Authors: Eleanor Kuhns
“I’m going to have to do something about Sam,” Rees said. Too distressed to take a proper farewell, he drifted blindly outside into the sun. Was there anything he could do? And what did Caroline think?
Plank tables with benches crowded the kitchen yard; the help who would of course not sit down with their mistress and new master could still share in memorializing Nate. As Rees turned in from the road and started up the slope, Lydia and Marsh stepped out of the kitchen. Rees waved at Marsh, rather insistently, until the other man nodded in acknowledgment. Rees wanted to make certain Marsh noticed him as he climbed the slope to the front.
Avoiding the few small clusters of raucous men, and Munch busy begging treats, Rees found Kate and Ben on the other side of the smokehouse. In the ten days since Rees had spoken to Kate, her condition had become unmistakable. She looked up eagerly when she heard his footfall, her expression crumpling in disappointment when she saw him.
“I have another question,” Rees said. She sighed and nodded. “After Richard ran home from the cottage, did you see anyone else?” Kate began shaking her head. “It would have been a while, maybe fifteen or twenty minutes later.” Her head stilled suddenly.
“Someone,” she admitted, “but I don’t know who. It was dark by then. All I saw was white trousers. Dark jacket, I think. It was just a fleeting glance.…”
Rees nodded, exhaling slowly. The combination of Mr. Salley’s and Kate’s statements confirmed the presence of another man in the cottage. He looked around. Almost all the men wore white or yellow nankeen breeches with white stockings. And he thought he knew who that man might have been; Marsh, the trusted family servant. Who else could run up the slope from the cottage to the house except a resident, someone whom no one would notice or remark upon? Rees must get down to the weaver’s house and search the trunk immediately.
To reach the cottage, Rees had to retrace his steps past the kitchen yard. He hugged the tree line. As he skulked past the yard, he saw Lydia, a large basket of bread upon her hip. She glanced up and caught his eyes but looked quickly away again as she deposited the basket upon the table and disappeared back into the shadowy kitchen.
No one else looked at Rees or saw him dart by. He considered striking through the tree break down to the cottage but abandoned that thought. The descent was steep, the footing uncertain, so he crossed to the road in full view of anyone who cared to look and hurried over the crest and down, his fast walk becoming a rapid trot. No one shouted after him or appeared behind him. Safe! Gasping in relief, Rees sprinted across the last leg and slipped into the cottage.
The air settled around him, close and still. And undisturbed—a quick glance around assured him of that. The spiny plant on the windowsill looked limp, although the powdery beetle coating appeared larger, as though it had spread. The back door to the dye room was open, and the peculiar mix of decaying vegetation and metallic chemicals greeted him as he walked toward the back hall. Although he hadn’t intended to enter, he saw, hanging from the rope strung across the ceiling, two items of clothing: a woman’s filmy dress and a man’s canvas apron. Both were mottled with shades of green. And the man’s apron—Rees entered the room to stare at it. It must be Nate’s apron. Underlying the green was a smattering of other colors. And down the left side was a trail of muddy spots that Rees thought might be blood. A darker half moon of green went around the neckline. Had Nate been drinking the stuff? And how had the apron ended up in the dye pot?
Filing those questions away for further thought, Rees hurried from the room. He didn’t know how much time he had before Marsh came looking for him but knew it wouldn’t be very long. He ran up the stairs to the loft and to the far side of the bed. The trunk was still there and it did not look as though it had been disturbed since his last visit. Breathing a sigh of relief, Rees pulled it out. Within seconds he had the top pulled off and the contents laid bare.
He put the artifacts from Nate’s childhood to one side. The next layer seemed to consist of paper, lots and lots of paper. Rees pulled out a handful of slips, most bearing jagged edges where they’d been torn from larger sheets. IOUs: gambling chits, and the first one on top signed by Piggy Hansen. His wavering signature—he was probably almost too drunk to write—verified a debt of twenty dollars to Nate Bowditch. The second and third also bore his signature and were of like amounts. Rees whistled soundlessly. Sixty dollars was a significant sum, more than most people earned annually. He quickly glanced through the other chits. One from George Potter, for five dollars and three from James Carleton totaling twenty dollars. When Rees examined them once again, he saw that they were all dated for the same Tuesday evenings. By this evidence, Nate did not lose often. But none of the sums, even Hansen’s, were so great that they explained murder. Rees slipped them into his pocket for future study.
