Delivering the Truth (22 page)

thirty-two

I tied my bonnet
under my chin in the Parry's foyer as the clock struck twice. I'd had a quick, if distracted, cup of tea with Della, then told her I couldn't tarry any longer. My brain was filled with an imagined image of a dress-and-bonnet-clad Alexander stabbing Minnie in the neck. And my mind churned with questions, too. Why had Minnie even let him in? Had Lillian paid her brother to get rid of the competition, so to speak? It was awful to imagine a woman about to become a mother plotting the murder of another, but I knew it was possible. For Nell, for Lillian, perhaps for anyone.

Della might not be willing to tell the same story to the police as she'd recounted to me. My plans for a quiet afternoon of rest and reflection before the evening soir
é
e were clearly in shreds. I needed to tell Kevin what I had learned, and soon.

“I must go,” I said.

“You don't want to wait for Mrs. Parry?” Della stood beside me with my cloak in her arms.

As I shook my head, the front door burst open. Della gasped and drew a hand to her throat. Alexander Locke strode in with an angry air that contrasted with the freshness of the day behind him. Gone was his lethargic, giddy mood. He stopped short, narrowing his eyes.

“What are you doing here, Miss Quaker Angel?” His voice was gravelly.

“Good afternoon, Alexander. I was asking about thy sister. I wanted to check on her
well-being
.”

“I wouldn't mind doing that myself.” He glanced at Della. “Where is my sister, girl?”

“I don't know, sir. She's out shopping.” Della's face had gone pale.

“Spending my money, no doubt. She owes me and she's withholding it.” He nearly spat the words in a breathless way. He pushed his bowler back and rubbed his forehead.

I took a closer look. His right hand shook and tiny pearls of sweat decorated his face. His dingy collar sat askew. I suspected he was in withdrawal from the drugs.

“Is thee unwell, Alexander?” I asked.

“None of your business. Is that scoundrel William in?” he asked Della. “The one who humiliated my sister?”

She shook her head. “Not him, neither.”

His gaze strayed to the wide staircase. “I think I'll help myself to some of Lill's jewels in lieu of payment. Since she's not here.” He pushed past us and set a muddy boot on the first step.

“You can't do that,” Della said. “Sir,” she quickly added with fear drawn on her face.

“I'll do what I want.” He ran up three more steps.

“But you can't. She locks her door when she goes out.” Della pleated the cloth of my cloak between her fingers, but she stood up straight.

“Give me the key then, girl.” Alexander clattered back down the stairs, leaving clods of dirt in his wake.

Della shook her head fast. Alexander raised a hand, but I reached out and caught it before he hit her.

“Alexander, calm thyself,” I said in my most firm tone. “Do not strike this young woman.”

Glaring at me, he twisted out of my hold but let his arm fall to his side. He snarled at Della, “Give me the key.”

“You don't understand, sir,” she said. “I don't have it. No one does.”

“Cook must.” Alexander's tone grew more desperate. “There must be a master key somewhere.”

She gazed in my direction as if imploring me to help. “There is no other key. Mrs. Parry locks her door and puts the key in her bag. We can only clean and freshen up the bed and such when she's in the house.”

“It sounds like thee is unlucky for today, Alexander,” I said.

He turned, his face red, and stormed back out the way he came. We both watched him go.

“Take a deep breath, Della. And then tell me—has he hurt thee in the past?”

She nodded slowly, rubbing her arm, not looking at me until Alexander had reached the street and disappeared out of sight. She handed me my cloak.

“When he loses money, he's mean. He hit me once when he passed by in the hall. He tried to grab me, but then Mrs. Parry called for him and he let me go. I don't like Mr. Locke.”

“I don't blame thee. He seems to have little likeable about him.” As my eyes roamed the foyer, I noticed a black box on the wall. “Is that one of the new telephones?” I'd seen only one or two.

She nodded. I strode to it. “Does thee know how to work it?”

“Oh, no, miss. I don't. Only Mr. Parry is allowed to use it. He makes that very clear.”

A cylindrical device about a hand'
s-length
long was connected by wires to the box; it hung from a hook on the left side. I lifted off the device and examined it, the metal cool in my hand, then put the end to my ear.

“Hello? Hello?” I said to the round
mesh-covered
hole in the middle. But I heard nothing. I tried speaking into the cylindrical part with no better effect. I hung it up. How easy it would have been to ring up the police station and tell Kevin he must bring Alexander in for questioning. With a sigh I donned my cloak.

“Thank thee for the tea, Della. I'm off now. Be well. And try not to be alone where Alexander is.”

She nodded with wide eyes.

thirty-three

“But I must speak
with him.” I stood at the front desk of the police station fifteen minutes later. The air, as usual, carried the smell of old wood, stale smoke, and the metallic tinge of gun oil.

The officer Kevin had addressed as Joe that morning shook his head. “He went out. You can't talk with him if he's not here, then, can you, miss?” A twist of curly red hair at his temple escaped the otherwise carefully
plastered-down
do.

Perhaps Kevin was out questioning poor Nell, following up on the news I had brought him. I tapped my fingers on the side of my leg. “May I trouble thee for paper and pencil, then?”

