Judge Thee Not

by Edith Maxwell

  “Miss Carroll, what are you doing here?” He set his packages on the table.

  What was I doing here? My world had gone topsy-turvy. “I, uh, think I left my knitting needle behind when I was here with the ladies earlier in the week. I came by to ask the cook if someone had found it.”

  “But she’s not here. Had a death in her own family down to Cambridge, and the maid was so frightened by finding her mistress dead, she gave her notice and fled home to her mother in Merrimac. It’s only me doing for the mister until Cooky returns.” He rolled his eyes. “And now for the man who doesn’t speak English, too. Did you see him come through here?”

  “Yes. So he is staying here at the house?”

  “Indeed he is.”

  “He and Merton appeared to be embroiled in a great dispute. I heard a thud in the hall, and then the man hurried through the kitchen. I thought I should check and see what happened. But perhaps thee would prefer to do so, and I’ll remove myself.”

  “You come and look, too. You’re some kind of a nurse, aren’t you?”

  “I’m a midwife, but I am familiar with basic first aid procedures, of course.” I followed him through into the hall. The staircase rose up in front of us. To our right the hall ran down along to the dining room. But to our left . . .

  Adoniram took two quick steps and knelt at Merton’s side. He lay crumpled on the black-and-white tiled floor of the entryway. Blood stained the white tile under his head.

  Thirty

  “Is he breathing?” My hand flew to my mouth. Not another death. Not another one.

  Adoniram bent over Merton’s face. “Yes.”

  I let out a breath. “What a relief. They must have a telephone here. I’ll summon an ambulance wagon.”

  “No. Don’t call anyone.” He dabbed at the back of Merton’s head with a white handkerchief.

  “Why not? He needs medical attention, and soon.” I stared at the gardener.

  “Mr. Settle hates doctors. He doesn’t want them anywhere near him.”

  “Adoniram, I insist.” I set my fists on my waist. “Not liking doctors is all very well when one is thriving. Merton Settle is not thriving at this moment. Does thee want his death on thy hands?”

  “It would be on his brother’s hands if it came to that,” he muttered.

  “Where is the telephone?” I used my strictest auntie voice.

  He didn’t look up as he pointed to a closed set of doors. “Library.”

  I hurried in. The telephone sat on a wide desk covered with a mess of papers. I tapped the hook switch until an operator answered. “Please, we need an ambulance wagon at the Settle household on Whitehall Road, and hurry.”

  “Yes, miss. Who is calling, please?”

  “This is Rose Carroll. I am a visitor to the home. The house is easy to find—it’s across from the lower reaches of the lake near the dam, and its windows are draped in black.” I lowered my voice. “Please also send police detective Donovan. The injury is the result of an assault.” She said she would also summon the police, and I hung up. There, my civic duty was done. Kevin would come, and I could fill him in on all the provocative bits of information I had learned today. With any luck, someone would track down the violent Pole, as well.

  My gaze fell on the papers. One included the name Szczepanski, the one Jeanette had told me about. But the rest of the writing was undecipherable to me. It appeared to be some kind of legal document, though.

  “Miss Carroll?” Adoniram called.

  My heart sank. Had Merton taken a turn for the worse? I rushed back to the hall. “Yes?” Instead, my eyes flew wide open at what I saw.

  Merton struggled to sit up. “Where’s my damned brother?”

  “Mr. Settle, don’t get up,” Adoniram urged him, touching the injured man’s shoulder. “You’ve taken a bad fall.”

  “Get your hands off me, man.” He twisted away from his gaunt employee. He touched the back of his head and stared at his bloody hand. “My head,” he groaned.

  At least he was conscious and his speech was clear, both excellent signs.

  “Thee hit thy head on the staircase,” I said. “We are both most encouraged thee is awake. Head wounds bleed a great deal. A doctor will be here shortly to bind it for thee.”

  “I don’t want any cursed ambulance.” Merton stared at me. “But who are you, and why do you talk so strangely?”

