The Devil's Cold Dish (19 page)

The door to the cottage was thrust open. “I told you, Mary Martha, I…” Molly's words trailed away as she realized just who stood outside. She was dressed only in a cotton petticoat and silk wrap and had clearly just arisen from bed. “How dare you come to this house,” she said after a shocked silence. She went to swing the door shut but Rees, spurred into action, leaped up and blocked the door with his left arm.

“I just want to ask you some questions,” he said.

“And why should I answer them?” she asked angrily. “You ruined my life.”

“It's about the miller, Tom McIntyre. He's dead.”

“Is he? I didn't know. A tragedy for his family, to be sure, but why should I care?”

“He was murdered,” Rees said in an icy tone. He'd forgotten how self-centered she was. “And in a particularly nasty manner.”

“Surely you don't think I had anything to do with it? Why, I barely knew the man.” She stared at Rees with eyebrows raised in surprise. Her bewilderment seemed believable and Rees thought she might be telling the truth, but he knew very well that she was an accomplished liar. Footsteps clattering upon the stairs betrayed the presence of another person in the cottage. A tide of scarlet rose into Molly's neck and cheeks and she partially closed the door, but not before Rees saw black shoes with silver buckles and fine white silk stockings on the steps behind her.

“He was found in the mill, upside down, and surrounded by candles.” Rees fixed his eyes upon her face, hoping to shock her.

“How terrible. But I haven't seen Mr. McIntyre since I was a girl,” Molly said with a hint of hauteur. “Marsh deals with such things as the miller. I don't know anything. And I wouldn't help you if I did. Why are you even involved? You can't keep your long nose out of other people's affairs?”

“Lydia has been accused,” Rees said.

Molly stared at him for a second and then burst into loud shrill laughter. “You've gotten what you deserve,” she said, pushing the words between the gusts of hilarity.

“Is something wrong?” Mr. Drummond appeared behind Molly. Not for him a black coat. His was a beautiful yellow and patterned with a subtle sheen of silk threads. Lace edged the cloth tied around his neck. Rees nodded courteously, his initial surprise dissipating. A relationship between Molly and a suspicious Virginian seemed preordained.

“No,” Molly said tersely. “Mr. Rees is just leaving.”

“I had a few questions for Mrs. Bowditch,” Rees said, sketching a bow. “I hoped that, from her place in Dugard society, she might know something.” Missing Rees's sarcasm entirely, Drummond smiled. Molly's lips trembled and she shot Rees a look of hatred.

“If that's all, Mr. Rees?” she said in a frosty tone and slammed the door shut before he could reply.

Rees turned and walked toward the lane. Molly had clearly stated she did not know Mr. McIntyre very well and expressed a rather indifferent surprise at his death. Did Rees believe her? She certainly disliked him enough to want to do him an ill turn if she could. But Rees thought her surprise was genuine. Besides, Rees knew a woman could not have lifted the miller and tied him to the posts. Not without help anyway. Was Mr. Drummond so besotted he would do anything Molly asked, including murder? And of course Drummond had been one of the two men who had discovered Zadoc Ward's body. Coincidence, or something more? Rees couldn't answer that question now, but he would know the answer eventually, of that he was certain.

 

Chapter Seventeen

After an unproductive stop at Judge Hanson's empty office, Rees tracked the magistrate down to the Contented Rooster. The coffeehouse had begun to empty as the local merchants left for their businesses. But Hanson was still inside, seated before the window and enjoying a hearty breakfast of steak and eggs and a large glass of whiskey. He was stuffed like a sausage in a casing into a costly but wrinkled gray jacket. A large linen napkin was tucked into his neck cloth, protecting the lace beneath. He saw Rees enter and wiped his mouth on a corner of the napkin. “I will not offer Caldwell his job back,” he said as Rees approached, “so do not even plan on asking.”

“You took away his job?” Rees asked, shocked out of his own concerns. “Why did you do that? Because he broke up the mob attacking my family?” He pulled out the opposite chair and sat down.

