On the Head of a Pin (29 page)

“Which way would you go if you were Simms?” he asked Spicer.

“Well, he's trying to sell his stock, isn't he? He'd go north if he's had no luck here.”

Lewis couldn't argue with Spicer's logic, and yet for some reason he didn't spur his horse into a trot, but sat there, considering.

“Let's just ride east a bit and see if there's a sign of him,” he said finally. Spicer shrugged and followed. They rode for half an hour, asking along the way, but no one had noticed the peddler.

Just as they were about to turn back, Spicer was hailed by a young woman with dark hair walking along the side of the road beside a tall red-haired boy. “Mr. Spicer,” she called, “Mr. Spicer. I wanted you to know how much I enjoyed the meeting the other day. I feel convinced that my choice to join the Methodists is the right one, and I can only hope that one of these days I'll find myself filled with the spirit of the Lord.”

“I'm sure you will,” Spicer replied, “and I look forward to rejoicing with you on that day.”

The woman smiled. “I've been praying and praying for it. I even bought one of those little books with the Bible passages. I can't read it of course,” and here she blushed a little, “but I hope that it will help me concentrate my prayers just by holding it, although it does seem to leave an awful mess on my hands.”

Spicer shot the question out before Lewis could even open his mouth. “I'm sure it will help immensely. Where did you buy it?”

“Oh, from Mr. Simms, the peddler,” she said. “He went riding past my house earlier this afternoon. I knew he had them, as I'd seen him with them many times before, so I called to him to stop.” She made a face. “I won't ever do that again.”

“Why not?” But suddenly Lewis knew why.

“He was in the strangest mood. He seemed almost annoyed when I first stopped him, but then when I said I had to go into the house to get the money, he followed me right in. I had to reach up to the top shelf to get my money box down and when I turned around, he was right behind me. Scared the daylights out of me, I'll tell you, he was that close. It so surprised me that I sort of gave a little scream and then I realized that his eyes were all sort of funny — glittery and cloudy all at the same time, like he was taken with the drink or something, though I couldn't smell it on him.”

“What did he do then?”

“Do?” The woman was astonished. “Why, he didn't do anything.” She gestured toward the boy. “My Bob here was playing out back and he must have heard us, because he came in to see who was there. Mr. Simms just handed over the book I wanted and left. He must not be much of a peddler though, for he very nearly forgot to get the money for it.”

They thanked the woman and rode on, but only after she extracted a promise from Spicer to come and preach again soon. “I'll bring Mr. Lewis with me next time,” he said, in deference to their new arrangement. Lewis snorted.

But instinct had proved him right and they continued travelling east. Lewis was thankful that the woman didn't realize how close to danger she had been, for he was fairly certain what would have happened had “her Bob” not come in when he did. The question was, what would Simms do now? It seemed he had wanted to kill again, but had been denied. Would he simply ride on until he found another lone woman and gratify himself there, or would he have time to calm himself down and take more effective steps to hide his trail? He had left his wagon by the side of the road, right in front of the house. Anyone could have seen it there, and recollected seeing it after the woman had been found dead. If he had truly intended to murder again, he was growing careless.

The two men rode on toward Belleville. Surely it would be easier to find the peddler there, with so many more people around who might have seen him. At the very least they could call on the Simms family. He was not sure where in the bustling town the family lived, but when they arrived it did not take long to find someone to provide directions; Belleville was the largest town in the area but most of the inhabitants still knew where everyone else lived. They were pointed toward a narrow two-storey brick house that stood in a row of similar houses. Lewis was surprised; it was a very prosperous-looking neighbourhood, and never himself having aspired to anything as grand as a multi-storied brick dwelling, he was amazed that Simms could afford such a thing. It was no wonder that he grumbled at the lack of business.

He knocked at the front door, and it was opened by a young carrot-haired girl, obviously a domestic judging by the poor quality of her dress and the grease stains on her apron. He asked for one of the Misses Simms. The girl informed him that none of the Misses Simms was receiving company at the moment, and that if he wished to conduct business with the household, he must use the kitchen door at the back of the house.

