Death in Salem (28 page)

“Not this time,” she said. “I believe I'll remain here and, if Mrs. Baldwin doesn't mind, I'll make the lemon pie.”

Mrs. Baldwin nodded. “Mind? I look forward to it. I'll enjoy eating something cooked by someone else,” she said.

So Rees, offering the ladies a scant nod, hurried out the back door. As he passed through, he heard Lydia say, “He must think he's close to identifying Mr. Boothe's murderer. He gets like a dog chasing a squirrel when he's nearing the end.” Rees, burning with embarrassment at hearing himself discussed, almost turned back. But he heard both affection and pride in his wife's voice, along with the exasperation, and anyway Lydia added, “He has a gift for unraveling his mysteries and finding the truth at the center.”

“I still miss my husband and grieve for him, even after these five years,” Mrs. Baldwin said, her voice fading as Rees went through the yard to the gate.

Rees broke into a fast walk that was almost a run. He was desperately afraid he would miss William Boothe.

But when he was shown into the breakfast room at the Boothe home, he found William just finishing his breakfast over the paper. The room smelled pungently of cigar smoke and flecks of tobacco spotted his white neck cloth. “Why Mr. Rees,” William said. “So early. Even Peggy is still abed, and as for Betsy and Matthew, they won't rise for another few hours.”

“It was you to whom I wished to speak,” Rees said. William, looking surprised, folded the paper and put it aside.

“But I know nothing. I only just arrived from Baltimore a short while before my mother's death.”

“Several years ago,” Rees interrupted, too impatient to be polite, “I believe your father sold one of his older ships.” William looked at Rees with no comprehension. “The merchant vessel was rechristened the
India Princess.
”

William's expression did not change. “I told you, I was not in Salem then.” William spoke in a sharp tone. “I lived in Baltimore taking instruction in shipbuilding for several years.”

“Yes. I know. But I'm certain your father kept records of all his transactions. I thought if I applied to you for the key to your father's office?” Rees paused and looked at William hopefully.

“It's true,” the young man said, “that my father kept very few of his records at the counting house.”

“I need to know the details of that sale,” Rees said. “The name of the man who bought the ship and, if possible, his address.” William did not speak. “I believe Mr. Hull was involved in your father's death,” Rees continued. William abruptly rose to his feet.

“I suppose you won't leave until I give you what you want. Come with me. That transaction shouldn't be difficult to find; my father organized his ledgers by date and, under that, ship name and cargo. Do you know exactly when this sale took place?”

“No.” Rees recalled Benoit mentioning two previous trips to the East and added, “I would guess at least two or three years ago, but it could have been four or five.”

“Very well. We'll begin with 1795 and work backward.” William started for the door. Rees followed him from the breakfast room, across the hall, and toward the office.

“No rehearsals today?” Rees asked, joking and trying to prompt a smile from the dour William.

“No.” He looked even more severe. “I quickly put an end to that. Such foolery. I believe they are rehearsing at the Assembly House now.” He sighed. “After this upset is finished, I shall have a talk with my brother. He isn't a boy anymore; he needs to work. One more year at Harvard and then into the counting house.”

Rees could just imagine how furiously Matthew would react to that plan.

William paused in front of the door to his father's office and hunted for the key on his ring. “I apologize for all the security,” he said. “I doubt my father had anything to hide; a more honest gentleman never lived, but my sister is so lost to the proper behavior for her sex I felt I must take this extreme step. At the last, even my father quarreled with her.” Rees, who liked Peggy very much, said nothing as he followed William into the chamber. “Sit in that chair, there,” said William, pointing to a chair covered in scarlet silk embroidered with dragons. “I'll search.”

Rees sat where directed and looked through the windows to the back garden. A gardener was clipping the roses, blooming in enthusiastic profusion. William disappeared into the smaller room to the side of this larger and grander one. Rees heard the impatient banging of several large books hitting the desk and the soft rustle of turning pages.

Peggy, Rees thought uncharitably, would probably have been able to lay her hands upon the information in a few seconds.