Frowning, Hanson took a draft of tea and then patted away the perspiration dotting his forehead. “Please, sit down,” he said sarcastically, gesturing to the seat Rees now occupied. “You have no sense of the order of things, Will. That's your problem. Never have had. You walk around with that damn-your-eyes arrogance. No sense of the proper treatment of your betters.” He gestured to Rees, sitting across the table. “You do not know how to behave.”

“My betters?” Rees repeated “My betters? I have no betters. I'm as good as any man.” He eyed the man sitting across from him, “And
my
respect must be earned.”

A tide of red swept up into Hanson's cheeks. “I see. And I'm not worthy.”

“I didn't say that,” Rees said.

“But you did.” Hanson shook his head. “It is you who think you're better than everyone. Half the men in town have suffered a beating at your hands.”

“When I was a boy,” Rees said, feeling his cheeks warm.

“You've made it clear to everyone in town that you don't want to live here; that this town isn't good enough for you. That we are just a stopover once in a while.” Rees stared at the magistrate, for once bereft of speech. That accusation stung. “Every time you've come home, you've caused some kind of mischief. The rumor about Molly Bowditch was not the most current but certainly one of the most damaging.”

“Preventing half the widows in town from losing their money in one of your schemes being the most recent,” Rees said, expecting to get a rise from the magistrate.

Hanson wiped his lips. Although pink tinted his cheeks, he did not respond to Rees's gibe. Instead he said, “And Caldwell has permitted his friendship with you to affect his judgment. He should have known better.” Rees leaned forward.

“They were threatening my wife, Piggy. Do you understand?”

“And how do I know she isn't guilty? I've heard those Shaker women never marry and believe they are the equal of men.”

“You're not planning to tell me you believe in witches,” Rees said. “I wouldn't credit it.”

Hanson smiled, his thin lips stretching until they disappeared in the folds of his cheeks. “Do I think she used magic to bludgeon Mr. McIntyre and hang him upside down? No. But
she
might trust in her powers. And you might have helped her.”

“Me? But you've known me all your life. You should know I would never commit murder. And Mac was my friend. Yes, we argued. But it was only politics.”

“More than a few deaths have been caused by political arguments,” Hanson said, somewhat dryly. “Besides, I don't know you.” He smiled slightly as he inspected Rees's expression. “I knew the boy. I don't know the man.”

Rees gaped at the magistrate. They had known each other all their lives, but now Hanson seemed like a stranger. Rees's anger was submerged by a coldness rising from the pit of his stomach. He began to shiver. “You really don't like me, do you?” He didn't much care for Hanson either—he was a bully cloaked in soft pink flesh—but Rees was startled by the depth of Piggy's loathing.

“You deserve a lesson in correct behavior,” Hanson said, as though that explained everything. “And no, I do not like you or your family. You probably do not recall your father's articles about my father, accusing him of being a Loyalist.”

“I don't remember them,” Rees said. After a second's pause he added, “Was he a Loyalist?”

Hanson frowned. “Of course not.”

But Rees heard the lie; Hanson Senior had been at least a sympathizer with the Crown. “He lost his property?”

“Yes. My inheritance. To the dirty rabble like your father.” In the conflict of the times, loss of property was the usual result of such an accusation. And at that, Mr. Hanson had been fortunate to escape hanging.

Rees nodded. His father, as the town printer and editor of the local newspaper, could hardly be described as rabble, but arguing over something that happened twenty-five years ago did not seem important now. “That is a long time past,” he said. “And both our fathers are dead.”

“You don't remember how you bullied me?” Hanson's voice rose into a bleat. He cleared his throat and wiped his lips again, giving himself a moment to calm down. “You weren't content to tease me until I cried. No, you and Nate had to chase me home. You do remember punching me, don't you?”

“We were barely eight years old then,” Rees said, his voice coming out hoarse. “I've grown up. I'm a different person.”

“Are you? You bully people now, with those investigations of yours. Or meddle in things you do not fully understand.”

“If you're talking about your land schemes—”

“Besides, the torture did not cease when we grew up.” Hanson overrode Rees's voice. “Do you remember when we were thirteen and you and Nate abandoned me in the ice caves?”

“We didn't abandon you,” Rees said. “We came back. And you'd found your way out by then.”

