Death in Salem (7 page)

“Still worth looking into,” Rees said. “Along with the possibility of a mistress.” He stared hard at Xenobia and she looked away from him.

“I did hear the name Georgianne mentioned once or twice,” she admitted reluctantly.

“Do you know a last name?”

“No. I only heard Master William ask his father to put her aside. But William,” she added, darting a glance at Rees, “will be even more unwilling to confide in you than I am.”

“Still, I'll need to question him. And I must speak to this Georgianne.” Rees mopped his bowl clean with a heel of bread and continued. “Tell me something of the children,” he said. He had begun to form his own opinions but Xenobia knew them far better and was, he already knew, a perceptive woman.

“Well, you've met three of the four and have no doubt made your own judgments.”

“Hmmm.” Rees recognized her reluctance to speak about her owners. “I noticed friction between Peggy and her father at the averil. Almost a quarrel. What was it about?”

A grimace passed across Xenobia's face too rapidly for Rees to interpret, although his first impression was that she was frightened. But she dismissed his question with a chuckle. “You must understand, Mr. Rees. Peggy worked as her father's secretary. Not a feminine thing to do, not at all. When William came home, Mr. Boothe began turning over all those responsibilities to his son. Peggy is angry.” Xenobia shook her head. “She doesn't want to behave as a young lady should.”

Rees nodded. No wonder there was friction between Peggy and her brother. “And William will inherit, of course, as the older son. Is he anxious to acquire his father's property?” Rees asked. Xenobia frowned, needled out of her stoic calm.

“None of those children would ever hurt their father,” she said angrily. “He was a good man. He gave them everything they wanted. Why Matthew…” she stopped abruptly, biting her lip.

“And what about Matthew?” Rees asked. “He's the only one of Mr. Boothe's children I haven't met.” When Xenobia did not speak, Rees continued. “I suppose he's spoiled. The youngest child for several years, Matthew was no doubt the apple of both parents' eyes. Peggy's arrival must have put his nose out of joint.”

Xenobia looked at Rees, her gaze direct. “Yes, you're right. To this day he treats her as though she were a poor country cousin, little better than a servant. He's accustomed to a life of idleness. And now that he's involved in amateur theatricals…” She stopped abruptly. Rees had also heard the disapproval in her voice.

“The younger son, spoiled and jealous; Matthew is the wastrel of the family.” He made it a statement, and as Xenobia did not protest, he assumed it was true. “So how did Peggy acquire the position as her father's secretary? Shouldn't that responsibility have been placed in Matthew's hands? Why was he permitted to avoid working?”

“Since Miss Anstiss was too ill to pay attention to Peggy, she turned quite naturally to her father. Matthew never showed any interest in his father's business, while Peggy was constantly at her father's heels. Jacob's little shadow. She ran errands for him and gradually took over his correspondence. Mr. Boothe often said Peggy's brain was wasted on a female.”

“I'd expect Matthew to protest,” Rees said. Xenobia shook her head.

“I told you, he has no interest in business. None. Although he envied the bond between Peggy and their father, Matthew never wanted to work in the counting house. Or go to sea either, for that matter. Too busy spending his time drinking and gambling. And once he went to Harvard and wasn't home, no one even considered involving him.”

“But he's home now,” Rees said. He could not imagine his own father allowing such irresponsibility.

“Only until the fall. Besides, now he's too busy acting in plays with his cousin.” Her tone put acting somewhere next to consorting with the Devil. She stopped abruptly, her hand flying up to cover her mouth. “My unruly tongue,” she mumbled.

“No fear,” Rees assured her, rising to his feet. “I promise, I won't divulge your confidences to anyone. And now I'll take my leave; it's late.”

“Will you visit Miss Peggy tomorrow?” Xenobia asked, turning anxiously to look at him. “She'll be waiting for you.”

“Of course.” Rees inclined his head in farewell and followed Twig back through the empty house to the dark lane beyond. Matthew, Rees thought, merited further attention.