He pawed down to the next level. Here were deeds to various small properties, almost all purchased from James Carleton. He sat back on his heels, trying to envision the scope of the property Nate had owned at his death. Richard would be a wealthy man.
Rees put those aside and dug down to the next layer. His hand stilled as he carefully took the brown and crumbling newspaper from the box. Dated May 1779, the weekly was open to the advertisements and one in particular had been circled.
Twenty Dollars Reward. Run away from the subscriber a slave called Nacho, about twenty-one or twenty-two years old. Tall, his complexion inclining toward copper. Escaped from an indigo plantation and skilled at same so his hands exhibit a blue tint. Reasonable recompense for distance offered.
Rees read it twice. This must be the document Marsh appeared so desperate to recover.
A soft footfall attracted Rees’s attention and he looked up. The servant stood upon the stairs, his expression one of terror. “Is this you?” Rees asked. Marsh hesitated, finally nodded. “Nate knew?”
“Obviously,” Marsh said. He swallowed. “What are you going to do?”
“Nothing.” Rees took the brittle and yellowing sheet from the trunk and extended it toward the other man. “As far as I’m concerned, you’re free.” Marsh sucked in his breath, the smooth mask he usually wore crumbling as he fought emotion. He crossed the floor and snatched the newspaper out of Rees’s hand so rapidly, the paper dissolved, leaving a trail like bread crumbs across the planks. “But I want the truth.”
Marsh met Rees’s implacable expression and finally nodded, taking up a seat upon the top step. “Nate knew, of course,” he said. “But you can imagine how Mistress Molly would react.…” Rees heard the unspoken words; Molly would sell him without hesitation if she knew. “Was there anything else important in the trunk?”
“You’re welcome to look,” Rees said, conscious of the IOUs in his pocket. “So, you were here the night Nate was killed.”
Marsh nodded. “Yes. I stopped here before I went to Portland. I suspect someone else was here before me; I heard raised voices as I went down the hill, but Nate was alone when he opened the door to me.”
“And you argued?”
“Yes. I couldn’t understand why he forbade Richard to court Elizabeth Carleton.” He paused and some remembered pain flashed across his face.
Rees waited. That wasn’t all of it. When Marsh did not continue speaking, he said impatiently, “What else?”
“We argued about the dyeing.” Marsh managed a faint smile. “An interest we shared, but for him, well, it had become all-consuming. He spent all his time down here at the cottage, ignoring his family and the farm.”
“How did he react?” Rees asked. Nate had never appreciated anyone telling him what to do, and Marsh was just his servant.
“Why do you think we were arguing?” Marsh looked across the space separating him from Rees. “You must remember what he was like. Anyway, there was a pounding on the door and Richard’s voice shouting outside. As he came in the front door, I went through the dye room and out. Richard was quarreling with his father about the exact same issue, Elizabeth Carleton. So I left.”
Rees contemplated Marsh’s account seeing several holes.“You didn’t return after Richard left?”
Marsh shook his head. “No. Richard might have stayed there for an hour or more and I was already leaving late.”
“And you didn’t run back to the big house?”
“Why would I do that?” Marsh asked, shooting the other man a derisive glance.
Rees nodded slowly; he believed him. “Did you see any other horses in the lay-by?”
Marsh nodded in surprise. “How did you know that? I was too upset to remark upon it at the time, but there was a chestnut tied to a tree. Nice animal, well cared for and with a beautiful saddle.” A short pause and then added in sudden understanding, “He probably belonged to the man I overheard with Nate.”
“Who was it?” Rees asked, his words tripping over one another. That man could have waited until Richard left and then gone back inside and bludgeoned Nate to death. Probably did, in fact.
Marsh shrugged. “I didn’t recognize the horse. Or the man’s voice.”
“I assume you knew all the men who played cards with Nate?”
“I served drinks,” Marsh said with a nod. “I didn’t participate, of course. Magistrates, lawyers, other men of means were the only ones invited.”
“Dr. Wrothman?”
“Once or twice only. For obvious reasons.” The servant’s expression might almost be described as contemptuous.
“Does everyone know about the good doctor’s connection with Mrs. Bowditch?”
