Death in Salem (12 page)

“Then I'll speak to Mrs. Coville,” he said, and before she could ask him which one, he added, “The Dowager Mrs. Coville.”

“There's only one,” she sniffed, “and she's in mourning.”

“Yes, I know,” Rees said. “For her daughter. That's what I wanted to speak with her about.”

“Who is it, Barbara?” An older woman, gowned in black and with a black ribbon tied around her cap, approached the door. Rees recognized her from the averil in the Boothe home.

“Will Rees,” he said, looking over the girl's head. “Both Mr. and Mrs. Boothe died within the past few days and I'm working with the deputy sheriff to investigate the deaths.”

“I know nothing of Jacob Boothe's death,” Mrs. Coville said, interrupting Rees. “And as for my daughter, well, everyone knows she died from natural causes.” He heard an edge to her voice, lending her simple sentence a hidden meaning.

“What do you mean?” Rees asked, meeting the old woman's angry gaze.

She hesitated. “I suppose you'd better come in,” she said at last, surprising him. He'd thought she would turn him away but supposed she was so desperate to talk to someone that even he would do.

Barbara reluctantly moved aside, allowing Rees access to the house.

Although the hall and the morning room into which Rees followed Mrs. Coville were nicely furnished, the carpet and the chairs were not the Oriental imports common in the Boothe home. Instead, most of the furnishings appeared to be of English manufacture, and pre-war at that. A Chinese screen before the cold fireplace was the only Eastern import Rees saw. Was it a matter of taste? Or of money? Although not poor, the Covilles did not appear as wealthy as merchantman Jacob Boothe.

Mrs. Coville gestured Rees to a seat upon the sturdy horsehair couch. “We have no idea who might have murdered Jacob,” Mrs. Coville said. “We rarely saw him or my daughter these last few years.”

“And why is that?” Rees said.

“We are whaling folk. The Boothes are wealthy merchantmen.” Mrs. Coville's mouth twisted. “When Anstiss was first married, she was a frequent visitor here, but we saw her less and less as the years went on.”

Rees regarded her thoughtfully. She was parsing her words like a scholar—not lying exactly, but carefully masking something. “And what did you think of Jacob Boothe?” he asked her.

“I did not know him well, but by all accounts he was an estimable man. And quite wealthy,” she added.

Ah, Rees thought. She didn't like her son-in-law. “How did your daughter meet Jacob Boothe?”

“Oh, we're all sailing folk. He'd begun as a cabin boy, you know. It was a successful trip and he came home with over one thousand dollars. He reinvested most of it in another of Derby's ventures. That was also successful. By the time he was twenty-five, Jacob was rich and was clearly on his way to making a fortune. They met when Jacob was thirty.” She sighed. “Anstiss was only sixteen then, but she wanted to wed. And the marriage was a happy one for many years. Jacob certainly supported my daughter and her children very well, despite the War.” Rees nodded. The British had captured as many American ships as they could, so many American ship owners had lost both vessels and cargo. “William's birth was a difficult one and she was frail after. But we continued to see her regularly, of course, with William and then with Betsy and Matthew. It was after Peggy's birth six years later that something changed. We saw her less and less. By the time Peggy was two or three, I saw Anstiss only once or twice a year.” Her mouth twisted. “I know her increasingly severe illness had nothing to do with the
Grand Turk,
but I connect them in my mind because after that vessel's return from China, Anstiss's health began to decline rapidly.”

Rees did not speak, but he did not think Anstiss's experience so unusual. Many women did not recover immediately after childbirth.

“Anstiss was always delicate.” Mrs. Coville pressed her lips together but anger prevented her from remaining silent. “Jacob already had three children, two sons among them. Why couldn't he resist his lust? Peggy's birth left Anstiss an invalid, too weak to leave the house. I went as often as I could but she—they were not welcoming.”

Rees heard Mrs. Coville's hesitation and wondered if Anstiss had been as close to her mother as Mrs. Coville thought.

“Then Jacob hired that nigra Xenobia to nurse my darling daughter. Then, sometimes when I visited my daughter I didn't even see her. Too ill, Xenobia would say. Why didn't Jacob send her home? I could have cared for her.” She extracted a handkerchief from her sleeve and wiped her eyes. “In the last five years, I have seen her barely a handful of times.”