 

Chapter Seven

The loud thud of a closing door woke Rees and he sat up quite suddenly in bed. That must be Simon going out to meet David to help milk the cows—but no. For a few seconds Rees didn't remember where he was. He'd been dreaming of Lydia and, when he turned to the space next to him, he almost expected to see her lying beside him. But that side was empty, and disappointment swept over him. For all he'd wanted quiet, he missed the noisy arising of the children, the laughter and the thumping of their feet hitting the stairs as they went down to breakfast. Rubbing his hands across his face, he rolled out of bed and went to the window.

The sky was beginning to lighten. Someone whistled sweetly in the yard outside and Rees saw Billy. He was just exiting through the garden gate to the stable yard beyond. “Billy,” Rees called. Billy looked up at him. “Can you show me the way to the docks?”

“Sure. It's easy. You just take this street…” He seemed prepared to shout complicated directions from the yard through the window.

“Wait,” Rees said. “I'll be right down.” He hastily put on his breeches and shoes. When he ran his hand over his face his whiskers scratched roughly against his palm; tomorrow he would have to shave. He knew he must look shaggy and unkempt.

Although he heard Mrs. Baldwin in the kitchen, Rees crept quietly down the stairs and through the back door. He joined Billy in the yard and together they went through the door into the street outside.

Salem was already waking up. Although some of the houses displayed no light, the lanes were filled with men on their way to jobs on the docks. Some were sailors and carried bags. But others seemed ordinary workingmen: the sail and rope makers, the shopkeepers who furnished the ships' stores and a host of laborers who loaded and unloaded the ships. Others were exotics. Rees turned to stare at a pair of men walking away from the docks. One was short and dark, but not black. He was garbed in a white cap and a long white tunic over white trousers. His companion was even more striking: tall, almost as tall as Rees, this man wore a bright blue costume with flaring breeches and a wide-sleeved blouse. A large wrapped hat with a jewel in the center covered his head and he sported a curved sword at his waist. Although the man's hair was not visible, his mustache and the beard that tumbled down his chest were gray. Rees watched them until they turned down a street and disappeared behind the buildings.

When he turned back, Billy was laughing at him. “Those men,” Billy said, “are from India. Where the merchant ships go to pick up cotton and gems and spices.”

“My God!” Rees said in an astonished voice.

“I would see other even more amazing sights if I worked on a merchant vessel,” Billy said, throwing a wistful glance at Rees. “The world is a wonderful place, Mr. Rees.”

Bereft of speech, Rees could only nod.

They turned a couple of corners but always headed east. As the lane wound past one of the houses, a sprawling edifice with weather-beaten gray shingles, a young girl peered out the window. She could not have been more than twelve or thirteen, just a few years older than Jerusha, Rees's adopted daughter, but fatigue painted shadows under her blue eyes. Her fine light brown hair had come loose from its plait and hung wispily around the pale oval of her face. She rested her chin upon one hand and stared dreamily at the movement below. When she saw Billy she smiled, and he looked up at her with a wide grin. Now Rees knew why they had taken a route with so many twists and turns.

“Annie.” The sharp voice carried clearly through the open window. “Annie. Where are you, girl?”

The girl glanced over her shoulder and then, without answering, turned back to her study of the boy below.

“Annie. There's work to be done.” The sharp-tongued woman summoning the girl must have entered the room; her voice was louder and Annie turned reluctantly, frowning, and disappeared from the window.

Rees forgot the little maid as he stepped for the first time upon Salem dock. All of this sea town smelled of salt, but here the tang, mixed with the rotting stink of the outgoing tide, was overpowering. Gulls screamed overhead and flocks of them rested on every surface; they were almost tame, dropping down to the wooden dock to hunt for scraps. Although accustomed to gulls—he was from the District of Maine, after all—Rees had never seen such brazen birds. The flocks were more like packs of some small carnivore, relentless and demanding, and reluctant to move except at the threat of some attacking boot.

He had come out somewhere near the middle of the docks. Warehouses and businesses lined the dock on either side of him, and wharves of all different lengths stretched greedily into the harbor. One was so long, a mile or more, that the end was lost in the glare of the rising sun.

