Judge Thee Not

by Edith Maxwell

  How could I not know? I only smiled and nodded. “I understand she tragically passed away.”

  “’Twas tragic, for certain. But she didn’t simply up and die one day. No, the mister was responsible as sure as I’m an O’Malley.” She gave a definitive nod.

  This woman was clearly an O’Malley. “What does thee mean by responsible?” I whispered, having no idea if other servants or even Irvin might be in the house.

  “The mister used to bring her a special tea every night before she slept. It was the one time he was ever so solicitous. He’d make certain she was all tucked up in her bed—a separate one from his, mind yeh.” At this she rolled her eyes as if the notion of sleeping apart from one’s spouse was ludicrous, which it probably was in her world, and in mine, as well. “But I’m of a mind he dosed up the tea after it left my hands and before it arrived in hers. He was slowly poisoning her, Miss Carroll. Make no mistake about it.”

  I stared at her. Irvin poisoning his first wife, and now a woman with whom he had some kind of grievance had also perished from poison? If the cook’s story were true, the two deaths were far too similar to be coincidence. I couldn’t wait to share this information with Kevin.

  “I think I heard she died of heart failure.” I gazed at Aoife.

  “Sure and that’s what it looked like.” She nodded knowingly.

  “Mrs. O’Malley, have you seen Rose Carroll?” Sissy called from somewhere beyond the kitchen door. She pushed through and stopped. “Oh, hello, Rose. I didn’t know you’d arrived.” She smiled and clasped her hands in front of her tea dress, under which she’d clearly not donned a corset today. “Having a nice chat with our talented cook? Aoife alone is responsible for all this fat I’ve acquired.” Sissy patted her belly.

  “Go along there, Mrs. Barclay,” the cook said. “A tiny lady the likes of you could stand to put on a bit of weight, and besides, it’s the wee babes who’re doing the growing in there.” She beamed.

  “I’d agree with thy cook, Sissy,” I said. “Let’s go visit thy bedchamber together, shall we?”

  Sissy nodded and pushed open the door that swung in either direction.

  “Oh, Aoife,” I said. “My apprentice should be appearing any minute now. Her name is Annie Beaumont.” Where was Annie, anyway? I’d forgotten to worry in the respite of pleasure that meeting cook Aoife O’Malley had provided. “Please send her upstairs when she comes.”

  “I will.” She raised a floury hand. “This piece of pie here has yer name on it, and there’s pie aplenty for Miss Beaumont, too. So don’t forget to stop back by before yeh both leave. ”

  She also elevated one eyebrow as she said the words. The signal could have indicated not the pie but the secret she’d divulged. I’d be coming back for secrets, as well.

  Twenty-seven

  If the main stairwell was any indication, the Barclay home had been spared no expense in its construction, despite its plain exterior. It looked to have been built not so long ago, whether sometime prior to the War for the Union or immediately after, I couldn’t say. The wood of the banister was a smooth rich cherry and didn’t wobble in the slightest with the pressure of a hand on it. A leaded glass window adorned the landing halfway up, casting spots of colors on the floor now the sun had finally made an appearance.

  Sissy did not lack in vitality this afternoon. She lifted her skirts and trotted up as if she were a child competing in a running race instead of a matron seven months along. She turned back at the top.

  “Pardon me, Miss Carroll.” She giggled and brought both hands to her mouth in a schoolgirl gesture. “I simply feel so free now you’ve given me permission to throw that fool corset aside.”

  I was a mere six years older than Sissy. My experiences, my work, my circumstances all conspired to make me feel far more mature than this young mother-to-be. I could only hope the birth of her twins would go easily on her. I prayed Irvin would stand up to be a loving provider—even if he hadn’t in the past.

  Sissy, now with warm cheeks and lungs heaving from her exertions, led me into her bedchamber. I had entered many a rich woman’s private quarters in the last five years, but none as richly adorned and feminine as this. If a shade of pink existed in the known universe, it was included in this room. Margaret Fell Fox, one of the founders of my faith, was no doubt turning in her Quaker grave at the ostentatious decorations confronting me.