  I clasped my hands in front of me. “My name is Rose Carroll, and my speech is a custom of my faith.” The ambulance bells grew close.

  “I found her in the kitchen,” Adoniram said. “Said she was lookin’ for the cook, that she’d lost her knittin’ needle the night of that ladies affair of Mrs. Settle’s, may God rest her soul.”

  “Be as that may,” Merton snarled. “Did either of you see my brother?”

  A great pounding set up on the front door. “Ambulance!”

  In lieu of answering Merton, I opened the door. “He’s just there.” I pointed to Merton. “I believe he might have hit his head on the newel post.”

  The first man nodded and hurried by me carrying the front handles of a canvas stretcher. The man behind followed. Kevin Donovan was the third in line, but he remained on the landing outside and beckoned to me to join him. I stepped out.

  “I heard you asked for me.” Kevin removed his hat and worried the back of his head, then replaced the topper. “What were you doing here?”

  “I came to find something I’d left the night of the Ladies Circle.”

  He squinted as if he didn’t quite believe me. “Very well. Tell me what happened.”

  “I believe Merton Settle’s brother pushed him in the heat of an argument.”

  He frowned. “You believe?”

  “I was in the kitchen and I heard two men arguing on the other side of the door. There was a thud, then a man resembling Merton ran through the kitchen and out of the house. It appears Merton hit his head on the newel post, perhaps after the other man pushed him, and lost consciousness. He’s awake now, albeit with a head wound, and appears to be lucid.”

  “Interesting. What was the argument about?”

  “I couldn’t understand the language. They weren’t speaking English, but after Merton came to he asked where his brother was.”

  His expansive brow wrinkled. “You don’t say.”

  “I do. Kevin, I have learned a number of intriguing things since we spoke yesterday, including some facts about the brother. Would thee like me to relate them at this time?”

  He glanced past me into the house. “I think I’d better deal with this one right now. Do you know the other brother’s first name?”

  “I don’t, and his last name is a long Polish one, not Settle.”

  “The devil you say!” He stared at me.

  I cast him a look over the tops of my spectacles.

  “Pardon my language, Miss Rose. Right when I think this case can’t get any more confusing, it does. A Polish brother, indeed.”

  “They do rather resemble each other. Thee can see the name on a paper on top of Merton’s desk in the study, though.”

  “Miss Rose! What in the devil’s name were you doing snooping in Mr. Settle’s papers?” Kevin set fists on hips. “You know what my chief would have to say about that.”

  “I was using the telephone to try to save Merton’s life, that’s what! Can I help it that my eyes fell on papers that sat out in the open? I was not snooping, Kevin.”

  “Fine.” He gave a little eye roll. “I’d better get in there. Will you be at home this afternoon?”

  “I shall be there until six o’clock.”

  “Very well, I’ll pass by your lodgings when I’m done here, if I may.”

  I nodded and watched him make his way to where the medical men were bandaging Merton’s head and asking him questions, apparently checking to see if his brain was concussed. I had no desire to insert myself further, so I reclaimed my bicycle and set out for home.

  As the afternoon sun glinted off the lake acros
s the road, I mused on how one would go about finding a Polish man on foot. Perhaps Kevin would set his men to visiting the several men’s boardinghouses in town, and the new hotel, too. He’d have to summon Jeanette to translate if he found the brother, that was certain.

  Thirty-one

  Kevin and I perched on stools in the shade of the tree next to my house at a few minutes before five. It was cooler out here than in the house on this warm day. The scent of the blooming peonies in front of the fence was a delight, and the tang of the lemonade I sipped refreshed me.

  Kevin set down his glass on the upended wooden box between us. “I’ll tell you, Miss Rose, this case is as complex a one as I can ever recall being confronted with.”

  I nodded and waited for him to go on.

  “At least Mr. Settle was up and about before I left.” He patted a glistening forehead with a neatly folded handkerchief.

  “Would he tell thee what happened? What they had been arguing about?”

  “Only said it was old family business. And he didn’t look a bit happy about it.”

