Death in Salem (5 page)

 

Chapter Five

Rees and Twig trailed William Boothe east, toward the docks. Rees was surprised by the direction; he'd expected William to head toward the jail. But Twig explained it: William expected to find Deputy Sheriff Swett in one of the taverns that lined the waterfront. William swung down the lane at a rapid pace, keeping a few steps ahead of the other two to deny any association between them. Finally reaching a tavern identified by a large anchor, William stepped through the door. As he walked through the room, several men, some garbed in clothing as fine as his, others in the rougher dress of sailors, made their way to him to offer their condolences. The floor was slick with expectorated tobacco.

Rees stepped forward, intending to follow, but Twig grasped his arm and pulled him back. Rees looked at Twig in annoyance. “Not my ordinary,” Twig muttered. So they stopped by the door and watched. Rees wished he could hear what was being said, especially after William paused at one table. Most of the men scattered, leaving only one—a gentleman beautifully dressed in a scarlet jacket with a froth of lace at his neck—at the table. Most of the men in this tavern wore plain linen jackets and brightly colored handkerchiefs about their necks just as Twig did. The deputy sheriff looked like some fancy peacock in a flock of common birds. Rees couldn't help contrasting this elegantly dressed fop to his ragged constable friend at home. William sat down beside him and began talking in low, vehement tones. Deputy Swett rose to his feet with alacrity. Now Rees deeply regretted not shaking off Twig's hand and following William inside so he could hear the conversation.

Deputy Sheriff Swett was shorter than Rees by at least a foot. Swett's breeches boasted polished silver buckles at the knees and he carried a white handkerchief in one hand, an affectation that made Rees immediately dismiss the deputy as effeminate. Sparing neither Twig nor Rees a glance as he strode through the door, Swett left with William and they began tramping back to the jail. Rees and Twig fell into step behind them.

Although the walk was not a strenuous one, Swett was panting by the time they reached the jail. He coughed into his linen handkerchief and quickly deposited it into an inside jacket pocket—but not before Rees saw the bloody smudges Swett took such pains to hide. Swett found another clean handkerchief and with that he carefully wiped the dust from his black, buckled shoes. As he did so, he said to Rees, “Mr. Boothe here tells me you're certain that Negress did not murder her master.”

“She could not have,” Rees said. He spoke politely, knowing now that this popinjay was ill. “Mr. Boothe was stabbed with such force the point of the instrument went through his back. She would not have had the strength. The doctor will attest the same.” He did not say that if the deputy had looked at the body, he too would have seen how much strength must have been required.

“So, since you seem to know so much, whom do you believe murdered him?” Swett sneered.

“I don't know,” Rees said. “Yet.” And then, interpreting the deputy's expression, he added. “I was miles away and could not have done this, even if I wished to harm Mr. Boothe, a man I met only once and who was kind to me.”

“That's true,” Twig said. “I had to fetch him.”

“This foul deed was accomplished either last night or very early this morning,” the deputy said, baring his brown teeth. “I believe you were still in Salem then.”

“Some work will be required to reveal my father's murderer,” William said, frowning at the deputy. “We can't simply choose someone because he is a stranger.”

“Who cares about a Negress anyway,” Swett muttered.

“My sister,” William said.

“Miss Peggy,” said Twig at the same moment.

“And, if Xenobia is innocent,” Rees said in a cold voice, for he could not respect a man who took no pride in his work, “the murderer is roaming abroad, free to kill again.”

“I doubt that he will,” the deputy said, glaring at Rees. “It should be obvious to a man of the meanest intelligence that the murderer lay in wait specifically for Mr. Boothe.”

“For what purpose?” William said, turning an icy stare upon Swett. “My father was liked and respected.”

“Robbery, of course,” Swett replied.

“Of course.” William eagerly accepted that explanation. “It must be some thief or scoundrel from the docks.”

“But Mr. Boothe wasn't robbed,” Rees said, recalling the coins falling from Boothe's pockets as he was turned over. “He still had money.”

“Frightened away by someone, no doubt,” William declared, his voice rising, “before he could steal anything.”

