Delivering the Truth (21 page)

“Perhaps thee has the answer to a question that arose at supper last evening. Thee seems to know everything and everyone in town. Does thee know Nell Gilbert's maiden name?”

Bertie tapped her fingers on the table as she stared out the window. “Irish, I think, even though Guy's family is
French-Canadian
. O'Grady, maybe? O'Neil? No.”

“How about O'Toole?”

“That's it.” She stared at me. “Same as dead Minnie.”

I nodded.

“Now I remember,” Bertie said. “I think Minnie and Nell's grandfathers were cousins.”

“Which makes Nell, what, Minnie's third cousin? And that of her sister and Jotham, the unpleasant brother.” Perhaps that was why Nell and Jotham were speaking that day. “They both lied to me, Nell saying she didn't know Jotham, and he the same about her.” I narrowed my eyes, thinking.

“I wouldn't want to be related to that scoundrel Jotham.” Bertie frowned, too.

“What has he done?”

“He always seems to be in the middle of trouble. He gets in fights, he picks fights, and he doesn't stay employed long because he's so difficult to get along with.”

I told her about my encounter with him and the baby the day before. “You should have heard him singing to little Billy. He seems to want to hold tight to him, but I think I convinced him to let Patience nurse Billy.”

“Of course she should,” she scoffed. “What's Jotham going to do, pour a tin of milk down the infant's throat?”

“Let's hope not.”

thirty

As I bicycled homeward,
the bag tucked into a pocket in my cloak, a large open-sided carriage pulled up slowly across from me.

“Hallo, Rose Carroll!”

I inwardly groaned but managed to smile back at Ned Bailey, who reined his pair of horses to a stop and leaned into the unoccupied passenger seat.

“Good morning, Ned.” I also stopped and set a foot on the ground. I rubbed my already chilled hands together, wishing I had remembered my everyday gloves. The sun peeked out from scudding clouds, but it wasn't enough to warm the air.

“I'm delighted to see you,” he said. “I'd offer you a ride, but I see you have your own transport.” He chuckled. “That's quite the contraption.”

His gaze strayed to my exposed ankles. I cleared my throat and he hastily looked up again.

“It helps me get to my various sites of work. It's quite useful.”

“Indeed, indeed.”

I cocked my head. Ned was a lifelong resident of Amesbury and was in the carriage trade. Perhaps he could shed light on the week's events. All the deaths being connected to William Parry was eating at me.

“Ned, what can thee tell me about the Parry factory? Before the fire, I mean. Is William a successful businessman? Thee must have regular dealings with him.”

“Why do you ask?”

“The deaths this week, the fire last week—they all seem linked to William.”

“But what affair is it of yours? That's more properly the realm of the police, I should say.”

“I am called to seek justice.” I waited with what I hoped was a look inviting his confidence.

He scooted all the way onto the passenger side and swung his legs out to face me. “See this carriage?” At my nod, he went on. “Bailey carriages are made with the finest workmanship. We pay top price for the
best-quality
wood, metal, leather. Our design is both the most durable and the most beautiful. We hire the most skilled workers and pay them accordingly.”

“It's a lovely vehicle,” I said. “Its lines flow and it appears sturdy and well made.”

“It is. And the ride is the most comfortable you can imagine. Would you like to take a spin around the block?” His smile bordered on a leer.

“No, thanks. I've ridden in a Bailey buggy, however. It was truly a luxurious experience.”

“Now, certain of our competitors cut corners. They hire workers who are less skilled and don't treat them well. They buy cheap parts. They rush to production without the care that ensures quality.”

“Does thee speak of the Parry factory?” I asked.

“I might. I might, indeed. Their sales have been in slump of late. That cheap quality has caught up with them.”

“Interesting.” Also interesting that he seemed to be a man invested in running a
high-quality
business, proud of his workers and his product. A pity he wasn't more sensible when it came to trying to attract female attentions, if how he acted with me was any indication.