Lewis was suddenly very conscious of his dusty coat and his muddy boots. Nonetheless, he wasn't about to be put off by the hired help. He drew himself up to the full height of his lanky frame, and called upon every ounce of the authority he had assumed over the years. “It is a matter of some urgency. I suggest you go and get one of them. Now.”

The girl looked startled, but obediently turned around and went to deliver his message. After a few moments a very tall, very plain woman returned with her.

“Who are you, and what do you want?” she said, sniffing a little at his travel-weary appearance. “And how dare you come to the front door. Tradesmen go to the rear. You should know that.”

This was a deliberate insult, as Lewis's profession should have been obvious to even a casual observer. He ignored the barb, however, and politely explained that he was looking for Isaac, and asked if he had returned to the house recently.

He never found out what response the woman would have given him — likely none at all, or a tongue-lashing — as another woman appeared suddenly at the door. “Who is it, Tildy?” this woman asked. “It's not Isaac again, is it?” And Lewis could hear the fear in her voice.

“He has been here, then?” Lewis said.

“Oh, yes,” the second woman replied. “I've never seen him in such a state. He was extremely rude to mother, and actually lifted a hand to Esther. I don't know what's come over him.”

“Was there an argument?” he asked. “Was he upset?”

“Don't answer,” Tildy said. “We have no idea who this man is or what he wants.”

“What I want is to help your brother,” Lewis said. “Please? Tell me.”

Tildy glared at the other woman, but she answered anyway. “Yes there was a dreadful argument, but I don't think I should tell you anything more.” It was obvious that she was torn between wanting to talk about the incident and fear of what her sister would do if she did.

“Please,” he pleaded. “This could be a matter of life and death.”

“Who is it?” A plaintive voice floated out into the hallway from somewhere within the house. “What does he want?”

“It's just some scoundrel who claims he's looking for Isaac,” Tildy called back. “It's all right, Mother, he's just leaving.” And with that she shut the door and left him standing on the step in a boil of frustration. He had hoped against hope that a clue to Simms's whereabouts might be found here, and now it appeared that the line of inquiry had been decisively closed. He had no idea where to look next.

Spicer had been silent by his side, but now he spoke up. “Let's go down the road a little way,” he said. “Just far enough so they can't see you from inside.”

The curtains at the front window twitched as he said the words. The Simms family was watching, all right, watching to make sure their unwelcome company had well and truly departed. And then the lacy fabric was pulled aside farther and Lewis saw a figure that was certainly not either of the plain women they had talked to. This girl had a beautifully shaped oval face with a slightly aquiline nose and a mass of chestnut hair. Lewis felt a familiar stab of pain at the sight. It could have been Sarah standing there. Then, abruptly, the curtain fell back across the window and the apparition disappeared.

They walked their horses down the street until they judged they were out of sight of the house. Spicer found a lane that he thought would lead to the back of the dwellings, and this he followed, leaving Lewis to wait for him at the corner. In spite of the fact that they were in a desperate hurry to find Simms, he welcomed a few moments of solitude so he could deal with the turmoil of emotion he felt. He had thought that he was past the wrenching shock that had so often assailed him whenever he saw someone who reminded him of Sarah. He'd begun to lose track of her features, to forget the details of her appearance, but the resemblance to Simms's sister was so pronounced that one brief glimpse had been enough to bring it all storming back. Again he felt the grief of losing his daughter, but at the same time he knew that he was very close to unlocking the secret of Simms's madness — young women with chestnut hair and grey eyes; young women who looked like his sister, whom he had just now argued with and struck.

Fifteen minutes later, Spicer returned with the girl who had answered the door.

“Tell him what you told me,” he urged.

