Death in Salem (25 page)

“I find that hard to believe,” Matthew said, throwing a critical glance at his sister's clothing. “Betsy knows how to dress. You don't.”

Peggy brushed away his criticism with one bony hand. “Just because I don't often wear my nice gowns doesn't mean I don't own them,” she said. “I wore my black gown with the ruffles when we went driving with Mr. Morris, didn't I? The day of that fire at Mrs. Foster's.” Moving her eyes from her brother to Rees, she asked, “Do you have news?”

Rees looked at Matthew. “Deputy Sheriff Swett has jailed a certain Philippe Benoit and charged him with your father's murder.”

Peggy gasped audibly.

“Who is that?” Matthew asked. “And why did he murder my father?”

“I don't believe he did,” Rees began.

“I see we didn't need your help at all,” Matthew interrupted “The deputy sheriff succeeded in discovering the murderer without you.”

Rees stared at the young man. “What do you mean? You don't want to speak to the deputy and free your confederate? I tell you, Swett is planning to hang Benoit.”

“Why should I care?” Matthew retorted. “My confederate? He is nothing to me.”

“He knows you as John Hull. He claims to captain the merchant ship
India Princess
for you.” Rees, who was beginning to wonder if Matthew was completely heartless, watched the young man's eyes widen.

“A merchant ship? I don't own a ship,” Matthew cried. “What are you saying? And I've never heard of either John Hull or Philippe Benoit.” He glared at Rees. “I wouldn't tell you if I did. You'll have no joy of accusing
me
. And now, I have a rehearsal to attend.” He turned on his heel and stalked from the room.

Peggy sagged in a flutter of skirts onto the couch. When Rees looked at her, he realized her face was as white as chalk.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

She forced a smile. “I am so shocked. I hardly know what to say. Do you really believe my brother is a ship owner? And a merchant?”

Lydia hurried to Peggy's side. “Will saw someone he thought was your brother talking to Captain Benoit in the Witch's Cauldron,” she said. Peggy, her eyes wide and staring, turned to look at Rees. He had the impression she wished to say something, but she did not speak.

“I did,” he said gently. “But I don't believe Matthew murdered your father.”

“Are you accusing the captain then?” Peggy asked, forcing the words through trembling lips.

“Of course not,” Lydia said promptly. Rees knew he could not speak with such certainty. Peggy did not remove her wide-eyed gaze from Rees.

“Are you?” she demanded of him.

“No,” Rees said. “Not yet anyway. Benoit as good as admitted that he and Hull—that's Matthew—attacked me in the tunnels. But murder?” Rees shook his head. “I'm just not sure. The deputy is convinced Benoit is guilty. I hoped Matthew would step up and defend his captain.”

Peggy nodded. The color was beginning to return to her cheeks. “Yes, I see. But he won't. Matthew is…”

“Selfish,” Rees supplied, when Peggy seemed incapable of finding the right word.

Her lips twitched, “Indeed. Let me talk to him. Maybe I can persuade him to behave with character, as a gentleman should. Or,” she looked up in concern, “is Mr. Swett going to hang Captain Benoit immediately?”

“No. He promised to go before the magistrate first,” Rees said. “We have a little time. Of course, Benoit will be imprisoned until he appears before the judge.”

Peggy nodded, her expression going blank. She folded her hands together in her lap, clenching them so tightly together the knuckles went white. “Of course.” Looking up at him with a polite smile, she added, “This has all been quite a shock. I hope you don't believe me unmannerly if I retire to my room.”

“Of course not,” Lydia said, rising to her feet.

“I'll call on you again,” Rees said, eyeing the girl in surprise. He wouldn't have thought her susceptible to the vapors. “See if you're able to persuade Matthew to behave as a gentleman should. In the interim, I'll talk to Captain Benoit.”

Peggy slanted a quick look at Rees from under her lashes but said nothing.

Rees took Lydia's arm and they stepped out of the morning room into the hall. Peggy followed on their heels. As the serving man opened the front door, Rees glanced back over his shoulder. He was startled to see Peggy, skirt hiked almost to her knees, running up the stairs two at a time.