  “My client and friend Jeanette Papka is an interpreter for the District Court. She told me something interesting yesterday. She said a man for whom she was interpreting—Polish to English and the reverse—claims Merton Settle is his brother. He said Merton absconded with the family riches thirty years ago. It took the brother this long to track down Merton and then to raise the money for his passage.”

  “I saw that name. If you’re thinking Mr. Settle changed his name when he entered this country, I would agree with you. Who in blazes could ever pronounce the original?”

  I laughed. “People who speak the language, of course. And if thee finds the brother, thee will need to have Jeanette interpret for thee.”

  “How does she come to speak it?”

  “I believe her husband’s family speaks Polish. As she has a remarkable facility with languages, she acquired it, with a bit of study.”

  “Think she could pick this Pole out of a lineup?”

  “That’s not going to be possible. She’s blind.”

  He gaped. “What’s that? She can’t see a thing?”

  “Correct. She never has seen, either.”

  He rubbed the back of his head and scrunched up his nose. “She’s not a deaf-mute, too, then, or she wouldn’t be able to do so much translating. But is she smart enough for the work?”

  “Her eyes don’t work, but her mind is keener than most I have met.”

  “Doesn’t that just cap the climax!”

  “Not really. It’s a prejudice of our times to think the blind are also mentally deficient. She’s fluent in French, as well, with a family hailing from the province of Quebec.”

  “Sounds like a handy person to have around the court, if she’s intelligent, as you say. We’re always hauling in those Frenchies for one crime or another. Immigrants cause trouble, Miss Rose. They might consider going back where they came from.”

  I frowned at him. “Kevin Donovan, thee disappoints me. Thy own parents were immigrants from Ireland, were they not?”

  “True enough, lassie.”

  “They must have faced negative preconceived notions about them when they were newly finding their way. Thee mustn’t judge those who arrived after thy family. Everyone wants to come to America, and life is hard when they first arrive. You’ll see, in another generation French Canadians and Poles both will be simply regarded as hardworking Americans. A wave of new immigrants from somewhere else—Italy, perhaps, or Russia—will surely be struggling to learn our language and to pass as Americans.”

  “Fine, fine, fine.” He batted away the suggestion. “Now, you said you’d learned more than one interesting tidbit since we spoke yesterday?”

  “Yes. I paid Sissy Barclay a visit. She’s expecting twins sometime in the next two months. I had a chance to chat with her cook a little. She’s Irish, too, Aoife O’Malley.”

  “I know her. She’s me ma’s niece’s sister-in-law.”

  I nodded, not surprised. “She told me Irvin had dismissed all the other household help, and that he does the gardening himself.”

  “That pompous fellow? I find that hard to believe. Man’s a banker, too. Why’s he hurting for money?”

  “I don’t know. She also said he was in the habit of bringing his first wife a hot drink before bed, one he insisted on delivering himself. Aoife insisted that Irvin had been poisoning his wife little by little, that the tea was the only time he was nice to her.”

  Kevin whistled. “Poison in a hot drink before bed. Mrs. Settle’s death could be a repeat performance.”

  “But Irvin wouldn’t have been able to put some toxin into Mayme’s tea, would he?”

  “Unlikely. You’ve got a point, Miss Rose.” He stroked his chin. “I wonder if Barclay and Settle are acquainted.”

  “What about alibis, Kevin? Has thee determined where various people were during the night on Third Day?” I ticked the names off on my fingers: “Adoniram Riley, Merton Settle, Irvin Barclay, for starters.”

  He threw open his hands. “Nothing certain for any of them. Riley and Settle say they were asleep in their beds with no one to vouch for them. Riley has a key to the main house, of course. Barclay claimed he was in his bed, too, and his wife said he was.”

  “Except Sissy told me they have separate bedrooms,” I pointed out, not sure if he knew.

  “Well, isn’t this a fine kettle of fish? Neither of them bothered to tell me.”

  “But it’s true.” I nodded. “Their cook confirmed it.”