Another series of thuds. Rees felt his mind beginning to drift. Philippe Benoit must know more about John Hull than he confessed; Rees's next stop would be the jail.

“Found it,” William said, exiting the small room with a large ledger in his hands. “At least, I think this is probably the sale in which you are interested. In 1793 my father sold a small merchant vessel named
Jacob's Queen
to a Mr. John Hull.”

“That's it,” Rees said, jumping to his feet. “The ship was renamed
India Princess.
” He paused, examining William's strange expression with interest. “What's wrong?”

“It's just that, well, Hull is my grandmother's maiden name. I wonder if my father sold the ship to one of my cousins. I guess that would make sense. But I thought he was estranged from his family, and anyway there aren't very many of them left. The farm in Hulls Cove was abandoned years ago. That's what I heard anyway. But Hulls Cove is listed as the address.”

“Hulls Cove?” Rees repeated, excitement burning along his veins. “How far away is it? How long would it take someone to ride from there to Salem?”

“Oh, a few hours, I expect. I haven't been there since I was a boy. My brother and sisters, in fact, have never been there.”

It was close enough for the
India Princess
to dock and offload cargo that could then be brought into Salem by wagon. “May I see the ledger?” Rees said, holding out his hand. William handed over the book. Rees looked at the entries for
Jacob's Queen.
The vessel had made only a few voyages, and had not gotten farther east than Calcutta before the sale. But the profits listed in the final column, even after all the expenses had been paid, made Rees's eyebrows shoot up. The share for a common sailor was more than Rees made in several years of weaving. No wonder this profession attracted a steady stream of men wishing to make their fortunes.

The final entry listed the sale date and price and the name of John Hull. Rees looked at the price listed. “Is this a typical amount?” he asked. Although he knew nothing about the sailing industry, the price, close to that of a good carriage and a matched set of four, seemed remarkably low.

“No,” said William with a shake of his head. “It's more than reasonable. But we don't know what condition the vessel was in. It may have needed significant repairs. And of course, John Hull was family, so my father may have offered him a discount.” His words trailed off in doubt. Rees thought that Jacob Boothe was too much a canny businessman to give a ship away for so little, especially to a part of the family from which he was alienated, but he said none of this to William. Instead he examined the page one final time, noting a tiny MB in the lower right-hand corner, before slamming the ledger shut and returning it to William. If Matthew Boothe had accomplished this transaction, the low price was easily explained; Matthew probably knew only marginally more about the business than Rees himself. And if Matthew were masquerading as John Hull, he would have been selling the ship to himself.

“Thank you,” Rees said, extending his hand to William. “Thank you very much. I think I'm finally unraveling this mystery.”

“How did you find out about this?” William asked. “Was this unimportant sale discussed in the local tavern?”

“No,” Rees said with a shake of his head. “I spoke with the first mate on the
India Queen.
He told me the vessel had special permission to dock at the Boothe wharf.”

“What?” William's voice rose. “At my wharf? They should be berthed at the Union wharf. Who gave them that permission?”

Rees shrugged.

“I'll have to have a talk with the captain.”

“The captain of the
India Princess
is in jail,” Rees said. “I doubt he knows; the owner—this John Hull—seems to keep all information to himself.”

“In jail? Does that mean he murdered my father? Of course, he's French. We all know what they're like.”

“I'm not certain Benoit is the killer. I suspect John Hull.” And then Rees paused, eying William with surprise. “You didn't know? Didn't Peggy tell you?”

William's mouth arched down, and he shook his head. “I haven't seen my sister since breakfast yesterday.”

Rees said a hurried good-bye, and a few minutes later he was running toward the jail.

 

Chapter Twenty-six

“Monsieur Benoit,” Rees called through the small grate in the door. “I have a few more questions.” No reply. Rees peered into the shadows, trying to see a body curled upon the bench, but it was too dark. Nothing moved. Rees realized he couldn't hear the sound of breathing. Standing on his toes so his shadow fell across the door and equalized the light, Rees peered through the bars. His suspicion was correct; the jail was empty.