“And that sailor,” the deputy said, “has probably already taken a berth on a merchantman or a whaling ship. We won't see his return for several months, if not years.”

“But we know none of that,” Rees objected, looking at William in sympathy. Families rarely wanted to believe they knew the murderer. “Your father may have argued with someone recently. You might not know of it. Unless … are you privy to all of his affairs?” The sour pucker of William's mouth was answer enough. Rees turned to the deputy. “Mr. Boothe was only just murdered. The sailor, if sailor it was, might still be in Salem. How many vessels have sailed since yesterday? One or two? And were any of the captains or crewmen questioned?”

The deputy pressed his lips together and stared at Rees.

“If you have evidence against my mother's maid,” William said to the sheriff, “please produce it now. Otherwise, I shall assume you simply took her into custody as an easy solution and I shall apply to one of my father's friends, a magistrate; Mr. Lowell.”

The deputy sheriff turned without a word and unlocked the jail door.

Xenobia did not step out immediately but cautiously examined the men waiting outside. Then she noticed Twig and emerged in a rush. “So much past sorrow and fear in here,” she said with a glance over her shoulder. Rees eyed her in concern; she was teary-eyed and rubbed her arms as though cold to the bone.

“Let me take you home, Xenobia,” William said, inspecting her as well. Rees felt his mouth twist. William had only just realized what jail time meant to this woman. “I know my sister is much concerned and will want to make sure you are unharmed.” Xenobia nodded and, with a fleeting glance at Twig, she followed William. Twig stared after them, looking as though he wanted to follow.

“Is there anything else?” the deputy asked coldly.

“Thank you for your help, but no,” Rees said, drawing Twig away. As they started off in the direction William and Xenobia had taken, the jail door clanged shut behind them. “What is Swett suffering from? Consumption?”

“The Curse,” Twig said. As Rees turned to look at his companion in perplexity, Twig added, “Giles Corey was pressed to death during the witch trials and before he died he cursed the town and the sheriff.” He shuddered. “And every sheriff since then has died from some dreadful disease. Swett's is consumption.”

Rees said nothing. He didn't believe in curses or witches either, for that matter, but Twig clearly did.

“I should go to Xenobia,” Twig said. “She would have been scared, spending the night in the jail where the accused witches were kept.”

“Don't go yet,” Rees said, wondering if Xenobia too believed in the occult. “Peggy will ensure she is well cared for. And I have questions for you. Where can we go?”

Twig's expression went sullen and he did not reply.

“If I'm to determine who killed Mr. Boothe,” Rees said sharply, “I need to know the circumstances surrounding the discovery of the body. I'll need to question Xenobia as well, but I thought I would spare her any more distress today. However, if you decline to help me, I will question her first.” Usually he also spoke with local law enforcement, but he could see Swett lacked any interest in justice.

“No.” The word exploded from Twig. “I'll answer your questions.” He looked around. “We're near the docks. We can walk to the Witch's Cauldron. That's a sailor's haunt and rather rough. Or we can go to the tavern I frequent, the Moon and Stars.”

“Let's walk there then,” Rees said. “We'll both be more comfortable on familiar ground.” He turned but realized he didn't know how to reach that tavern. With a faint smile, Twig stepped around Rees and began walking rapidly northwest. “Wait,” Rees called after him. He'd thought to begin addressing the questions bubbling inside of him as they walked, but the pace Twig set made conversation impossible. With a muttered curse, Rees hurried after his friend.

The proprietress in the Moon and Stars recognized Twig and quickly directed him to a table at the back. She stood at the front, keeping a fierce eye upon everyone in her establishment. No one was spitting tobacco, although a few gentlemen smoked the newly fashionable cigars. It was so dark Rees couldn't see well and banged his leg smartly on either the table or a chair, but the gloom suited him right now. He sat down and leaned forward to shout over the noise of conversation around them.

“Where was Mr. Boothe discovered?”

“In the tunnel, not ten feet from his door.”

“Tell me about the tunnels,” Rees commanded, recalling Xenobia's comment.

“There are tunnels under Salem,” Twig said.