  Flounces, ruffles, curlicues, and general frippery decorated every corner and nook. This window featured pale pink lace curtains. That chair was embroidered in a deep pink floral brocade. A rose-colored silk bouquet arched out of a translucent magenta glass vase. And so on. And on and on.

  Sissy twirled with her arms out. “Isn’t it the most delightful room you’ve ever seen, Rose? Mr. Barclay gave me permission to decorate it however I pleased and free range with his accounts to pay for it.”

  I found the room confining and overwhelming, but I would never say so to a client, especially to one who quite clearly loved her surroundings. “It’s very nice, Sissy.” I swallowed, determined to conduct my business and be done with this space until her labor began. At least she had the shades up and the windows open on this now-fine late spring afternoon. “Thy husband does quite well in his chosen profession, I gather.” Could I somehow bring up his argument with Mayme Settle?

  “Indeed he does. And he has made some wise investments, he told me.”

  I mentally crossed my fingers. “I saw him near the court in the Armory recently,” I said, even though it had been Jeanette who saw him, not me. “I hope there’s no kind of trouble with the judicial system.”

  She gave a shake to her head. “I don’t want to speak ill of the dead, but Mayme Settle was arguing with the mister about a pot of money.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes, they were cousins and he said there was some inheritance the two of them were to split equally. Mrs. Settle had refused to do so.”

  And now this entire pot of money would go to Merton, unless there was some other arrangement. Curious. I wondered if Irvin’s investments had been as wise as he’d told Sissy. If he were desperate for money, he might have resorted to murder to get it—except where did he think it would come from?

  A door stood open revealing a tiled floor within. “Is that a bathroom?” I asked, pointing. It reminded me of Georgia’s miscarriage of a few hours ago. I really should stop by and make sure she was well after I left here. I was not at home to take her call should her bleeding have increased.

  “It is.” Sissy nearly skipped to the doorway. “It has all the most up-to-date conveniences. Even hot running water, Rose! Imagine.”

  “Hot water will be useful during thy labor, Sissy.” I needed to calm her oddly effusive mood and prepare her for her impending children’s births. At which event I hoped Annie would be able to assist me, and because of which I wished she were here right now. “We usually need to depend on recently boiled water, and we might still, so it will be sterile. Tell me, Sissy, does thee expect any family members to be assisting in thy birth? Thy mother or an aunt, perhaps? A sister?”

  Sissy plopped onto the bed, the air let out of her happy balloon. “No.” To her credit, she neither pouted nor wept. “No one will be helping me, besides you, that is. I am on my own here, you see.”

  I wondered why her mother wouldn’t help her through her travails. I smiled, despite my inward lack of cheer. “My apprentice Annie and I shall be thy womenfolk during the birth, then.”

  Annie’s voice sounded downstairs.

  “And there she is,” I added.

  A moment later Annie appeared in the doorway, a green ribbon festooning her red hair. Annie was not a Quaker.

  “Désolée,” she whispered to me. Sorry. She smiled at Sissy. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Barclay. I am Annie Beaumont, and I assure you I have never been late before.”

  “Please call me Sissy. ‘Mrs. Barclay’ makes me think someone is talking to my husband’s mother. And she’s not a very nice lady.” Sissy’s ani
mation returned, and she beamed in return. “I love your green ribbon! Aren’t hair ornaments fun?”

  Annie touched her ribbon, smiling at our client, but she also cut her gaze to me for an instant, as if to say, “I’m humoring her.”

  “My memere is from Quebec City.” Sissy regarded Annie like a long-lost sister.

  I folded my hands, feeling like the old lady in a girl’s boudoir. Had Sissy taken a mood-elevating tonic, or was she simply feeling relaxed in the company of women? She’d apparently been lacking such companionship since her marriage to Irvin Barclay and her move to Amesbury, away from every woman she’d ever held dear. Her giddiness was understandable. I didn’t know what I’d do without Bertie’s friendship, Faith’s love and confidences, and my mother being on the other end of an efficient postal system.