A shiver of anger, touched by fear, trembled through him. Had Swett already hauled Benoit off to be hung? Or had he simply accepted a bribe and allowed the French captain to go free?

Rees spun around and trotted, his feet thudding furiously into the dust, to the nearby tavern favored by the deputy.

Swett was sitting at the same table as before. His table, no doubt. The one at which he held court, being such an important official, of course. Rees consciously arranged his features in what he hoped was a pleasant expression, instead of the angry one that more accurately reflected his feelings, and moved forward.

The group was laughing and the number of empty beakers on the table in front of them betrayed their current occupation. As Rees stepped into the outer ring of the group, one of the men turned a bleary-eyed glance upon him. “Want a drink?” he asked Rees in a slurred voice. “He's paying.”

From the shelter of the rowdy throng, Rees inspected the deputy. His waistcoat looked new and his jacket had been recently cleaned and brushed. He was clean shaven and freshly bathed as well, and that, combined with his largess in the tavern, told Rees as clearly as if Swett had shouted that he'd come into money. Rees's heart sank. As he'd feared, Swett had been bribed to free the captain. And who would have done that? Had Matthew come through? But then, as he realized that Benoit must still be alive and there was still had a chance to find him, his spirits rose. Rees pushed his way forward. He examined the man seated before him. That new waistcoat was silk; the payment must have been significant.

When the deputy looked up and saw Rees, his eyes narrowed. “What are you doing here?”

“Captain Benoit is not in the jail,” Rees said.

“He's not? By the Great Horn Spoon, what a shock!” Swett put his hand over his heart. “He must have escaped.” The lackeys surrounding him laughed uproariously at the jest.

Rees's rising anger sent a flush of heat throughout his body. “Tell me, did Matthew Boothe offer you money to free Benoit?”

The laughter died into a few snickers, and eyes avid for a fight turned to the deputy, waiting for his response.

“Are you accusing
me
of a crime?” Swett demanded, sounding as outraged as only a guilty man can. “Perhaps I deemed Benoit innocent?”

“Huh,” said Rees. “You'd believe Satan himself innocent if there was money in it.”

“You go too far,” Swett hissed, stung to anger.

“Really. Well, I daresay bribery is not a crime in Salem,” Rees said. “You sicken me.” Shaking his head in disgust, he stepped back as though he planned to withdraw. But he remained alert and when the deputy hurled the whiskey jug at him, Rees was ready. He ducked and the glass bottle smashed into the head of one of the other men. The man's smile instantly disappeared and he dropped to the floor with blood pouring from his scalp.

As Rees expected, since anything could trigger a tavern brawl, several meaty fists came at him. He felled the closest fellow and, using a chair as a shield and battering ram, made his way to the door. Some of the punches coming Rees's way landed; blood from a cut above his eyebrow streamed into his eye and down his cheek, and a kick to his leg made him grunt in pain. But the chair—and the drunken state of his adversaries—enabled Rees to keep most of them at bay until he could take to his heels and run as fast as he could. Even he, big and strong and a scrapper, could not defeat eight or ten men at the same time.

Shouting curses, a few of the men pursued Rees into the street. He headed for the docks. He couldn't remember telling the deputy where he was staying and didn't want to lead these ruffians home. His thigh hurt with every step, and he knew he wouldn't be able to outdistance all of the men chasing him. As he ran down the alley, he made an instantaneous decision; he darted up the walk to the Black Cat and onto the front porch.

Gasping, he crouched down, his bruised thigh wringing an involuntary groan from him. The porch provided very little cover. He hoped that the roses perfuming the air with their scent would screen him. The door behind him opened. When Rees turned, he saw Annie, staring at him. He put a finger across his lips. She nodded. When the men—only two of the six or so remained—paused at the front gate, she pointed north. They thundered onto the docks and away.

“Thank you,” Rees whispered. She nodded and opened her mouth, looking as though she might speak.