“And then we had the curious incident of the fire,” he went on in a lower voice. “Suppose someone wanted to collect the fire insurance payout?”

My face creased into horror. “Does thee mean a factory owner would have burned his own place down to collect the money?”

He lowered his voice. “It's a possibility.”

“All those men who died, all the other buildings destroyed. It would take a monster.” I shivered, and not only from the cold.

“If last week's conflagration wasn't an accident, I agree. It was truly a monstrous act.”

My thoughts tumbled furiously in my head. I stared at the handlebars on my bicycle. Would William have set the fire? Or arranged to have it set?

“These are purely speculative thoughts, mind you. Don't worry your lovely head about them.”

I glanced up at Ned. “I'll worry about what I wish. This is very disturbing, thee must admit.”

“Oh, indeed.” Ned gave a little cough. “So did you check your calendar?” His tone brightened as he waved toward town with an expansive gesture. “I could take you out tonight. The Currier Hotel has a very fine dining room. The chef is up from Boston, they say.”

The man's desire to court me was relentless. “I'm afraid not, Ned, but I thank thee for the invitation. I'm otherwise engaged tonight. In fact, I should have told you straight out earlier my affections lie elsewhere. I must be getting home now.”

“I won't give up, you know.” He grinned. Ducking his head, he climbed back into the driver's seat. He clucked at his team and shook the reins.

I shook my head and placed one foot on the pedal but waited until he drove off before beginning to ride. The police station was on my way home. Perhaps I could have a moment with Kevin.

The detective himself strode down the front stairs of the police station as I rode by minutes later. He halted as I pulled up and dismounted.

“Miss Carroll. Top of the morning to you.” He tipped his hat.

“And to thee. I heard a disturbing thing a few minutes ago.”

“What's that?”

“I saw Ned Bailey in the last hour. He conjectured that the arson last week could have been the doing of a factory owner.”

“Like Parry himself, for example?”

I nodded. “It might be simply Ned's pride, but he mentioned some of his competitors cut corners and produce substandard wares, which eventually results in lower sales. And that they or William, specifically, might have needed the insurance money.”

“Do you really think we haven't thought of that?” he asked with an air of
self-satisfaction
. “You're not to worry about such things.”

If one more person told me what to do or not do, I mused, I might explode. I folded my own arms on my chest, letting the bicycle rest against me.

“Our investigation will be thorough and complete,” he continued. “When it's complete. Now, how's that ride of yours?”

I didn't smile, but I answered him. “It makes my life easier. Most of the time.” I pulled my mouth to the side. “When I don't run into an errant cobblestone and when errant vehicles don't run into me.”

“What? Did a carriage knock you over?” He raised his eyebrows.

“Not quite, but I've had a couple of close calls.” With that reminder, my knee twinged. I might have to take it to the doctor, a prospect that made me smile.

“And you're staying out of trouble, I suppose, since I haven't seen you in, what, an entire day?”

“I did learn something I'm much concerned with. Thee might consider it trouble.”

Kevin's eyebrows shot up. “Something about Minnie O'Toole's death?”

“No.”

“What, then? Is this thing news I need to hear?” His voice was impatient.

I took a deep breath. “I went to see Nell Gilbert again yesterday. Guy's wife. She's most unwell in her mind.” I pictured Nell's tormented face and again smelled her stale, sour odor.

He frowned. “Yes, I know. But I try not to delve too deeply into my colleagues' personal lives.”

I lowered my voice and glanced around, ascertaining no passersby were near. “She said she's brought death, even though she didn't want to.”

Kevin took a step closer with his gaze focused on me.

“And that the Devil made her do it.” I kept my hands firmly on the handlebars.

“So Mrs. Gilbert is still off her head. What do you think she meant by that?” He cocked his head, also using a tone only I could hear.

“She goes out wandering in the town alone.” A pang of remorse struck me, talking with Kevin about poor Guy's troubled wife, but I felt obliged to do so. “And she has the kind of postpartum melancholia that can lead to acts of insanity.”