 

Chapter Twenty-three

As Rees helped Lydia into the buggy, Lydia said, “Are we going to have dinner? I'm hungry. Again.”

“Of course. You are eating for two,” Rees said, smiling down at her. “But then I want to visit the docks once more.”

Since Amos and the wagon had to be returned to the barn behind Mrs. Baldwin's house anyway, Rees drove straight there. After unhitching the horse and cooling him down, Rees put him in the stall next to Bessie. Then he and Lydia walked the few short blocks to the Moon and Stars. As they had eaten here many times now, the proprietress had unbent sufficiently to nod and smile in a friendly way. Lydia chose turkey and fish. Rees preferred steak pie. While they dedicated themselves to their dinners neither spoke. He finished first. Pushing away the beaker of ale, he called for coffee.

“Why do you want to go back to the docks?” Lydia asked.

“I want to visit the gentlemen whose names Mr. Crowninshield gave me,” Rees said. “And then I'll stop at the
India Princess.
” He began turning his mug around and around in his freckled hands.

“Why? We already saw that vessel,” Lydia said. “Remember?”

“Do you think the crew has been told their captain is in jail?” Rees mused.

“I wouldn't be surprised,” Lydia said. “I'll wager someone saw him and ran to the ship as fast as he could to spread the news. What about Mr. Hull? Or whoever is playing at Mr. Hull. Do you think he knows?”

“Probably. Especially if Hull is Matthew Boothe.”

“Young Mr. Boothe seemed genuinely shocked when you accused him.” Lydia eyed her husband doubtfully. “I know you dislike him, but I think you are too focused upon him. Maybe it's William. Or…”

“Matthew is an actor,” Rees interrupted with a shake of his head. “He's experienced at pretending to be someone else. I swear it was he whom I saw speaking with Benoit. Not William. And not just once.” Lydia chased a fragment of meat around and around on her plate. Rees sensed that she did not agree.

“I suppose none of the Coville brothers resemble their Boothe cousins,” Lydia said at last.

“Not in the slightest,” Rees replied. “You've met Adam and Edward. And Dickie, although fairer than his brothers, does not have that pale blond hair.”

“I wonder, did Jacob Boothe have brothers and sisters?” Lydia persisted. “Perhaps it is one of the cousins from the paternal line.”

Rees frowned. “Then why,” he wondered aloud, “haven't we heard about them?”

“We didn't ask,” Lydia said.

They lapsed into silence while the serving girl collected the plates. Lydia, whose appetite seemed to be increasing daily along with her waistline, accepted the offer of a slab of pie. Rees, not to be outdone, followed suit, pouring cream upon his.

Afterward they strolled toward the docks and the counting houses nearby. Some of the blank walls already boasted signs advertising the upcoming play. Edward Coville's name had been scratched out and replaced with Matthew Boothe's.

Obtaining directions from a passing gentleman, Rees found the counting houses belonging to the first two names on Mr. Crowninshield's list. In both cases, they described Jacob Boothe in exactly the same terms as Mr. Crowninshield had: amiable, generous, and honest. They had never heard the name Hull. And the last businessman, to whom Rees put a question about Georgianne Foster, replied in a crisp voice, “I do not engage in gossip. I leave that to my wife. And anyway, no one would blame him if there were anything there. Not after coping with an ill wife for near twenty years.”

“I'm not going to visit the remaining names,” Rees said as he rejoined Lydia. “If there is anything discreditable in Jacob's past, none of these men will tell me.” And he was beginning to believe there was nothing there.

A few minutes walk brought them to the docks. Rees stood on the pier and inspected the
India Princess.
Provisions as well as trade goods—beaver furs, twine, and leather—were still rolling up the gangplank. This time the mate checking the manifest was a white man.

“Wait here,” Rees told Lydia before approaching the Jack Tar. He knew sailors were superstitious about women and ships.

The mate turned, blue eyes staring at Rees from a tanned face. A bright yellow calico neckerchief circled his neck and both forearms bore familiar tattoos. “What do you want?” he asked in lilting Irish-accented English.

“Where's the other fellow? The African?” Rees asked.

“Run off.” The sailor paused, eyebrow raised questioningly.

