Sophia Ripley frowned incredulously, "Do you mean that someone was threatening him? Surely Reverend Hopewell was not afraid of blackmail!"
Blackmail was such an ugly word. It was not a word any of them would connect with Winslow Hopewell. Surely no one would dare to threaten him. No one had any answer for Sophia, so the four of them continued walking to the Hive in silence.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Daniel Asks Questions
October 24, 1842
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The conversation with Thomas Hopewell left Daniel discouraged. He had been certain Roger Platt must be the killer. Writing the story as an exclusive for the
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would most likely get him a permanent job with the newspaper. He could almost hear Mr. Cabot's congratulations, and he smiled to think that Charlotte would look at him with a bit more respect. It would be a pleasure to impress a clever girl like Charlotte Edgerton. Instead he found himself walking back to the boarding house in the dark on a cold, rainy night no further ahead than he'd been the night before.
He stopped in a tavern for a plate of fried kidneys and a pint of ale, but they didn't help much. If the Platts had no reason to kill Winslow Hopewell, who would have? He was a respected man, a preacher and a friend of the Ripleys. His watch and his money weren't stolen. It made no sense. Hopewell wasn't a fighting man or a political man as far as Daniel knew. Who could have hated him enough to kill him? With a sigh Daniel turned toward his boarding house. By the time he got there the door was locked and Mrs. Cos
tello grumbled when she opened it. "I keep a respectable house, young man. If you want to spend your nights drinking you can find another landlady."
"Sure I'd never find one as lovely as you," Daniel answered, trying to smooth her furrowed brow. "You remind me of my sainted grandmother in heaven. You wouldn't want to turn me away from my better angels, would you?" That made her smile and he ran upstairs before she could say anything else.
On Sunday morning Daniel went to mass hoping to run into Rory O'Connor. Could Rory tell him anything more about what had happened that morning? Well, wherever Rory was, he wasn't in church. Daniel plodded back to the boarding house for breakfast and spent most of the afternoon reading the books he had borrowed from Miss Peabody's bookstore. Questions about Winslow's death nagged at him. Who could have wanted him dead? Who could have been lurking around Brook Farm? Could it have been an accident? But there were no answers.
On Monday morning Daniel made up his mind to talk to the sheriff again. Maybe there were leads that were being followed. When he got to the Court House, Sheriff Grover was in his office and the same clerk in the same black suit was sitting in a corner copying documents. The sheriff recognized Daniel, but he didn't look very happy about it.
"You're that reporter from the
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, eh? What do you want this time? Have you found another body? Or have those folks at Brook Farm gotten into some other kind of mischief?"
"Nothing like that, sir. I was just wondering whether the investigation into Reverend Hopewell's murder was still going on. Perhaps
you already know who the culprit is? The citizens of Boston would like to know that such an evildoer had been captured."
"We are not miracle workers. We can't solve crimes when there are no clues and no criminals in the neighborhood to question. Perhaps Winslow Hopewell fell and hit his head. Likely it was a death by misadventure. That's the verdict I will recommend to the coroner when he holds a hearing on the matter."
That decision startled Daniel and he protested. "How do you explain the mark of a blow on his forehead?" he asked.
"He could have fallen on a rock or a hoe or rake. Perhaps he was carrying one. At any rate I am not going to keep bothering those good people at Brook Farm and I certainly don't want to cause a scandal for the Reverend Thomas Hopewell. The Hopewells are one of the leading families of the county, of the entire Commonwealth of Massachusetts."
Daniel could see the way the land lay. No official in Boston was going to cause a scandal to one of the leading families no matter how many crimes were committed. But he wasn't satisfied to stand by and see the murder denied that way. A man should be allowed to live out his life and from what Thomas Hopewell had told him, it seemed that Winslow was a man whose life was doing some good in the world. Wasn't America supposed to be a land of justice? Keeping the gentry out of trouble was acting like the corrupt officials in Ireland. It wasn't supposed to happen in this new country. No use saying that to the sheriff though.