  “In addition, I’ve had my men out asking neighbors and whatnot, but nothing yet. Despite what you say, we still have Barclay claiming he saw Miss Winslow at the house late that evening.”

  “Bertie told you all she did was ride by on her way home. If he saw her, he must have been there, too.” I gave him a stern look.

  He held his palms up. “I am aware of that. Barclay says he was merely passing by in his carriage coming back from some gathering in South Hampton. Miss Winslow’s only alibi for later is that lady lawyer she lives with, who swears her friend was at home. At any rate, I had a team search their house and premises this afternoon.”

  My jaw dropped. I closed it and folded my arms. “They didn’t find a thing to implicate her, either.”

  “I haven’t gotten a full report yet.” He lifted his chin.

  “When is thee going to stop investigating Bertie? She told me about all the new questions you asked her yesterday. Doing so has to be taking you away from finding the real killer.”

  “Miss Rose, you know I have to follow up every clue, every possibility. Please just let me do that.”

  “All right. Here’s one. A client of mine has a connection with the Settles’ cook. Apparently Adoniram once brought mushrooms in for her to prepare but she thought something seemed off about them, so she threw them out. Maybe he knows a lot more about poisons than you think.”

  “I’ll look into that. Anything else?”

  I thought back to the Ladies Circle. “I told you how cruel Mayme was to her husband at the Ladies Circle on the evening of her death.”

  Kevin nodded.

  “I remembered something else. Sissy Barclay brought a box that looked like it held sweets, chocolates perhaps. She gave it to Mayme, and said Irvin wanted it to be for her consumption only. Mayme obliged and set it unopened on the piano.” I rocked a little on my stool, thinking. “The cook at the Barclay house told me she overheard Irvin talking on the telephone about money problems, about debts. Sissy mentioned earlier today that Mayme and Irvin were distant relatives and were supposed to split some inheritance, but Mayme was refusing.”

  “I can have a man look into that.”

  “Maybe Irvin poisoned Mayme with the candy so he would come into all the money.”

  His eyes widened. “You might be onto something there. I do believe we came away with a box of candy when we investigated the deceased’s bedroom.”

  “I hope it went into t
he evidence room and not next to the coffee pot for the men.”

  “Wouldn’t that be a shock? No, I told my fellow to secure it. We haven’t had a chance to get the chemist to test it yet, but we will.” He frowned. “Although, Miss Rose, I think your reasoning on this matter has a hole in it.”

  “Oh?”

  “Upon Mrs. Settle’s death, you see, any inheritance of hers would go to Mr. Settle.”

  I made a face. “That’s right. Unless maybe it was restricted to go to blood relatives only?”

  “Could be. I’ll send someone along to the court in the morning to find out the facts.”

  Thirty-two

  The sky glowed the color of my name as David and I finished our repast, blessedly not discussing the murder investigation even once. He’d reserved a table for two at a west-facing window in the Grand Hotel dining room. The resort perched atop Whittier Hill, and on a clear day like today one could see as far as Mount Wachusett seventy miles to the west and the much closer hills of West Newbury to the south. Our view of the sun setting over the Little Farm below was my favorite.

  I opened my mouth to share my good news when David spoke at the same moment.

  “Mother’s been at it again,” David said. “She wants to hold a big garden party in our honor.”

  “She does have a lovely garden,” I said. “And it’s generous of Clarinda to offer a celebratory gathering.”

  “With a hundred people in the garden you’ll barely be able to see the plantings.”

  The thought of such a sizable crowd of Clarinda’s social acquaintances nearly gave me an attack of the nerves. “A hundred? Oh, my. When does she wish to present this spectacle?”

  “As soon as we have a date for the actual ceremony. I’m sorry, Rose. You know how she is.”

  “Yes, I do.” I reached for his hand, my nerves turning to excitement. “David, dear, Mother wrote today that we are clear to marry at Lawrence Meeting in early Ninth Month.”

  David squeezed my hand. “Rosie, what joy! I wish it were sooner, but it can’t be helped.” He beamed.