“We'll be here all day if you aren't more helpful,” Rees said in annoyance. Twig shrugged. “Are they used for smuggling?” Rees asked. The merchant ships arriving from the East were stuffed with cargo.

“Maybe. They probably were before the War and right after. During the time of the privateers. But now the ships are required to stop two and a half miles out for the customs inspector. He rows out to view the cargo.” Twig paused. “I'm sure some captains find a way to avoid the tax. But the tunnels, which lead to the docks, also lead to the counting houses. The wealthy merchants, like the Derbys and the Crowninshields,” he added resentfully, “use them to transport the most valuable items between their cellars and warehouses. They don't want the lesser folk such as myself to see just how rich they are.”

Rees suspected it was more to prevent robbery but didn't argue. “And Mr. Boothe was discovered in the tunnel underneath his house?”

Twig nodded.

“But he wasn't robbed.” Rees stopped. He didn't know that; maybe the pocket watch and few coins weren't worth stealing, not if Boothe had been carrying jewelry or gold. “Did he have bodyguards? Or a pistol?”

“I don't know about a gun. But no one travels with his servants when he's planning on visiting his mistress.”

“He had a mistress?” Rees asked. And why should he be so surprised; mistresses weren't uncommon.

“So I heard,” Twig said.

“The tunnels go to her door?”

“She lives close to the docks.”

Rees nodded. He'd wager both William and Matthew knew about the mistress, but, of course, they hadn't told Rees. “Who is she? Do you know her name?”

“I don't,” Twig said indifferently. “I never heard it, not that I know of. But Xenobia might.”

“Of course, Mr. Boothe would want to keep her name close to his vest; he was married until just a few days ago,” Rees said, more to himself than to his friend. Twig shrugged, his eyes focusing upon the street outside. “Did you ever meet Mrs. Boothe?”

“Of course,” Twig said, dragging his gaze back to Rees with an effort. “Once or twice. But not to speak to. Anyway, she seemed a quiet woman.” After a pause, he added, “Xenobia wept when she died.”

“Two deaths in a few days,” Rees mused. “Is there anyone with a particular animosity toward the Boothe family?”

“Mrs. Boothe was ill a long time,” Twig said.

“Still, it's a lot of tragedy for one family,” Rees pointed out. Twig flapped his hand dismissively. Rees remembered then that his old friend had always seemed somewhat divorced from the feelings of others. When they'd served together in the War for Independence, Twig could always be relied upon to hold down a wounded soldier for treatment, unmoved by either blood or screaming. Rees suspected Twig's profession suited him; the dead did not expect comfort.

“I must go to Xenobia,” Twig said now, rising to his feet.

“I'll have to speak to her,” Rees warned. “She may know more about that family than anyone else.”

“Don't you upset her,” Twig said, turning back and leaning over the table. “I won't allow that.”

“If I don't identify Mr. Boothe's murderer, Xenobia will continue as a suspect,” Rees said without flinching. “I know
that
will upset her. Besides, she surely wishes to see her Master's killer caught.”

Twig hesitated. “I'll ask her,” he said at last. “I‘ll let you know.” He turned and left the tavern, his tall lanky body moving disjointedly, but nonetheless quickly, through the door.

Rees watched his friend disappear into the crowded street outside and then, deciding he was hungry, shouted for the serving girl.

*   *   *

By the time he returned to the Widow Baldwin's, the afternoon was drawing to a close. Rees went to check on Bessie and found Billy Baldwin currying her. The marks of recent tears were visible around his eyes but caring for the horse had calmed him.

After thanking Billy for grooming Bessie, Rees said, “I understand you're planning to go to sea.” The boy nodded.

“I want to. My mother…” He tossed his head. “I don't want to spend my life working in the ropewalk and so I told her, I'll make my fortune at sea.” Rees found himself in the peculiar position of seeing this conversation as both a parent trying to protect a child and a son eager to break away from the loving arms of his doting mama.

“Do you want to be a whaling man?” Rees asked.

“No, I want to ship out on a merchant vessel. I'd like to become one of the Derby boys. Mr. Derby signs on greenhanders like me. Boys from good families. Ship out, learn the ropes, and someday I might own my own vessel.”