Time for another trip to Brook Farm. That's where the crime had happened, so that must be the place that held the answer. Daniel had to find a solution. He wasn't fooling himself that it was all for lofty ideas about justice either. Solving the mystery would be the key
to a new job and a place of importance in the city. He had spent enough years scrabbling around to make a living. It was time to have a suitable place in the world and maybe settle down.
The weather had changed again; gray rainclouds were gathering along the Western horizon and a sharp wind was blowing them in fast. Crinkled brown leaves swirled along the edge of the road and teased at his ankles. There would be frost tonight.
Once again Daniel arrived at the Farm while everyone was in at their dinner. He went round to the kitchen door where Mrs. Geary smiled when she saw him. She cut him a slice of pork roast and gave him some baked beans to go with it. It was the best meal he'd eaten in a long time and sharing a table with her made it easy to talk. He had never heard her say anything about why she and Ellen lived at Brook Farm or what she thought of the people here. He had been a child when she left Galway with her new husband and he hadn't paid much attention to why they were going. Today, without his even asking, she started talking about how she and Ellen had come to Brook Farm.
"My husband wanted more than anything to get an education for his children," she said. "He never went to school at all, any more than I did, but the priest taught him to read and write and he learned everything so quickly it was astonishing. His father wanted to make him a priest, but he and I had found each other when we were young and we were determined to have our own lives. Patrick saved up every penny he earned on the fishing boats to buy us passage to America. My parents were willing to let me go, and so the priest called the banns and we were married the day before the ship sailed. Patrick's father never forgave him for leaving, but he softened a bit after Ellen was born and sent a letter with his blessing for all of us.
"Oh, it's too long a story to tell you. We struggled in Boston. Patrick never could get a job anywhere except on the docks. He wanted to be a clerk, and his writing was beautiful, but no one would hire an Irishman for that, so he worked on the docks until it killed him. His lungs were never strong and one winter he just got so sick he couldn't get out of bed. Finally God took him. His last wish was that Ellen could go to school, so I promised him I'd do that no matter what. She was already quite a scholar because he taught her all the reading and writing he knew. I worked as a kitchen maid for Mrs. Ripley, and when she and Reverend Ripley started Brook Farm they were willing to take me as a cook. They promised Ellen could go to school here and so she has."
By this time dinner was over and people were bringing the plates and tableware out to the kitchen to wash. Charlotte was surprised to find Daniel chatting with Mrs. Geary.
"It's nice to see you," she said. "I've something to tell you but not until after I've given my class their afternoon lessons. It won't be too long and you can help wash up the dishes and clean the kitchen to pay for your dinner."
She laughed when she said that and went off quickly to gather her class together. Daniel was just as happy to stay and work with the cleaning group in the kitchen. They sang while they washed the dishes. Fred was very interested in working on a newspaper and while he and Daniel dried the dishes they had plenty to talk about.
Finally Charlotte came down from her classroom after having delivered her students back to their parents. She and Daniel found a quiet corner of the parlor. He told her about visiting Thomas Hopewell and what he had said about his son paying Roger's debt.
"I was sure we had found the murderer when we learned that Roger had escaped from debtor's prison," Daniel admitted. "But by the time Winslow Hopewell died, Roger must have known that the debt was paid. He was just staying with his brother until the judge had officially freed him. Now I don't know where to look for another suspect."
"You're not the only one who learned something new," Charlotte said. "Yesterday I was talking with Mrs. Ripley and she told me Reverend Hopewell was very troubled these past weeks. He was being considered for a new position as minister at the largest church in Salem."
"He must have been pleased by that," Daniel said. "He was an ambitious man I'm sure."
"But he was troubled. Mrs. Ripley said he talked about a secret and how he was afraid someone might learn about it. He talked about mistakes made in youth that come back to haunt a man."
"Youthful mistakes!" Daniel echoed. "Do you think he was afraid someone would reveal them and then he wouldn't be offered the position? Someone was blackmailing him, was that it?"