  Right now? We had a pre-birth interview to conduct. I cleared my throat.

  “Sissy, I’d like to review what thee can expect when thy labor begins. Thee will deliver thy babies here in this room.” I nodded at Annie to continue.

  “You’re a first-time mother.” Annie took up the narrative without hesitation. “The more you’re familiar with the process, the less fear you’ll have. Fear can lead to an involuntary tightening of the body, and tightening can cause pain.”

  “But won’t you have medicines to give me?” Sissy searched my face and then Annie’s. “My friend in Portland said she heard the lying-in hospital gives ladies gas now, and it makes them go to sleep and forget the whole thing. You know, like the ether men take when they need to have a diseased leg removed.”

  I shook my head. “We don’t use gas at home because it isn’t safe, and there really aren’t effective medicines to remove the pain without harm to thee or thy baby.”

  Annie again spoke up. “You’ll be better off by moving about, using your breath, and letting us help you relax.”

  I saw Sissy about to object and held up a hand. “And thy babies will fare far better, too, not having drugs put into their bodies via thine.”

  She wasn’t quite ready to believe me. But she didn’t have any choice in the matter.

  Twenty-eight

  The three of us conversed for the next twenty minutes about what Sissy could expect, when she should summon me, and what kind of assistance the household could provide.

  I was surprised when Sissy said Aoife performed the roles of housekeeper and maid as well as cook. I would have thought Irvin had the means to employ a larger staff than he did. Nevertheless, I knew I could work amicably with the cook during the labor and delivery. Aoife was a far more congenial helpmeet than I sometimes had at hand.

  “Annie, if Sissy is agreeable, why doesn’t thee perform an antenatal physical examination while thee is here.” I gestured toward my satchel.

  Sissy nodded and sat back on the bed, pulling up her skirts.

  “You look very well, Sissy,” Annie said. “You must be taking good care with your health.”

  “I do try. Miss Rose there is a good influence.”

  Annie took Sissy’s pulse and measured her belly. With her fingers held flat and together as I had taught her, Annie palpated the womb in several places, pressing in with a hand on opposite sides of the belly. My apprentice nodded when she felt the second baby. “Yes, you are most certainly bearing twins, Sissy.”

  “Goodness, I haven’t even given a thought about what to name them. And . . . oh! We have only the one cradle.” She pointed to the small box on rockers already outfitted with a fluffy white coverlet. “Whatever shall we do?”

  I smiled. “Thee shall do what every other new mother has done—make do. If the babies are little, they’ll be happy to share the cradle at first. They’ll be accustomed to each other’s heartbeats and bodies from all these months together in the womb.”

  “I suppose.” Sissy frowned a little, looking doubtful.

  “Or thee can line a bureau drawer with a soft blanket and one baby shall have a nice safe bed for the first few months. Truly, thy days will be too busy with feeding one then the other to worry about trivialities like cradles.”

  Annie laughed. “I agree with Rose. Babies who cuddled in the womb for nine months don’t want to be separated, anyway. They’d cry their poor hearts out if you had two cradles.”

  I nodded. She’d clearly had experience with newborn multiples.

  Annie glanced up at me after using the Pinard horn to auscultate the heartbeats in various places on Sissy’s bare belly. It bulged up beautifully from her body, with the skin already taut and shiny with the burden of containing two fetuses, their amniotic sac—or sacs, depending if they were identical or fraternal twins—and the increased fluids and blood flow accompanying any healthy pregnancy.

  “Je n’entends qu’un,” Annie murmured, knowing I was well up on my birth-related vocabulary in French. I hear but one.

  I nodded that I had, too, and indicated we’d talk about it later.

  “Thank you, Sissy,” Annie said, clasping Sissy’s hand in both of hers. “We’re both so excited to meet your babies.”

  Sissy, in a fit of informality, clasped Annie’s shoulders and kissed her on both cheeks.

  I pulled out my appointment book. “I’d like thee to come in for another check in two weeks’ time.”

