier to my tea party next week on First Day?”

“I don't see why not. I imagine he's quite fond of tea.” Frederick's serious tone was accompanied by crinkling around his eyes.

I smiled at Betsy, glad to see Frederick's caring side. I'd read my niece the poem John's friend Lucy Larcom had written, “At Queen Maude's Banquet,” which described a tea party the two had shared with a young friend of John's, Carrie “Maude” Cammet. Betsy had been quite taken with the idea of tea with John.

After the four younger children finished eating and were excused from the table, Frederick turned to me.

“Is there any news about these killings in town?” He frowned, folding his hands on the table. “I know thy knitting needle was the instrument of death. Thee shouldn't have been so careless.”

“I wasn't careless, Frederick.” How dare he accuse me of perhaps aiding a murder, even if inadvertently? I swallowed down my own temper. “I wish it hadn't been so,” I said. “But I have heard no news.” I had been so enjoying a family evening of respite from worry and fear, I didn't much want to begin hashing through my ideas about the crimes and their perpetrators.

“What a week it has been,” Zeb said, his thin face suddenly drawn and pale.

“Ephraim Pickard is in jail for the arson, isn't he?” Faith asked.

“Yes, and Thomas Parry's murder, although I don't believe he's guilty. Kevin Donovan does, I'm afraid.” I sighed. “William Parry seems to be the hub of it all, but I can't quite figure out how.”

“Pickard is an interesting character,” Frederick said. “He consulted with me last year about his interest in astronomy. I lent him a book on the subject. He certainly does not seem like a murderer, if we even know what that type is.”

“And what about the new mother, Minnie?” Annie asked. “She was killed, too.”

I nodded, my heart heavy. “Yes. Fortunately, her baby is being well cared for by a mother in town whose baby also died this week.” As Annie's eyes widened, I hurried on, “Of natural causes. He had a high fever and succumbed, but now his mother has plentiful milk for Minnie's son.” I didn't add,
if Billy's uncle doesn't try to steal him away.

“What are things coming to in this town?” Faith asked. “It used to be quiet and ordered. Didn't it, Father?”

“In a way, although when one is a child, life appears simpler. In a town bustling with commerce as is ours, intrigue and disorder abound. I think, my dear, it feels more disordered to thee now thee is an adult.” Frederick smiled at Faith.

“Speaking of disorder,” I said, remembering my encounter of the afternoon, “Frederick, or even thee, Zeb, do you know of Alexander Locke? He's Lillian Parry's younger brother. About thy age Zeb, I'd say.”

“I know of him.” Frederick pursed his lips. “He was at the Academy. And was in trouble constantly. He has a bent toward addictions.”

“Gambling is one, I've heard,” Zeb said.

“We finally had to expel him.” Frederick pulled his heavy brows together. “Why does thee ask about Alexander?”

“He and a friend nearly ran me down today,” I said. “Their gig almost knocked me off my bicycle. It brushed by me so out of control that Alexander fell out onto the ground. When I rushed to help him, I noticed he was under the influence of some kind of drug. His pupils were contracted, and his manner was both lethargic and gay, as was his friend's. Perhaps they take morphine.”

“I wouldn't be surprised,” Frederick said. “Although their father, Henry Locke of Newburyport, is of substantial means, I think Alexander's impecunious and frivolous ways might be eating into the family wealth.”

Faith rose and began to clear the table. When Zeb stood to help, Faith gave him the sweetest of smiles. “Thee is a different sort of man. I like that.” Her face glowed and her eyes crinkled at their edges.

“And why should men not help in the work of the household? Do we not live by the principles of quality?” Zeb took the stack of plates from her hands and carried them to the sink.

Frederick snorted but blessedly kept quiet. Sometimes I wondered why he even claimed to be a Friend, since he acted in decidedly unFriendly ways when his temper flared and he became the opposite of
peace-loving
and charitable. But because his mood swung so unpredictably and almost violently from one extreme to the other, I suspected he suffered from a kind of mental unbalance. Not like Nell's, but some other sort of disorder, although I knew many would say it was a weakness of character, not an illness. Whatever its cause, his swings of temperament had worsened since Harriet's death, but his family had certainly experienced it before, Harriet most particularly. I'd asked her several times about her husband's rages, but she'd only said she loved him, warts and all.