Charlotte seemed to consider this for a minute. "I think that might have been the trouble. There was something he didn't want told to the congregation. He thought they would disapprove."
"We have to find out what these youthful indiscretions were." It was hard to believe that Reverend Hopewell, who was always described as almost perfect, could have had a guilty secret. "We need to find out what he did that he was ashamed of. And especially who it was who knew his secret."
Charlotte gave him a strange, strained look. She was twisting a handkerchief in her hands as she spoke, but she stopped talking and
stared absently at the bookcase for a few minutes. Finally she said in a very quiet voice, "I've heard something else too, something I promised not to tell anyone, but perhaps it's important. Perhaps I have to tell you." She stopped talking and sat very still.
"If it helps us find out who killed Winslow Hopewell, don't you think you'd better tell me?"
"Yes, I suppose I should. You see, I know what his secret was. And I know the person who knows about it."
CHAPTER SIXTEENS
Charlotte Visits a Bookstore
October 24, 1842
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The parlor was deserted except for two of the younger students sprawled on the floor reading a book of Greek myths and whispering together. Charlotte drew in her breath and decided she had to tell Daniel about Abigail's secret even though it felt like a betrayal. Her throat was tight when she started talking and she glanced over her shoulder to make sure the students weren't close enough to hear anything.
"Abigail and Winslow Hopewell knew each other very well," she started "because the Hopewells were friends of the aunt that Abigail lived with in Boston and they used to visit the house. Winslow Hopewell came very often. He told Abigail he wanted to marry her, but he was afraid his father would be very angry. He was supposed to become a minister like his father, and marrying a Quaker was not something a minister should do. I guess they are too radical for respectable Unitarians."
"You know it's strange," Daniel added when she paused, "Reverend Thomas Hopewell mentioned that his son had once liked a
Quaker girl. He said that of course marrying a Quaker was impossible. I suppose he must have been talking about Abigail."
"That must be it," Charlotte agreed. "I don't know whether Winslow actually told his father he wanted to marry Abigail, or whether the father just suspected it. Anyway, the two of them decided—I guess it was Abigail who suggested it—that they would have a Quaker wedding. Did you know that Quakers don't get married in a church? They just declare to each other, usually in front of other people I guess, that they are married and then they are.
"I don't know whether Abigail ever told her aunt about it, but she and Winslow Hopewell—he wasn't a Reverend then—considered themselves man and wife. At least Abigail believed that. Then, after he became a minister, Reverend Winslow Hopewell must have decided he couldn't continue having a secret marriage. He told Abigail he didn't believe they were really married. And he went off to serve as an assistant minister in a church up in Portland and Abigail never saw him again until he came to the Farm."
"So that was his guilty secret?" Daniel muttered thoughtfully. "Do you think he would have been rejected for this new post if people knew he once had a secret marriage?"
"There's more," Charlotte continued. "Reverend Hopewell was Timothy's father, although he never knew that until just a few weeks ago. Timothy was born after his father had gone to Portland and Abigail never told him about the baby."
"But what about this Mr. Pretlove that Abigail was married to?"
"There was no one named Pretlove. Abigail pretended she was a widow because she had to explain having Timothy. Her aunt helped her and told everyone the widow story. I guess no one suggested it
wasn't true. I think maybe the two of them moved to Salem or someplace where no one knew them."
"That puts a different light on it," exclaimed Daniel. "No church would want a minister who had a bastard son." His cheeks flushed scarlet. "Begging your pardon, I shouldn't have used such language in front of you."
"I'm not a dainty lady like some of the people here, you know," Charlotte retorted. "My father and mother were plain-spoken people who weren't afraid to call something by its name. But if the two of them were married that makes a difference, doesn't it?"
"Would the wedding be legal if no one saw it and it wasn't recorded at the courthouse?" Daniel wondered aloud. Neither of them knew the answer to that. Then he asked the question that had been bothering Charlotte. "Was Mrs. Pretlove very angry at Reverend Hopewell? You don't suppose they could have quarreled and then maybe she hit him and..." his voice dwindled away.