  We arranged the day and time and I jotted it down. “We’ll see ourselves out,” I said. Once we were downstairs and out of earshot, I laid a hand on Annie’s arm.

  “It’s not unusual not to hear both hearts,” I murmured. “The babies are getting big and one sometimes hides behind the other.”

  “Or one could be deceased,” she suggested, also speaking softly.

  “Sadly, it’s possible. We’ll have to wait and see.” I pushed through the door to the kitchen.

  “There yeh two are,” Aoife said. “I insist yeh sit down and sample my pie.”

  I exchanged a glance with Annie, who smiled.

  “Thank thee kindly, Aoife,” I said. “We would love to.”

  She served us each a wedge of pie at the wooden table to the back of the kitchen, and sat across from us. “I’m not used to cooking for so few people, I’ll tell yeh. I can’t wait for those wee babes to be born.”

  “I’m surprised more staff doesn’t work here,” I said.

  “Mr. Barclay, he sent them off. The maid, the gardener, his driver. The two of ’em last week, and the driver only yesterday. I’m the only one left.”

  “Does thee know why?”

  “He wouldn’t be telling the likes of me, now, would he?” Aoife leaned toward us. “But I heard him on the talking device. Sounded like he has money problems. Debts owed and such.” She sat back. “Why, I don’t know what he was after, letting the missus spend so much money on her fancy room up there. Gave her a bathroom fit for the Queen of Sheba, he did. Living beyond his means, and with babies on the way. Who ever heard of such a thing?”

  Twenty-nine

  I pedaled out High Street after Annie and I left the Barclay home. I had much to think about. Aoife’s claim that Irvin poisoned his first wife. Learning of his debts, and that he’d been related by blood to Mayme Settle. Could he somehow have poisoned Mayme’s nightly drink, too?

  I headed toward the Settles’ home, hoping I could grab a word with the cook there. But under what auspices? I turned onto Whitehall Road. I was almost there and needed to think fast. When I was fifty yards distant from the house, I slowed to a stop. Lake Gardner was to my right, and even though the fog was gone on Powow Hill, here it still lay atop the water. It looked eerie, almost like steam rising. Brambles grew at the lake’s shore on this side, and their fresh green color contrasted with the murky look of the lake. The color of the water was not unlike the yarn I’d been knitting with the night I’d been at the Settles.

  An excuse for a talk with the cook popped into my brain. I would claim I’d left a knitting needle at the house. Such a reason for a visit would get me in the door. And as soon as Kevin arrested the killer, I’d quit with the white lies. Every single one s
eemed like a stain on my integrity. I rode on to the Settle home. The windows on the front were draped in black, making the house look like a dowager in deep mourning.

  I knocked on the servants’ door at the back of the house. When no one opened it, I tried again. Finally I twisted the knob and found the door unlocked. I stuck my head into the kitchen.

  “Hello?” I called.

  Unlike the fragrant kitchen, lit and warm, I’d left a little while ago, this one was clean, darkened, and still. No meat roasted in the oven, no soup simmered on the stove, no pies cooled on the table. Men’s voices sounded somewhere in the house and grew louder with the clatter of feet on stairs. They seemed to pause on the other side of the kitchen door. Both spoke with vehemence, clearly arguing. Except I couldn’t make out a word of what they were saying. It had to be Merton and his long-lost brother shouting at each other in Polish.

  I wasn’t going to learn a thing from them. Since the cook was absent, I thought I’d better leave before I was discovered snooping in someone else’s house. The voices stilled and I heard a thud from the hall. Had the speakers come to blows?

  The door from the hall pushed open and a thin man hurried into the kitchen. He resembled Merton but was younger. The cut of his clothes and the style of his hat marked him as foreign. He had to be the Polish brother. He stared at me like I was an apparition, then rushed past and out the back door.

  I had my hand on the swinging door to the hall to make sure Merton was all right when Adoniram walked in, his arms full of parcels wrapped in paper and tied with string, as if he’d returned from doing the marketing. But why would a gardener be shopping for food? And where was the cook?