“I've got to hurry,” Billy said. Rees had almost forgotten him. “I expect I'll see you tonight.” With a little wave, Billy turned and began sprinting up the dock, heading north by Rees's reckoning.

Rees began his leisurely stroll, following Billy. He made a few excursions down the wharves that stretched like wooden fingers into the harbor. Like the docks, they were crowded with shops, counting houses, and warehouses. The produce of the world was piled here: cotton and sugar, barrels of molasses from the West Indies, raisins and lemons from Spain, and silks and chests of tea from China. Everyone was busy, except him. Even the ship's store was full of customers; men choosing candles and barrels of hardtack, biscuits and other foodstuffs fit for long voyages. At the extreme northern end of the docks, near the tannery, was the ropewalk where Billy Baldwin was employed. It occupied a wharf's length of its own. When Rees peered inside, he saw Billy and other boys pulling the braided twine back and forth and retwisting it to make many yards of thick rope cables. A cooper next door was busily fashioning barrels for molasses and rum.

Rees turned around and retraced his steps past the piers for the whaling ships. They set sail from the northern end of the docks. Because these vessels did not require such deep water, the wharves here were shorter. The boards and the dirt leading to the warehouses were black with oil. Sailors of all colors—African black, the coppery color of Indians, and white men burned brown—jostled one another.

Finally, as he walked south, Rees came upon the Boothe wharf. It was shorter than several of the others, and he wondered if the length of the wharf bore some relation to the status of the family. Three vessels were docked alongside. One, the Boothe's
Hindoo Queen,
was preparing to leave.

Rees joined the crowd watching as the ship prepared to set sail. A party atmosphere prevailed. Children ran around screaming in excitement. Street vendors sold pies and fruit and Rees suspected there were more than a few pickpockets working the crowd. He smiled, imagining Lydia's excitement at witnessing the lively play before her. She had lived many years as a Shaker, a plain and simple life without these small joys. Since their marriage she had been busy with all the chores of life on the farm and now, with all the children, was busier still. Rees's smile faded. He wished he could have brought her with him, to enjoy this vivid scene.

It took more than an hour for the ship to leave its mooring and slowly sail out upon the tide, its square white sails catching the wind. The American flag snapped jauntily in the breeze. Rees remained until the
Hindoo Queen
became a black silhouette against the glare of the early morning sun. He wanted to remember everything so he could describe it to Lydia. It would be second best to her seeing it for herself, but would have to do. Then he found a tavern by the waterfront, where most of the customers were sailors with cotton bandannas around their throats and tattoos were common. Although a woman might frequent the Moon and Stars in the company of a gentleman escort, women would not be welcome in this establishment. It was little more than a grogshop.

Feeling rather out of place, Rees found an empty seat and ordered breakfast. The slangy conversations that swirled around him were as incomprehensible to him as Greek. While he waited for his food, he stared at the scenes playing out on every side as though they were some entertainment put on for his benefit. A man with skin as black as a kitchen kettle and scarified dots across his forehead sat at a nearby table. A few stools away Rees spotted a man with something—was that a bone?—thrust through his nose. But when his plate of bacon, fish, and cornbread arrived, along with his coffee, he reminded himself he had work to do and reluctantly turned his attention to it. He made a mental list of tasks. First, see the tunnels, specifically where Mr. Boothe was found. Who had found him? That was a question he should have asked before. Second, talk to Twig again. And third, speak to Matthew Boothe and probably to Miss Peggy as well. He scraped his plate clean and although he could have eaten a piece of pie he decided not to spend any more time here. Throwing three pennies down beside his plate, Rees left the tavern and started back to Mrs. Baldwin's.

*   *   *

He retraced his steps north past the wharves, to the lane he'd walked down to reach this busy harbor. When he reached the house where he and Billy had seen Annie at the window, a tall man whose skin was burned dark by the hotter, brighter sun in foreign climes was sweeping the front steps. He too wore a head covering, but instead of tunic and trousers, he was dressed in a long gown. He looked at Rees suspiciously when he slowed to stare at this man in a dress. The crisp citrusy scent of boxwood mingled with the sweeter fragrance of the roses growing by the fence.