“How was she, when you last saw her?” Rees asked. Mrs. Coville's eyes filled once again.

“She was so thin. Emaciated almost, as though she did not eat. Her skin had taken on a yellow cast. And she was so tired. When we visited her, she slept a great deal.”

“I'm so sorry,” Rees said.

She nodded. “Anstiss was very ill a very long time. And Jacob never asked me to help nurse her,” she added bitterly.

“Jacob Boothe murdered my sister,” Dickie Coville shouted from the door. Rees jumped, startled.

“Of course he didn't,” Mrs. Coville said, rising to her feet and hurrying to her son. “Dickie, stop.”

“He did.”

“Why do you believe Mr. Boothe murdered your sister?” Rees asked the young man. “She was in poor health for many years.” Dickie was older than Rees had first thought, early twenties rather than late teens. Rees wondered if that wiry build disguised enough strength to overpower the bigger Jacob Boothe.

“Because she changed. When she visited with William and Betsy, she would play with us. Sing with us.” The longing in his voice was so raw Rees could barely look at him. “But after Peggy was born, she stopped coming. She didn't love me anymore. First he stole her from us, then he murdered her.”

“Dickie,” Mrs. Coville cried, her voice so loud it echoed. “I'm sorry, Mr. Rees. Dickie was very attached to Anstiss. The age difference was such that she was almost a second mother.” She paused and then continued, as though she thought Rees would not understand. “Dickie and William were born within months of one another. Anstiss and I were always visiting, and she cared as much for Dickie as her own son.” Rees would have guessed that William was at least a good ten years older than Dickie, and that Dickie was naught but a boy, younger than Peggy. Rees's surprise must have shown on his face because Mrs. Coville added, “Dickie was a child of my old age. When he was born Adam and Edward were already almost men.” She wiped her eyes once again. “We were all very shocked by her death, but Dickie most of all.” Mrs. Coville went to the door. “Barbara. Barbara, come and fetch Dickie please.”

Neither Mrs. Coville nor Rees spoke while the maid collected the sobbing young man. After the door closed behind him, Mrs. Coville said, “I'm sorry for Jacob's death.” She did not sound sorry and must have realized it. Offering Rees a lopsided smile, she added, “I can barely think of anything but Anstiss.” She stopped, her face working.

Rees hesitated and changed direction. “Where are your older sons?”

Mrs. Coville paused while she composed herself. “Adam is on the docks preparing for another whaling trip to the South Seas. It is a big undertaking, Mr. Rees. Just laying in stores takes days. Edward should be helping his brother but he returned home early. For rehearsal. He is involved in a theater group.” She sounded disapproving to Rees's ears and must have heard the tone herself, since she stopped short.

“Will both your sons sail out? Together?” Rees asked.

Mrs. Coville laughed, her expression relaxing for the first time. “No, indeed. Adam and Edward would be at each other's throats before they left Salem Harbor. Brothers, you know. No, Adam runs the operation here. Edward will captain
Anstiss's Dream,
but we own several ships with other captains and once the
Dream
sets sail, Adam will begin preparing the next ship. We've been successful.” She looked around her with pride.

“I see that,” Rees agreed. “Perhaps I might speak to their wives, then?”

“Oh, neither one is married. They still live here, at home. We're all very close.” She smiled in satisfaction, oblivious to Rees's surprise. Two unmarried sons was unexpected and quite unusual.

“One final question,” he said. “Have you heard of a Miss Georgianne Foster?”

Mrs. Coville looked at him, mystified. “Why no. Who is she?” And then, as she interpreted Rees's expression, she said, “She isn't Jacob's fancy woman, is she?”

“Well, I don't know…” Rees began.

“How could he even look at another woman after knowing Anstiss? How could he?” Anger bathed her cheeks with red. “My dear Lord! I vow, if Jacob wasn't already dead, I would kill him myself.”

The words hung in the air. Suddenly realizing what she had said, Mrs. Coville forced a strained laugh. “Oh dear. You must know I didn't mean that. I am just so—so distraught with grief.”