Another police officer strode down the street toward Kevin. He opened his mouth to speak, but, hearing my last comment, he glanced at me with alarm.

“I've got this, Joe,” Kevin said to him, holding up his hand. “I'll talk to you inside.”

The officer headed for the building, glancing behind himself at us before he entered.

Kevin waited until the door closed after the man before speaking again, still in a low voice. “An insane wife and mother is sad and terrible. But how does this concern me?”

“Kevin, she could have taken my knitting needle when I paid her a call last Second Day.”

“You think she killed Thomas.” He watched me, hands clasped behind his back, rocking on his heels. “This is an interesting turn of events.”

“I hope not. But I'm afraid it's possible.” A cold gust of wind nearly blew my bonnet off. I snatched it with one hand, but in doing so knocked my glasses askew. I awkwardly straightened them with my free hand. When the bike began to slip away, Kevin reached out a hand to steady it before I grabbed the handlebar and held on tight.

“Surely Nell wasn't out wandering around in the wee hours of the morning, though,” he said, one hand firmly on his own hat.

I stared at him. “But she was. Guy was to have told thee about her going out the night of Thomas's death.”

“He did not.” Kevin spoke in a stern tone. “That Gilbert is going to be in hot water.”

“He and I spoke of it several days ago.”

“When, exactly?”

I shook my head. “This week has blurred into a kaleidoscope for me. I'm afraid I can't remember exactly.”

“Nell could have stabbed Minnie, too. The neighbor reported seeing a tall woman visit that afternoon,” Kevin said. “Nell's a tall woman.”

“Of course. Therese told me that.” I was even more afraid for Nell now.

“We haven't had any luck tracking down the mysterious visitor. I'll have to question Nell, and Guy won't be a bit happy about it.”

“And there's one more thing. I'm not sure it's important—”

“Have out with it. I'll be the judge of what's important and what isn't.” He tapped a hand on his leg, glancing up at the clock above the station.

“Nell's maiden name is O'Toole. She is—was—Minnie's third cousin. And so also Ida and Jotham's third cousin.”

He frowned, pursing his lips. “So if her insanity drove her to murder Minnie, she'd have killed family.”

“Yes. But why would Nell kill anyone? That's what I don't understand. She had no bone to pick with either Thomas or Minnie, as far as I've learned. Or at least not a current one. Guy told me Thomas was sweet on Nell before she and Guy married, and that Thomas treated her badly when she chose Guy over him.”

“You yourself said Nell is bordering insane, even if temporarily. Crazy people do crazy things.”

thirty-one

I spent the rest
of the morning working at home in the quiet, since the children and Frederick were at school until one in the afternoon. I brought all my records up to date. I made note of who was due next and wrote a few case notes, then began to clean. As I flicked the duster over my grandmother's clock, my thoughts kept returning to all the unsolved questions.

Kevin would soon question Nell's
mother-in
-law, and Guy, too, on Nell's whereabouts. I so much hoped she'd been securely at home on Fifth Day afternoon and evening, even though I knew she had been out the night of Thomas's death. Nell herself would be in for an interrogation, as well. Kevin was unlikely to glean any useful information from her. If she began to speak of the Devil, he wasn't going to get a straight answer about anything. She might even be committed to the insane asylum.

I thought back on exactly what I'd heard. Nell had said she'd brought death, that she didn't want to, that the Devil made her do it. And something about the Devil telling her people would pretend not to understand, and that they couldn't understand. I hated the thought of one of my clients having the capacity to deliver a violent death, even though I knew women were as capable of terrible deeds as were men. The Friends' belief in equality held true for good and bad alike.

I rolled up the braided rug in the center of the room, then fetched the corn broom and swept out the entire space, reaching under the chaise and behind the desk. Suppose these thoughts of the Devil didn't come from Nell's addled brain? Suppose this “Devil” was a real person? Even if Nell was convinced to do the deed, the person who had directed her to kill was the true murderer. I knew it wasn't Ephraim. Then who?