He rummaged in the desk until he came up with them. A man standing behind me cleared his throat, so I took the writing materials to the wide windowsill. Gazing out the window, I thought for a moment. Would Kevin understand if I jotted down a tale of Alexander borrowing Lillian's clothes? Of Lillian putting him up to murder? His accosting Della? I shook my head. I didn't know, but I had to tell him.

I drafted my note carefully, outlining what Della had told me. I urged Kevin to find Alexander and question him, and then do the same with Lillian. Who knew what damage a drug addict would do next? Folding the paper in half, I wrote Kevin's name on the outside.

“Please see he gets this with all due haste,” I said, handing it to Joe. “It could be a matter of life or death.”

Joe nodded in mock seriousness. “Yes, miss. With all due haste.” He patted the note, smiling at me as if I were a
silly-headed
girl.

“It's a serious matter relating to the recent murders in town.” I stood up to my full height. “I should hope thee wouldn't impede the investigation in which Kevin Donovan asked me to assist.” He had at the beginning of it, anyway.

He widened his eyes, the indulgent smile gone. “Yes, miss. I'll let him know.”

I thanked him and left, making my way back to where I'd left my bicycle leaning against a lamp post in front of the station. I planned to return home and rest for the afternoon. I didn't want worry and fatigue to mar my appearance for the party. Murder really was a case for the authorities to solve, not a midwife. I'd done what I could, reported to Kevin what I discovered. He would need to take it from here.

I pedaled slowly toward the Bailey house—my house now, as well. I mused for a happy moment on where David and I might live if we joined in marriage. Perhaps a modest home on a hill overlooking the river. I would prefer to stay in Amesbury near my clients, but a house near the river would put him close to the bridge so he could easily get to work at the hospital and keep his clientele in Newburyport. I imagined having babies of my own. I pictured David and me both gazing at a sleeping infant in his arms, and smiled at the thought of a household full of bright little Dodges. I would raise them as Friends, sure he would not object. I wasn't sure why my anxiety over his mother's regard of me had lessened or what had happened to my involuntary holding back from him based on my terrible experience of long ago. I welcomed this new ease and felt confident I could meet the challenge of tonight's party.

But for now, the Bailey children and Frederick would all be home from the Seventh Day half session of school, and I hoped the household wouldn't be too noisy for me to take a bit of sleep.

As I was about to turn off High Street onto the path leading to the Bailey house, a man hailed me.

“Miss Carroll!” Jotham strode toward me.

I halted my steed and put my foot down, waiting for him to approach.

“Miss Carroll, exactly the person I wanted to see.” Breathing heavily, he removed his hat, his face red. “I'd like your help. I'm sorting through the baby things Minnie got for little Billy. I wanted to take them over to Mrs. Henderson's for him. But I'm not sure, you see, what is what. Can you come and help me?”

“How can I help?” I cocked my head. “Doesn't thee simply need to place them into a satchel and carry them to Patience's?” Why did he need my help for such a simple task?

He fluttered his left hand at his side. “I'm all
a-fluster
going through Minnie's things. I'd like a woman's assistance in the matter.”

“The police have finished their investigation of her flat, then?”

He nodded, smiling at me, a tic vibrating at the edge of his upper lip. He replaced his hat on his head.

I sighed. All I wanted to do was rest and anticipate dancing with my David. But Jotham had suffered a loss, and it was only right to help him. “I'll come. But only for a few moments. I need to be getting home soon. It's been a busy day and I'm going out tonight.”

“I thank you. It won't take long.” Jotham gestured down High toward the way he had come.

After Jotham ushered me into the dark hallway of Minnie's flat ten minutes later, I heard the
snick
of the key turning in the lock behind me as I made my way to the bedroom in the rear of the flat. I craned my head back.

“Why does thee lock the door, Jotham? We won't be long, I'm sure.”

He took a long stride toward me. My answer was his suddenly glowering expression and his hands on my shoulders, pushing me down the hall ahead of him.

“What is thee doing? Don't push me,” I cried as I extended my arms before me to avoid crashing into the closed bedroom door. A muffled sound came from behind it.

“Open the door,” he growled.

Something cold the size of a thumb pressed into my back. It echoed the cold now spreading through me. This was no visit to sort baby clothes.

I felt for the handle and gasped after the door swung open into the room. Lillian sat on the bed, her back at the headboard. One foot was tied to the knob at the foot of the bed and her hands were bound in her lap with a silken cord. A kerchief encircled her head, gagging her mouth. Her unpinned hair lay in disarray about her shoulders and stuck up above the kerchief. Her eyes implored me as she worked her chin and shook her head, trying to get free of the gag. I rushed to her side.

“We must free thee at once,” I said. My hand was on the kerchief when Jotham barked from behind me.

“Don't touch her.” He slammed the door shut and moved to the other side of the bed. A gun in his hand pointed at me.

“She's pregnant. Thee can't have her tied like this.” I reached for the kerchief again. I had a million questions for him, but now wasn't the time.

“Stop. I'll shoot you, and her, too, if I have to. She's going to start screaming like a banshee if you take that off.”