“Not everyone. But those in the house…” Marsh met Rees’s gaze. “Most of the servants knew. The mistress never troubled to hide it.…”
“The card players always met here?”
“No, but more often than not. This was the only place without intrusive wives or other witnesses.”
“Could one of those men have stopped over? Been the man you heard arguing with Nate?”
“Possibly.” Marsh nodded slowly. “I wouldn’t know their horses, though. Except for James Carleton, who always rode a wild black stallion.” Rees nodded, recalling other remarks to the same effect. “I doubt one of them is Nate’s murderer,” Marsh continued. “They were a friendly group and played for small sums. You must have found the chits.”
Rees, choosing not to reply to Marsh’s question, asked instead, “Did you always remain until the end of the evening?”
“No. Never. I made sure everyone had something to drink and then I left.” He smiled a grim not-smile. “After all, I was expected to arise at dawn and begin upon my other duties.”
Rees wondered if he would have to question Piggy Hansen as well as George Potter and James Carleton, a task he already dreaded. They sat in silence, Rees reflecting upon Nate. Hard to imagine Nate as a gambler, a successful one anyway. He’d always been generous with his possessions, sharing candy or a horse with equal graciousness.
“How long did you work for Nate?” Rees asked at last.
“Twelve years. He found me in Providence,” Marsh said. “I was selling indigo, a few blocks of it, and some other dyestuffs.…”
No doubt stolen from his master, but Rees wasn’t inclined to judge Marsh too harshly. A man had to live. “Nacho is an odd name,” he said.
“Short for Ignacio. I grew up a slave in Mexico,” Marsh said with a faint smile. “My father was apprenticed to an indigo dyer in Africa and carried his skills to his new master. I grew up around dyes, most particularly the cochineal beetle—” He stopped abruptly, hearing a sudden increase in the volume of voices from the house. “It’s a long story and I’m too busy now to tell you the whole of it.”
“Another time, then,” Rees said. “You owe me that much.”
“It isn’t all that interesting,” Marsh said.
“I’ll decide that,” Rees said. After all, at this point Marsh understood Nate far better than Rees. “I’m trusting you not to run.”
“And where would I go? I have a home here. And I would never put my sister and her family into danger.…” Marsh jumped to his feet and started down the stairs. Rees shoved the trunk under the bed and followed the other man. By the time he went out, closing the front door behind him, Marsh was already almost at the top of the slope. He was moving fast, almost running, and Munch was tearing after him, barking in delight.
Rees started the climb more slowly, thinking hard. Marsh had several good reasons to murder Nate, not least the desire for freedom. But why then didn’t he run? Instead, he stayed, fighting for Richard and his happiness and pouring drinks at the card games and dyeing. Was he afraid Richard would send the slave takers after him?
Rees was almost at the top when he realized that Marsh had mentioned the gambling IOUs. He must have seen them if he knew the amounts. And that meant he’d already searched the trunk. Surely he could have taken the newspaper at any time. So why hadn’t he? Rees was missing something.
Chapter Twenty
As Marsh headed into the kitchen, Rees went around the house and through the front door. The front hall was empty and when Rees went into the dining room he saw why: The food had been brought out and placed upon the long tables against the wall. Many, many dishes—the fruit of Rachel’s labors these past few days. Most of the guests occupied the chairs around the three other walls and into the piece of the parlor visible through the connecting door. David sat alone, looking uncomfortable in his fine clothes and good shoes. Rees crossed the floor and pulled up an empty chair beside him.
“Where have you been?” David asked. He looked bored.
“I had a few people to speak to,” Rees said. “Where’s Mr. Potter?”
David shrugged. “I haven’t seen him. Are you ready to leave?”
Rees looked at his son. Besides Grace and Richard, there were no people his age here, and besides this type of gathering was not at all his thing. “If we leave now,” he said, “one of us will still have to return for Lydia.”
“Fine,” David said, jumping to his feet. “I’ll do it.”
“Let me find Mr. Potter,” Rees said. “Perhaps he can find his own way back to town.”
Potter was not far distant. Attracted by the loud roar of male laughter, Rees found him closeted with several other men in the smaller family dining room. Cigar smoke wreathed the air. These gentlemen seemed more interested in drinking spirits than in consuming food. Marsh was pouring whiskey with amazing speed and efficiency.