I watched Faith and Zeb's simple affection, suddenly dreading tomorrow night's affair. Why couldn't my feelings for David, so strong and sweet a man, take a simple form, too? Why did I have to wrestle with his mother and dress up to share a part of his life? I rubbed my brow and then leaned my head onto my hand, suddenly tired. I longed to be with David, but what would that life be like without a common faith? Would I always feel out of place and unacceptable to his mother? Or was I putting the cart before the horse and worrying before I needed to?

“Is thee well, Rose?” Frederick asked.

I glanced up to make sure he wasn't harboring storm clouds in his question. His face was still, so I responded. “It has been quite the week.” I thought for a moment. “Does thee know anything of Guy Gilbert or his wife, Nell? She is quite unwell at the moment. Unwell in her head, I should say.”

“He's the young police officer.”

I nodded.

“He didn't attend the Academy, so he must have gone to Amesbury High School. Why does the name Nell ring a bell?” Frederick stroked his trim beard. “It's possible her maiden name was O'Toole. I believe Harriet knew her mother.”

I opened my mouth and then shut it again. If Nell was related to Minnie and Jotham and Ida, then the light on this case might be brightening. Or darkening.

The next morning's post brought a note from David saying he would pick me up at seven, and that he was looking forward to seeing me. I sighed and checked my outfit once again. The pink dress hung in the wardrobe, the new shoes sat underneath. The stockings and gloves still lay in their paper and Orpha's cameo rested on my desk.

“But what will I do for a bag?” I said aloud to my armoire. I'd forgotten about acquiring one, and I owned no small fancy bag to carry. I didn't think Faith did, either. But maybe Bertie possessed such a thing. I donned my cloak and set out on my bicycle for Bertie's house. I was glad for the cloak, as it was a cloudy, chilly morning. Five minutes later I knocked on her door.

Bertie peeked through the window, then opened the door with a smile followed by a yawn. Her curly hair danced on her shoulders and she wore a flowered wrapper over her nightdress.

“A pleasure as always to see you, Rosetta. But the hour is early yet. What brings you out and about?”

“I'm going to a fancy dinner dance tonight and—”

“That's right, I had forgotten. Come in and remind me of the details.” She led the way into her compact kitchen, where lamplight streamed onto a buttery yellow tablecloth, the air warm and redolent with the rich smell of coffee and the allure of something with cinnamon baking.

“Sit.” Bertie pointed to a chair and plopped herself down into the one across the round table. She drew both knees up and wrapped her arms around them.

I sat. “It's David Dodge's mother's party. She insisted David attend, and he very much wanted me to accompany him. I mentioned to thee that I have a party dress. I obtained new shoes, stockings, gloves. But I have no bag to carry. Does thee have such an object?”

“What color is the dress?”

“Rose,” I said with a smile. “What other color could it be?”

Bertie jumped up and held a finger in the air. “I've just the thing.” She hurried out and was back in a flash.

She laid a small reticule on the table. I picked it up and examined it. Yellow, purple, and
rose-colored
flowers were worked in petit point into a cream brocade fabric. Green leaves peeked out from behind the blooms in the design, and a honeybee rested on a stem. Two small beads shaped and colored like roses decorated the slender chain the bag hung from, and the clasp was a tiny crown. I opened it and found it lined in rose silk.

“Oh, it's lovely. And the colors are perfect.” I put my hand to my mouth. “I don't sound much like a Quaker, do I?”

“Folderol. Aren't you always talking about ‘that of God' in everyone? What about that of God in things of beauty? You should be able to appreciate beauty, too.”

I nodded. “Tell me where thee purchased the bag.”

“I like doing petit point in the evenings,” Bertie said with a grin.

“Thee didn't make this thyself.” I stared at her.

“I certainly did. Well, I bought the bag itself but it was plain. I simply added the decoration. I like pretty things.”

“Thy talents are endless. I'd love to borrow this pretty thing, if thee can part with it.”

“You can have it. I'll make another for the next fancy dinner party I go to.” She laughed, ending with a snort. “As if I went to fancy dinner parties.”

“Thee is wonderful. I must confess I'm uneasy about going to this event. David's mother—well, she's not an easy woman.” I smiled. “But his father, Herbert—what a delight.”

“Oh? The shoe magnate?”

“Yes. He's a successful businessman, but quite direct, with a simple manner full of joy. Much as is his son. I liked Herbert greatly when I met him at tea last First Day.”

“I've met your young doctor and I agree. He takes after his father.”

“I'm grateful for that. The affair tonight will provide a welcome respite from a week full of murder and lies. At least I hope it will.”

Bertie sobered. “I've heard no news, or no good news, that is, about them letting Ephraim go.”