Lillian moaned. She closed her eyes as a tear escaped, rolling down her pale cheek. She moaned again and her eyes flew open. She held my gaze.

Oh, no
. “Thee is having a pain.”

She nodded, then grimaced.

“What kind of pain? Don't let her bamboozle you,” Jotham said with a snarl.

“I believe she might be in early labor.” I glanced at a small clock on the bedside table.

“Having her baby here?” The gun wavered for a second, then he held it firm again.

“It's possible,” I replied. “She's less than two months from her time. Look at me,” I said to Lillian, laying my hand atop her bound wrists. “Take a deep breath through your nose and let it out.” She did what I said. “Now another,” I coached her. “Don't hold thy breath in. That can increase the pain.”

The pain seemed to pass. She slumped back on the pillows, watching me.

“Thee did well.” She had to be wondering what was happening. I needed to calm her down if I could. “Thee might be starting thy labor, or it might be the false contractions we talked about. Remember?”

She nodded.

“Try to stay at ease. Have these pains just begun?”

She shook her head.

“How long has thee …” No, I had to ask her questions she could answer with a yes or a no. “Have the pains been going on all day long?” It was now nearly three o'clock.

She nodded.

T
hen this wasn't false labor. Braxton Hicks contractions happened sporadically and didn't continue for so long. I thought quickly back to our visits. She had about eight weeks before labor should have started. If the baby was born today, it would be too small and too weak. I doubted it would survive. I wasn't concerned about not having my birthing satchel. I had made do before with the simple supplies any household stocked: clean cloth, hot water, a razor. Supplies not including a loaded gun, of the kind I believed they called a revolver, one capable of several shots before reloading.

“I'll get us out of here, I promise thee.” I hadn't a notion how, though.

Jotham laughed, a bitter sound. “Oh, no, you won't.” He smelled of a nervous sweat.

I stared at him, my ire rising. “What is this about? How did you get her here? Why does thee hold her, and me, as well?” I set my hands on my hips. “This woman is in labor, I'm sure of it.”

“She killed my sister. I decided it was time to take justice into my own hands.” He glared at Lillian, who shook her head back and forth, her eyebrows drawn together.

I watched them both. He had discovered what I had surmised, as well. Perhaps Lillian hadn't directly killed Minnie, but if she put Alexander up to it, she might as well have.

“And you've been snooping around,” he went on, keeping the gun trained on me. “I've seen you asking questions. Too many questions.”

“That's because many questions about this week's events remain unanswered,” I said. “For example, what makes thee think Lillian killed Minnie? Does thee really believe she, in her advanced state of pregnancy, could even come over here and stab thy sister?”

“I have my sources. She put somebody else up to it. I know she did.”

“What does thee mean to do with us?”

He stared at me through narrowed eyes. “Haven't quite decided yet. Her”—he jutted his chin at Lillian—“I'll hand over to the authorities. Or maybe she'll have to die. Just like my Minnie did.” He grinned at Lillian and laughed when her eyes widened and she tried to speak through the gag.

I swallowed. “And will thee kill me, as well? The police will find thee, Jotham O'Toole. Killing more people in this town solves nothing. It will only add thy own death to the tally when they convict thee.” My heart beat in my throat, but I tried to take my own deep breath to relax. No one knew I was here. I couldn't depend on Kevin or anyone else to swoop in and rescue us. I needed to figure out how to get Lillian and myself out, and soon.

“I'll do what I see fit,” he snarled.

“And what about thy nephew? When thee is apprehended, thee will lose the chance to see him grow up, to help care for him.”

He frowned at this but went on. “I'll take him with me. You fancy people think you control the town. I plan to make my own life elsewhere, with little Billy at my side.”

“I'm scarcely a fancy person, Jotham. Thee knows Friends follow simple, modest habits.”

“Maybe, but you help the fancy ones. Like this one.” He moved the gun to point at Lillian. “Well, it's my town, too, or has been. The likes of Parry ain't going to get the better of me. I showed him, didn't I?”

“What does thee mean?”

Jotham threw back his head and laughed, then an expression of satisfaction came over his face. “The fire? Thomas? All my doing. All of it.”

I stared at him. “Thee burned down Carriage Hill.”

He nodded, looking like a fox who had just finished off a hen. He licked the corners of his mustache. “Served all those fancy folks right. I even limped along for a stretch on my way there and back, hoping somebody would think it was old Ephraim who was the firebug.”

“It wasn't only fancy folks who were killed in the fire. It was ordinary workers like thyself.”

He glanced away. “Couldn't be helped.”

“And thee stabbed Thomas?” Perhaps Alexander wasn't the murderer, nor crazy Nell.

“I tried to get that lunatic woman, my cousin, to do it. She stole your knittin' needle just like I told her to. But in the end she wouldn't stick him. I didn't mind doing it. It was my idea, my revenge. And the coppers are too stupid to figure anything out.”

I'd never heard someone sound so proud of himself.

Lillian moaned again. I checked the clock again. Two minutes had passed since the start of the last pain.

“Breathe, Lillian. Slowly, calmly. Just breathe.”