After I emptied the dustpan, I carried the rug out the back door and draped it over the fence as the noon whistle sounded. The skies had cleared, finally, and while the air was still cool, at least it was sunny. A brisk breeze danced with the branches of the young white oak in the yard. I beat the dust out of the rug, asking myself who the Devil incarnate could be. Jotham didn't care for William Parry and was angry about him impregnating Minnie. He might have put Nell up to stabbing Thomas late at night. For that matter, any of the disgruntled workers Thomas had managed might have been angry enough to do away with him. But then they wouldn't have had a connection with Nell, unless it was one I had no knowledge of. Lillian hadn't seemed to like Thomas much, and hadn't been visibly upset by his death, either. Could she have ordered him killed?

I whacked the rug. What about Minnie's death? I was certain Jotham wouldn't have ordered his own sister killed, at least not Minnie, although he and Ida didn't seem to get along at all. Their past could be simply a matter of two siblings not liking each other, or
something more serious might have happened where one couldn't forgive the other. Humans were a complicated lot, and for some reason forgiveness was one of the most elusive actions for many. I considered Lillian's opinion of Minnie—she'd called her a strumpet and was aware of William's dalliance. Perhaps Lillian was involved in Minnie's death. She was fairly tall for a woman. But no—her advanced state of pregnancy was unmistakable. Therese would surely have noticed her protruding midsection.

I sneezed but continued swinging the rug beater, smacking the oval
green-and
-
rose-colored
rug. And then there was Ned's idea of the arson being carried out, or at least ordered by, William himself, to collect the fire insurance money. It was a horrible thought. Kevin said the official investigation was aware of the possibility. But they clearly didn't have an answer yet, because he'd added, “When it's complete.” Because of my recent dealings with both Parrys, I felt I might be able to make some headway where the officials could not if only I could organize my thoughts correctly.

But my thoughts were a pot of beans at a fast boil. They popped up and dove down, vying with each other for importance and position. I wanted to put a lid on them and shove them to the back of the stove. Instead I turned the rug and kept beating the poor thing, as if I could force answers out with the dust.

An hour later, after I'd finished my cleaning and ridden over, the house maid opened the front door of the Parry mansion. This time the maid's cap was in place and her apron, too.

“Good afternoon.” I smiled at her. “I didn't catch thy name earlier in the week.”

“Della, miss. Della Majowska.” She curtsied.

“Is Lillian in?” I glanced into the foyer, where a grandfather clock marked one thirty with a single chime.

“No, miss. She went shopping with her sister for baby things. And Mr. Parry is out with a friend.”

I hadn't noticed her accent before but now it was more pronounced. “I see. Are they expected home soon?”

Her brow furrowed. “I'm not sure, miss. They only left at noon. Mr. Parry's friend lives on the other side of Merrimack.”

“Ah, the former West Parish of Amesbury.”

“And Mrs. Parry went into Newburyport,” Della added.

“Perhaps I can come in to await Lillian? I wanted to, uh, check on her health,” I lied. “What with the death this week and all.” Surely young Della here would have noticed any funny goings on. I'd simply have to figure out how to elicit information from her without her realizing what I was doing.

Della crossed herself. “It's been a terrible thing. Terrible.” She shook her head, then stood back and gestured for me to enter. “You can wait for them. Come into the parlor.”

She held out her arms for my cloak and bonnet, which I handed her. After she hung up my things, Della led me to the front room, which I had last seen on Fifth Day, full of mourners, both the sad and the curious types. A day that now seemed a week ago instead of only two days in the past.

“You can sit,” she said. “Would you like a cup of tea?”

“I'd love some, thanks.” I stayed on my feet.

As Della turned toward the hall, I followed her. She glanced back at me.

“Oh, miss, you sit in the parlor.” She waved her hand toward the front of the house.