“I expect you're waiting for Captain Benoit,” Rees said. “I spoke with him earlier. I fear he will not be returning to the ship today.”

“You saw him? And where was that?” The sailor leaned forward slightly, his posture a mix of eagerness and wariness.

“At the jail. When are you supposed to sail?”

“With the tide on Thursday morning.”

Only two days away. They would certainly miss that. “I wonder if you know the owner of this vessel, John Hull?”

“No. Even the captain don't know him well. Seen him maybe five or so times. At the most.”

“So, you couldn't give me a description of the man?”

The mate shook his head. Rees looked up at the faces staring down at him from the deck. Like the man to whom Rees was speaking, almost all were tanned dark. Several Indians and some black men with kinky hair were mixed in. The few pale faces among the bronze belonged to boys, young boys too, early teens at most. One or two of the sailors were grizzled veterans, men Rees's age, old for the grueling life of a sailor.

“How did you come to work on the
India Princess
?” Rees asked.

“Captain Benoit picked every man jack of us.” The sailor looked away. “Not many'd serve under the captain. He was a whaling man before, and the
Princess
ain't backed by the rich merchantmen like the Derbys and the Crowninshields. Well, they might invest now. We've got two voyages under our belts. Successful voyages,” he added emphatically. “I seen more money than I ever dreamed of making.”

“Have you sailed to Cathay?” Rees was genuinely curious.

“Not yet. Generally sail to St. Petersburg for iron. We stop at Turkey for opium, then on to the Ile de France, Bombay, and Sumatra.” The sailor sighed. “This was supposed to be our first voyage to China.”

“I see,” Rees said and prepared to turn away. But a thought struck him and he asked the sailor, “Do you know Mr. Matthew Boothe?”

“Matthew Boothe? No. Maybe the captain does. But the Boothes allow us to tie up here, at their wharf. And this ship,” he gestured to the
India Princess,
“used to belong to the Boothe family. Under another name, of course. They sold it to the owner.”

“John Hull,” Rees said, finishing the mate's sentence. He nodded. Rees hesitated a moment, thinking. “Do you know where this Mr. Hull resides?”

“A'course not. If I never met the man, I wouldn't know where he lives, now would I?” But something changed in the man's expression, as though shutters had come down over his eyes. Rees suddenly felt sure the mate was lying. He knew something.

“Ahoy. Man overboard.” The cry was faint at first, but it grew louder as it traveled across the docks, passing from one sailor to another. The crew that had been intent upon Rees's conversation with the first mate abandoned the bales and casks they'd been ferrying across the deck and rushed to the side of the merchant ship. Rees turned around, staring north across the wharves that jutted into the harbor, to the men clustering together on one of the northernmost quays. Although Rees couldn't hear the conversations, he could see them pointing at something in the water.

The crew from the
Princess
made a united move for the gangplank. “And where do you think you're going?” cried the mate. “None of you gobshites can swim.”

“You can't either, you damn sheeny,” someone yelled.

“But I got a piece of the caul that covered me at my birth from my mam,” the mate retorted. “So I know I'll never drown. I'll go.” He hurried away in a rapid but peculiar rolling walk.

Rees was not confident the man in the water would be rescued; sailors who could swim were bad luck, and none of the watchers had jumped off the dock. “Wait here,” he told Lydia and ran after the mate.

Arriving on the wharf a few minutes later, Rees and the officer from the
Princess
joined the throng staring into the dark water below. At first Rees could see nothing. The mate turned to one of the other men. “Where is he?”

“By the pilings.” The man spit through the toothless center of his mouth. “Dead.” Rees peered into the gloom. Although the brassy rays of the late afternoon sun poured down upon the wharf, the sea below was in shadow, the object just a darker blot in dark water. It moved with the swells, bumping into the pilings with subdued thumps. It was hard to tell what that was: dead man or something else. Rees looked at the men around him.

“What happened?” he asked.

A young man with a shock of dirty blond hair shrugged. “Saw it about an hour ago. Stupid tar drowned.”

“You're sure it's a body?” Rees hoped it was not. He couldn't explain his fear that this was more than a simple drowning.

“Yes.”