Death in Salem (21 page)

“So I've heard,” Rees said, not interested in hearing about Peggy. “About Matthew…”

But the gentleman was following his own train of thought. “Miss Elizabeth, what a beautiful lady. All the young men courted her, including Mr. Russell Morris. Quite an achievement, for the daughter of one of the upstart Republicans to attract a son from an old Salem family. A'course, I heard there's trouble between them now.”

“What kind of trouble?” Rees asked, interested.

“I don't know exactly. But there's rumors he might break the engagement. I'd guess,” said the driver, spitting into the street for emphasis, “he don't like the murder. Don't look good, you know?“

“But if Mr. Morris's affections are genuine, the murder of Betsy's father should not discourage him,” Rees objected. “Quite the opposite, in fact. He should want to support her during this terrible time.”

“The rich are different than you and me.” He gave a sharp nod. “Mr. Morris wants to marry a woman whose family is unexceptional. No scandals!” He stopped abruptly, his gaze flying to a woman in a white gown tripping down the stairs. Over the flowing frock, she wore a short jacket of a blue that exactly matched the blue ribbon on her bonnet. Abandoning Rees without a backward glance, the driver trotted to his carriage and opened the door.

“What about Matthew Boothe?” Rees called, but the driver did not turn around. And a moment later Lydia came down the steps. Rees went forward to greet her, his mouth tugging into a wide smile. But he did not speak until Lydia was installed in the buggy. As they pulled away from the walk, he said, “Did you learn anything?”

“I should not wear pink,” Lydia said.

“What? Why not? I think you look beautiful,” Rees said, turning to regard her.

“Pink clashes with my red hair, or so Mrs. Weymouth and her set believe.” Lydia chuckled. “Instructing me in the finer points of fashion encouraged the ladies to feel comfortable with me, and they were frank in their discussion of both Georgianne and her cousin. The ladies liked Georgianne,” Lydia continued. “She was described as a bluestocking, rather too outspoken for her own good, but a pleasant woman nonetheless.”

“And Isabella?”

“Although they phrased their comments about her in flowery language, none of the ladies liked her. They thought she was common. Mrs. Weymouth did remark that Jacob Boothe visited Georgianne more frequently once her cousin came to stay. But I am not convinced he was visiting Isabella. Georgianne sounds much more appealing, more intelligent and lively than her shallow cousin.”

“And was any lady identified as an especial friend of Georgianne's?”

“No one claimed that privilege,” Lydia said. She bit her lip, her expression pensive. “I wonder … I suspect one or two of the younger ladies are closer to Georgianne than they admitted. I'll find out. Mrs. Weymouth invited me to call upon her again, and I'll give my particular attention to those women.” She leaned back against the buggy seat. “I'd forgotten how tiring it is to attend one of these social afternoons and make polite conversation.”

Rees nodded without really listening, his thoughts a jumble of names and snippets of conversation. He hoped that his visit to the Witch's Cauldron tonight would bring some clarity to this very muddled situation.

*   *   *

Rees and Lydia ate an early dinner. Lydia settled down with her knitting; she was making a baby blanket for the new arrival. But Rees was too restless to settle. He knew what he was planning for that night, and the effort of keeping his intentions from Lydia inspired a certain furtive energy in him. Finally, he unfolded his loom and examined the warp remaining upon it. There were at least five yards wrapped around the beam, and he thought he could weave something with the scraps of yarn he always carried.

“Can you weave diaper?” Lydia asked, speaking for the first time. “We'll soon need clouts.” Rees knelt and examined the tie-ups on the treadles. Although the current setup was not changeable to diaper, not without re-threading, he thought he could weave a thick twill that would serve. He dragged out the bag of leftover yarns and began winding his bobbins.

He settled down to weaving until the sun began to set and the shadows made seeing too difficult.

Lydia began to prepare for bed. Rees took up a position by the window, watching the purple shadows lengthen. Candles sprang to life in the windows around them. Billy came home and the sound of Mrs. Baldwin's voice floated up and into the window. Rees, who'd heard nothing from Lydia for the past twenty minutes of so, turned around. His wife was already sound asleep.