“I'll just come along and keep thee company in the kitchen. I don't mind.” I laughed to soften her shock, and waved her on ahead
of me. I hadn't yet set foot in the back area of the house, and I had no intention of wasting my afternoon sitting alone in an
over-decorated
rich person's parlor, especially when I had a household insider to question.

The expansive
blue-and
-white tiled kitchen was decked out with the latest gadgets. An enormous stove, wide enough to hold a half dozen
full-sized
pots on the top, featured three ovens below. A large icebox sat in the corner, and
glass-doored
cabinets on the walls held all manner of fancy goblets and fine china, with cookware hanging from hooks near the stove. On the far wall sat two deep sinks and a drainboard. Electric lights dotted the walls.

I sank into a chair at the enormous work table in the middle of the room. “This is quite the kitchen,” I said.

“It's pretty, yes? Cook likes having such a modern place to make food.”

“She won't mind my intrusion, I hope?” I knew some cooks in homes like this were highly proprietary of their realms.

“No, she's not like that. Anyway, she takes her afternoon rest now. Mr. Locke and his friends come for dinner tonight, and they like the fancy foods. Lots of foods, and never mind the mess they leave.”

“So she'll need all her strength, is that what thee is saying?”

Della set the kettle on a burner and lit it, then turned back, smiling. “That's right, miss.”

“Alexander Locke. I saw him yesterday. He seemed a bit giddy.”

“Yes, he is.” She bit the corner of her mouth. “He's like that some of the time, I tell you.”

“Oh? It must be hard for him to hold down a job while acting like that.”

She sat in a chair across a corner of the table from me. A sigh escaped her lips.

“Thee works hard for this household.” I smiled.

“I'm lucky to have the job. I don't mind hard work.”

“Neither do I.”

She leaned toward me. “Mr. Locke, he does not work at all.”

“No?”

“His papa pays his way. He goes to the gambling parlor and loses it. His papa gives him more.”

“I had heard that.” It was certainly wrong for Della to be gossiping like this, and probably wrong of me to encourage her, but I rationalized that if the information helped in the investigation of the town's crimes, it was worth our moral transgressions.

“After he loses, he gets very angry.” She shuddered, rubbing one arm with the other hand. “And he takes, you know, the drugs.”

“Have you seen him do that?”

“He left syringes in the guest suite. Needles in them.” She nodded soberly. “Then, after he takes the drugs, he acts silly.” She looked around quickly and leaned toward me. “He borrows my mistress's dresses, even. I've seen him sneak out wearing one more than once. Where could he possibly be going dressed up like a woman?”

I stared at her with a deep, cold sensation spreading through me. I knew one place he might have gone. Alexander was taller than the average woman. Blond. A drug addict. He needed money. What had Lillian convinced him to do? More to the point, how could I prove it to Kevin? And then I had another thought: If Alexander had killed Minnie, he could have killed Thomas, too. It had been the same means of death for both.

“Did Alexander and Thomas get along well?” I asked.

“No, not well. Thomas didn't like hardly nobody, though. But he especially looked down at Alexander because he didn't work and he spent so much money. They argued more than once.”

I thought back to the afternoon of the funeral. Alexander had been at the service and at the cemetery, but I hadn't seen him here at the reception.

“Della, thee must have had thy hands full with Alexander acting silly at the funeral reception.”

“Oh, no. He didn't even attend the reception. Mr. Parry, he wasn't happy about that.”

“Thee is sure? Why didn't Alexander come here after the burial?”

The kettle sang out and Della jumped up. She switched off the burner and busied herself spooning tea into a china teapot she drew out of a cupboard.

“I'm sure. He came back only for a moment.” She faced me. “He ran upstairs and then left through the kitchen here. Cook wasn't happy about that. Mr. Locke carried a parcel and said he had no interest in a crowd of mourners.”

“I suppose he didn't say where he was going.” I tapped a spoon on the table.

“No, miss. And I didn't see him again until the next day.”