The girl looked at Lewis. “Is it true Mr. Simms is in trouble and you're trying to help him?” she asked. Lewis nodded. “And you're a preacher, aren't you, sir?” She hesitated for a moment and then she said, “Well, if you're a preacher, then there can't be anything wrong with telling you, can there? It would be just about like talking to Jesus himself, wouldn't it?”

Lewis chose to ignore this piece of doctrinal confusion and waited for the girl to go on.

“I don't give two hoots about the women in there.

Nasty, the whole bunch of them, but Mr. Simms has always been right kind to me, and if he's in trouble, I'd like to help him. Well, you met Miss Tildy and Miss Bella, the two who came to the door, right? Have you ever seen two such ugly women in your life? Well, there's another one, the youngest, Miss Esther and you couldn't imagine a body so different from her sisters. She's right pretty, she is, but she knows it, too. And just between you and me and the doorpost, she uses it to get what she wants. The others all wait on her hand and foot, especially Mr. Simms.”

“But there was an argument, wasn't there, between Mr. Simms and Miss Esther? When he was just here?”

“Oh, yes, it was dreadful, shoutin' and yellin' like you wouldn't believe. Esther got another marriage proposal, you see, but of course the old woman forbade it again.”

“Another?”

“Oh, my yes, gets 'em all the time. And the answer is always the same. The old lady won't let her wed until the older ones do. Says its “unseemly” or some such thing, and “just ain't done.” The girl pantomimed looking down her nose with disdain. “Well, that ain't goin' to happen anytime soon, I can tell you, not with the way them older two look. And then Mr. Simms come bargin' into the house and starts yellin' at Esther to go against their mother's wishes and get married anyway. And like I said, she's real pretty and uses it, and she just sort of smiled at him and said, ‘Oh, no, Isaac, I couldn't possibly go against mother,' and then she did this real funny little smirk at him and said, ‘Besides, dear brother, where would that leave you and me?”

Lewis had the feeling that the girl was rehearsing, practicing her story until she got it dramatic enough to recount for her friends and family. He was suddenly glad that he had never been able to afford help for Betsy; obviously everything that happened in the house was grist for the gossip mill.

“And then?” Spicer said. “Tell him what happened then.”

“And then Mr. Isaac slapped her acrost the face. I expected there to be screamin' like the banshees were out, but never a sound came out of her. She just stood there with her hand on her face and kept smilin' at him with this strange smirk on her face.”

“I see,” Lewis said. “And can you just answer one more question, please? How long ago was this?”

“He's been gone this last hour.”

VI

S
picer turned to Lewis as they rode away. “Would you like to tell me what's going on? It's hard to help you much when I don't know what I'm supposed to be helping with.”

His tone was sulky and petulant and Lewis understood why he seemed to irritate so many people, but it was, after all, a fair enough point. The young man's assistance had been invaluable and so far he had followed blindly. Yet he wasn't sure he could quite bring himself to confide in him. Then he chided himself. He had made the decision to give the boy a chance, and if his decision was truly heartfelt, if he had sincerely vowed to change his attitude, then he would have to return some of the same kind of trust Spicer had shown in him.

“I think Isaac Simms is a murderer and I think he's about to murder again.” As quickly as he could, he summarized what he had learned over the past four years. Spicer paled, especially at the mention of Rachel's death, but then he appeared to gather his resolve.

“He'll not have gone far. He was hoping to have something happen back there, but whatever it was it sounds like it wasn't very satisfactory. If he really does act on his frustrations the way you think he does, then he'll be at a boiling point and looking for some way to let off steam.”

“I agree. The question is, which way?”

Spicer thought for a moment. “I'm thinking he headed north, but maybe away from the river. There's too much traffic along the water. Someone might see him.”

“Yes. He'll look for a house that's away from any others, and if there's a young woman alone, he'll do his filthy work and go on.”

Spicer finished the sentence for him. “Because he still has to make money to support his family. He hasn't had much luck along the front, so he'll likely go where he stands a better chance of selling. He won't stray too far from the river because that's where most of the houses are.”