Moving as quickly and quietly as he could, Rees slipped out of the room. Within a few minutes, he was out of the house and hurrying northeast toward the docks. He hoped Matthew hadn't already found Benoit and warned him that Rees was looking for him.

Candlelight flickered behind the grimy windows of the Witch's Cauldron and raucous laughter poured through the open door into the street. Rees expected the tavern to be so busy that all the seats would be occupied. But the rowdy merriment was due to one small group of drunken sailors. Rees recognized some of the men from
Anstiss's Dream.
As Rees squeezed past, sidestepping so as to avoid a stream of tobacco juice coming his way, he heard someone say, “I came into unexpected good fortune.”

Rees settled himself at a shadowed table at the back and ordered a jug of ale. He inspected the men around him. Mostly sailors and dockworkers, but there was Matthew Boothe, seated in the thick shadows on one side, stroking his mustache with thin, nervous fingers. Of Philippe Benoit there was no sign.

Two hours passed. The Coville brothers came in. They regarded the table of sailors, their crew, but did not call out to them or attract their attention in any way. Instead, they sat together at a table, their heads close as they talked over plates of stew. They left again as soon as they were finished. Rees wondered if the brothers did everything together.

Some of the customers staggered out of the tavern, but men identical to them in every way, at least to Rees's eyes, replaced them. He was beginning to consider leaving himself, going home to bed and returning the next night, when Philippe Benoit swaggered through the door. He paused in the doorway, the gold in his ears glittering in the candlelight.

He was taller than Rees had realized, and as he strode through the tavern he kept his hand upon the pommel of a long knife. Rees's gaze fastened upon the weapon. Could that be the instrument of Jacob Boothe's death? Was it long enough? From here, the blade looked too narrow.

Benoit nodded around, recognizing some of the other sailors, but he made a beeline for Matthew. He sat down. The young man leaned forward, his hat casting a long dark shadow across the scarred wooden table, and said something in a low voice. Benoit shook his head, glancing around him before leaning forward to whisper in a vehement hissing tone. The conversation rapidly grew heated and soon took on the appearance of an argument. It went on for some time. Rees wished he could hear what was being said. Whatever it was, it did not please Benoit. He slapped his hand upon the table and leaned forward, expostulating, but Matthew shook his head and rose to his feet. Benoit grasped Matthew's coat to hold him back and said something, his words clearly audible. That's when Rees realized Benoit was speaking French.

Matthew shook off the Frenchman's hand and strode from the tavern. Rees gathered himself to follow, but Benoit did not leave immediately. Instead he drank his rum, his gaze fixed blindly upon the ceiling. He called for bread and cheese and devoured the lot. Only then did he finally rise to his feet and start for the door.

Rees was instantly upright and on the move. He followed Benoit out and into the shadowy alley next to the tavern. Although Rees was watching the sailor carefully, determined not to lose him in the darkness, he almost missed the door set into the wall around the corner. It seemed that Benoit just disappeared. Rees retraced his steps and caught the faint gleam of a metal handle. He pulled it open. The odor of damp soil billowed out. Steep stairs dropped into blackness so deep it seemed solid. Rees hesitated. He wouldn't be able to see anything. What if he lost his way in the darkness? With one hand holding open the door—compared to the blackness in the tunnel the alley seemed well illuminated, and Rees was reluctant to leave it behind—he went down the steps. In the distance he spotted the bright dancing light of a torch.

Rees closed the door behind him and hurried after the flame.

His haste made him careless. He realized only when he heard the soft scrape of a shoe behind him that Benoit had known he was being followed. Had Matthew seen Rees and recognized him?

The torch began moving back, toward Rees, rapidly nearing him. He tried to sidestep, thinking he might hide in the darkness, but he wasn't fast enough. To the man behind him, Rees was visible, limned against the flickering light. Something came whistling out of the darkness and smashed into his head. The velvety arms of the darkness wrapped themselves around him and he fell to the ground, unconscious.