“Of course. I'm sorry for your loss,” Rees said. He rose to his feet, but as he started for the door something she'd said penetrated, and he turned back. “You said Edward is in rehearsal here?”

Mrs. Coville nodded. “In the ballroom.” She sighed. “He is quite passionate about this hobby. I don't think you can speak to him now; he hates being interrupted. But you can look in.”

She guided Rees to the other side of the house. The ballroom occupied fully one third of the first floor's space, but the family clearly no longer used this area. The floor in the hall outside was scattered with leaves and spots of mud, and when Rees looked inside he saw spider webs hanging from the chandeliers.

At the far end, on a stage that would usually be occupied by the orchestra, was a crowd of young people. Most were young men, but there were a few young women, all very beautiful. Edward Coville strode back and forth at the front of the stage, declaiming in a loud voice. But Rees paid little attention to him; at the side stood Matthew Boothe, his pale blond hair a beacon.

“Matthew Boothe,” Rees said in surprise.

“He's the one who involved Edward.”

And she wasn't happy about it, Rees thought.

“Now Edward is always busy with them.”

“I see. Thank you.” Rees bowed over Mrs. Coville's hand and left the house.

As he drove his wagon back down the rutted slope toward the busy streets of Salem, he felt as though he were returning from a great distance away. Despite its proximity to the docks, the Coville property did not feel as though it was a part of the town. They had separated themselves, and Rees wondered if that was purposeful. Maybe they did not want to rub shoulders with their fellows. If so, they were paying a heavy price for their solitude; now that house had become an island of mourning and loss. As Rees joined the throngs of people hurrying about their lives, he thought the Covilles might be happier in the city. At least they would have the distraction of other people around them.

 

Chapter Eleven

As the traffic picked up, Bessie began to dance and jump. The trip to Salem Neck had tired her so she was not quite as difficult for Rees to control as usual, but it was still hard enough. Soon his arms and shoulders began to ache from the strain. Finally he climbed down from the seat and tied his handkerchief around her eyes. Then, with a hand on her bridle, he guided her through the crowded streets. Although she had been skittish traveling between the farms and small hamlets, she'd been tolerable. But the congestion in a city terrified her. And she did not appear to be improving.

The road curved west, toward the town center. Rees smelled the faint odor of the tannery and realized he was near Briggs's ropewalk. He passed a sign marking Turner and Essex Streets. Didn't Georgianne Foster live near here? He made up in his mind in an instant to call upon her without waiting for Lydia. He questioned a few individuals, and finally approached one who recognized Miss Foster's name. Soon Rees found himself in front of Number 12. A two-story structure, the wooden siding had been weathered a deep brownish gray by the salt air. But a fence enclosed the property, and the small garden in front bloomed with colorful flowers.

Rees opened the gate and walked up the flagged stone path to the front door. When he knocked upon the door, an unremarkable young woman opened it. Simply dressed in a gray gown, she wore her brown hair braided and coiled around her head. She tilted her head up, looking at him. “Yes?” she said.

“I'm Will Rees. Is Miss Foster at home?” Rees asked, his eyes already rising over her head to search for the mistress of the house.

“It's Mrs.,” said the maid, “and she is.”

“May I speak with her?” Rees brought his gaze back to her pale angular face. “It's about the death of Jacob Boothe.”

She hesitated and Rees thought for a moment that she would not allow him entry. But she finally stepped back and waved him through. Rees followed her into the space on the left, a small drawing room with windows overlooking the flowers in the front yard. It was furnished with two solid chairs, a horsehair couch, and a small harpsichord. A floor cloth, cracked and much worn, covered the scarred floor. It was as different from the Boothe's morning room, with its expensive furniture and Oriental trinkets, as it could be. Rees wondered how it had looked to Jacob Boothe. Simple? Comfortable? Unbearably poor? He began to suspect that the Boothe children misunderstood the relationship. This did not at all look like the home of a woman with a wealthy protector.

“Now, Mr. Rees, perhaps you can tell me why you are involving yourself in this tragic event?” Clasping her hands together, the woman sat down and leaned forward, ready to listen. Rees stared at her, a horrible suspicion creeping into his mind. “Yes,” she said, smiling at his expression. “I am Georgianne Foster.”