“But I didn't know my way home, did I? I was cold and shaking, for all that it was summer. And I was terrified.”

“We took you home.” Rees stopped. What did it matter anyway? “I'm sorry,” he said. “I'll apologize for the boy I was. Really, Piggy, it was a lifetime ago.”

“And that's another thing. Do not call me Piggy.” Hanson rose, tossing his napkin upon the table. “I am Magistrate Hanson to you. Never forget that.”

Rees rose as well, towering over the shorter man. “And you don't forget that I will sup with the Devil himself to protect my wife and family.” Hanson met Rees's eyes.

“From what I've heard, you and your wife regularly entertain him,” Hanson said with a mocking sneer. He held Rees's gaze for a moment longer, making sure Rees knew Piggy was no longer afraid, and then he turned and stalked away. But he paused at the door and turned. “By the way, I've decided to appoint another one of your friends as the new constable. Mr. Zedediah Farley. How do you like that?” He laughed and went out the door, leaving Rees trembling. He knew that memories in Dugard were long and that slights could fester into resentments that lasted generations. But he'd never expected a boyhood grudge to develop into such hatred. Worse, Hanson's dislike was supporting those who would harm Lydia. And Rees didn't know what to do about it. This was not a case where he could fight someone, using his physical strength to overcome them. And Hanson, vindictive to the last, had not only blocked most of Rees's avenues for investigation but had now appointed someone who actively threatened Rees and his family.

“You look shaken,” Susannah said, approaching the table and beginning to clear the used plates.

“I guess I didn't realize just how much the magistrate detested me,” Rees said. He sounded shocked, even to himself. “I don't care, but…” His voice trailed away.

“If you didn't know that then you're the only one,” Susannah said. She piled Hanson's used crockery upon the tray and nodded over her shoulder at Jack Junior. He scurried over. “And fetch Mr. Rees coffee and some eggs please,” Susannah told her son.

“How are you?” Rees asked the boy.

“Fine,” he mumbled and hurried away. Rees gazed after Jack Junior, surprised by the boy's rudeness.

Susannah wiped down the table and sat across from Rees. “Cornelius Hanson has never made any secret of his feelings toward you.”

“But he hates me for my treatment of him when we were boys,” Rees protested.

“Is that what he said?” Susannah considered that in silence. “Maybe. It is true that some people can't forget. Perhaps the magistrate relives these experiences over and over and they remain fresh in his mind. His dislike of you has been of long standing. Your father was a passionate Patriot; his was a Loyalist.”

“He mentioned that,” Rees said.

“But I know he resents other more recent experiences. Although the Widow Penney and other old women are grateful to you, the magistrate sees your effort on their behalf as interfering in his affairs. Besides, he lost a lot of money in those schemes, money he would have recouped from those poor old ladies.”

“And all of those women would have been reduced to penury,” Rees said as Rachel placed the plate before him. She offered him a warm smile. Rees wondered what had happened to Jack Junior, who should have delivered the food. Susannah must have wondered too; she turned to look into the kitchen. Rees began to eat, hungrier than he expected.

“You came home from the war something of a hero,” Susannah continued, turning her attention back to her companion. “Mr. Hanson never went. Some people in town remember that. He expects everyone to treat him with groveling respect and you return home from your weaving trips with that urbane polish and the assurance that comes from knowing you are inferior to no one. He hates you for that.”

“I can handle it,” Rees said with a bravery he didn't feel. He pushed away his plate, suddenly losing his appetite. “It's Lydia and the children.” He glanced away from Susannah, his gaze connecting with Jack's. Jack looked away. Then he looked back, offering Rees a jerky nod of acknowledgment. Rees turned his eyes back to Susannah. “You made Jack help Caldwell, didn't you?” Recalling Jack Junior's behavior, Rees added, “Is Magistrate Hanson pressuring you and your family?” She would not meet his eyes. “Susannah,” he said sternly.

“Not the magistrate, no.” She tried to smile. “But some others in town. Well, they're frightened. Some of them really do believe in witches. My own husband does. But he doesn't think Lydia is one,” she hastened to add. “And Jack Junior has been teased.”