 

Chapter Twenty

He awoke in a strange room. The bed curtains were blue silk, matching the curtains on the windows. Positioned by the head of the bed was an upholstered chair, as though someone had been sitting by Rees and just gotten up. A flowery perfume scented the air. Groaning, he touched the bandage around his head.

A woman came into the room. Although gowned in white, her costume was so low cut it left nothing to the imagination. The flowing draperies clung to her body and Rees, even distracted by pain, was certain she wore nothing underneath. Her dark hair was expertly cut and curled and she was quite beautiful, despite the black patch hiding her left eye. “Ah, Mr. Rees, you are awake,” she said.

“Where am I?”

“In the Black Cat.” She paused. Rees must have looked blank. “One of the bawdy houses on the docks. Annie found you in the tunnel nearby.”

“But I was nowhere near here,” Rees said, trying to understand what had happened. His attackers hadn't killed him; that was the first surprising thing. And although he felt muzzy and confused, he was pretty sure he hadn't been this far south when he'd been attacked. As the rest of her statement penetrated, he fumbled with the covers. “I have to go home. My wife will kill me.”

“I may kill you anyway.” Lydia, speaking as she entered the room, did not sound as though she were joking. “What possessed you to behave so foolishly? You could have died.” Her voice failed her and tears overflowed her red-rimmed eyes and spilled down her cheeks.

“I was following Philippe Benoit,” Rees protested, sounding guilty in spite of himself. “I thought I could find his bolt-hole.” Lydia dashed away her tears.

“You waited until I was asleep and sneaked out without telling me,” she cried angrily. “What possessed you to go into the tunnels? If Annie hadn't found you, you could have been lost for days. And you were unconscious when she found you.”

Rees digested this. “Where did Annie find me?” he asked at last. There was so much he didn't understand, he focused on the one point that made sense. Lydia turned and gestured to someone waiting in the hall. The young girl stepped hesitantly into the room.

She was dressed in a shabby dark-blue dress with a dirty apron over it and a kerchief tied upon her head. She smiled shyly at Rees, her eyes shifting away from his. If she was older than twelve, Rees was a three-legged sailor.

“I see I must offer you my gratitude,” Rees said. “Thank you.” Annie's cheeks went scarlet.

“Answer the gentleman,” commanded the Madame.

“You're welcome,” squeaked the child.

“How did you happen to find me?” Rees asked her.

“I— Sometimes I go into the tunnel and sit. It's quiet there.”

“And roundly scolded she is for doing so,” said Annie's employer. “She's not supposed to leave the house.” Hearing a burst of conversation floating up the stairs, she turned and listened. Then she said, “I must go downstairs. I'm working.”

“I'd like to ask Annie some more questions,” Rees said. “Can she stay?”

Annie's mouth opened in a little ‘O' and she began pleating her grubby apron.

“I'll be here as well,” Lydia assured her, coming around the bed to sit in the chair. “I'm sure my husband wants to know how you happened to find him.”

“Very well,” said the Madame. Whirling in a flurry of translucent skirts, she hastened from the room and started down the stairs.

For a moment no one spoke. Then Lydia extended her arm and drew the child closer to the bed. “Tell Mr. Rees where you found him.”

“First,” Rees interjected, “please describe the location of the tunnel underneath this house.”

“It's,” Annie cleared her throat. “The door goes from the kitchen. There's a skylight in the garden. I usually sit under it.” She paused. When she didn't begin speaking again, Rees nodded at her encouragingly, the motion sending a wave of pain through his head. “I heard you, groaning,” she said. “So I went to the kitchen and took a lantern and went back to find you. You were lying where a couple of tunnels joined.”

“How far was that from the door into this house?” Rees asked.

“Not far. Sometimes men come down from Essex and Chestnut streets and enter the house through the kitchen, so no one knows,” Annie said. Rees didn't know which horrified him more: that Annie witnessed such carryings on or that she found them perfectly normal.

He tried to visualize the location of the Black Cat in relation to the Witch's Cauldron. The brothel was far to the south. So his attackers, rather than killing him, had carried him a good distance. And why hadn't they just left him where he lay?

“Then what happened?” Lydia asked when neither Rees nor Annie spoke.