Such hurt on both sides. Surely Bertie’s mother was devastated to lose a daughter. Taking out her pain on the remaining one was no way to heal, though. Early on in our friendship I’d playfully called my friend Roberta and had been surprised when she forbade me to address her by her legal name, saying her mother called her Roberta. Now I understood why the name—so similar to her twin’s—was like ripping apart a barely healed cut for Bertie, despite the decades that had passed.
“I thank thee for opening thy heart, Bertie. Thee was deeply wounded, as was thy mother.”
“Daddy tried to help, but he died too, when I was fifteen.” She sniffed. “Sophie thinks I should make amends before Mother dies. She says I am only hurting myself. What do you think?”
I took a moment before speaking, and then I trod carefully. “I think thee is a clear-headed grown woman happy in thy life at home and in thy chosen profession. Thee will make the decision that is right for thee.” I touched her shoulder. “I also think thy mother might be able to speak about thy twin’s death to thee as an adult in a way she was unable to when thee was younger and the pain was so much more acute. Reconciling with her could help to heal thy wound. But it’s not my decision to make. It is thine alone.”
She let out a deep sigh and nodded.
Over her shoulder I spied an open buggy pulling to a stop some ten yards away. John Whittier sat next to the driver and raised a hand to me in recognition. The driver climbed down and stood at the horse’s head holding its harness.
I gave Bertie a quick hug and rose. “I’ll be right back. John Whittier is there and I want to say hello. May I?”
“Go.” She gave me a wan smile. “I’m fine. I’ll sit here and ponder my life.”
“Good afternoon, John,” I said when I reached him. “It’s a lovely day, isn’t it?”
“Hello, Rose. Yes, indeed it is. I needed a spot of fresh air and an even bigger spot of inspiration. I am attempting to write a poem in lieu of appearing at a gathering to which I have been invited, but I’m afraid my heart is not strong and it seems to be affecting my ability to compose. Gazing at water has always had a salubrious effect, so here I am at the lake.”
“I’m pleased to see thee, as always. I hope the inspiration will flow like the water over the dam there.”
“I am also glad to have encountered thee. I came across a piece of information in which thee might be interested.” He glanced at his driver, leaned toward me, and lowered his voice. “Regarding the death of Mayme Settle.”
“I am all ears.”
“It has come to my attention that the gardener with the unusual name—”
I broke in. “Adoniram?”
“Yes. The man took classes in the botanical sciences from Harvard College. A friend came to call yesterday who had also studied botany and now makes a great study of poisonous plants.”
Poisonous plants? My eyes went wide.
“He mentioned an odd classmate who was interested in the same subject matter but never finished his degree. When I heard the name, I knew it had to be the one you mentioned.”
That was quite a fall for Adoniram. He’d studied at Harvard College but now worked as a gardener? I wondered what had happened to cause his descent in position.
Thirty-nine
I braked my bicycle to a stop one house before the Settle abode. Bertie pulled Grover to a halt beside me. At the lake I’d told her what John had said about Adoniram, and she’d agreed to accompany me to speak with him. I knew going alone a second time to visit a possible murderer would be a stupid thing to do. We’d hatched a plan to say she needed some seedlings, too, since he’d invited me to come back for more the last time I was here. I also wanted to get a look at the side of Merton’s Stanhope runabout. If the Polish man had been hurt as badly as David said, the paint might be marred by blood. Perhaps Kevin had already sent someone to look, but if the vehicle was in plain sight, it couldn’t hurt to verify it with my own eyes.
We’d stopped by the police station on our way. Alas, Kevin had not been in. I’d left him a note with the gist of what John had said about Adoniram at Harvard, and we’d decided to undertake the investigation ourselves.
“Is this the place?” she asked, shielding her eyes from the bright western sun to squint at the modest lake cottage where I’d stopped.
“No, it’s the big gray and white one beyond, the one with the mansard roof. Adoniram is probably around the back in the garden.”
“So we’re going to ask for seedlings and engage in some casual conversation, is that the plan, Rosetta?” She slid off her horse.
“I suppose. I also want to examine the right side of the Stanhope runabout, if it’s here, and take a look at the horse if we can.”
“I’ll have to put Grover somewhere. A good way for me to look around the carriage house, no?” She grinned at me.
“Of course. I hadn’t even thought of this benefit of thee coming along.”
“Mostly we have to decline if the gardener offers us anything to eat.” She raised an eyebrow. “A specialist in plant poisons, indeed.”
“Let’s go, shall we?” Even though murder is a very serious matter, it rather seemed like we were on an adventure together, or a secret Pinkerton mission. And there wasn’t a soul in the world I’d rather be on a dangerous adventure with than Bertie. “The carriage house is around the side to the right.”
I walked my bike and Bertie led Grover as we made our way in front of the house and down the empty drive. The doors to the carriage house were shut, so either Merton’s runabout was inside or he was out with it. I half expected Adoniram to be around weeding or planting but I didn’t see him anywhere. He was probably out back at his greenhouse.
“Should we open the door?” Bertie whispered.
I pursed my lips. “I don’t know,” I whispered back. I set my bike on its stand. “Yes. If we’re discovered, say you wanted to get Grover out of the sun.”
“Good idea.” She slid open the right side of the door.
I cringed when the mechanism squealed from lack of oil, but then it was open and all was quiet again. I peered into the darker interior until my eyes adjusted. The scent of hay, manure, and well-oiled tackle floated out as a horse whuffed. I saw the runabout a couple of yards in, illuminated only by mote-filled northern sunlight from a small window.
“What are you waiting for?” Bertie whispered behind me.
I swallowed, my heart pounding hard and fast. “I’m having an attack of nerves.”
“We can leave, you know.”
We should. I’d told Kevin everything I knew. I should let him examine the runabout, let him question the gardener. This was work for a police detective, not two foolish women.
I heard the crack of a branch behind us. I whirled and gazed past Bertie and Grover, but no one was there. Grover snickered, and the horse in the carriage house whinnied in return.
“Shush, now, big fellow,” Bertie murmured and stroked Grover’s neck. “He wants to say hello to whoever’s in there,” she said to me, also in a low tone. “I’m going to take him and find him a drink of water.”
“All right. I’ll stand watch.” I let them pass and stood gazing at the back of the big house. I didn’t see any curtains part or a face at a window, but I had the sense I was being observed. I’d heard the expression “My skin crawled,” which was exactly the sensation I was experiencing. It was as if tiny creatures were swarming through my pores. The hairs on my arms and the back of my neck stood at alert. My throat was so thick I could barely breathe.
I heard voices from behind the carriage house. Men’s voices. And they were growing nearer. Crikey. We were in trouble now.
“Bertie,” I called into the carriage house in a hoarse whisper. “Come.”
But she didn’t emerge. Adoniram and Merton rounded the corner, the latter wearing a white bandage wrapped around his head.
“It’s simply not clear to me why you thought you needed to do that.” Merton shook his head, his eyes on the
ground.
Adoniram saw me first and touched his employer’s arm to alert him.
Merton looked up. “Who are you?” He looked past me. “I didn’t leave the carriage house door open, either.” He glared as he pressed his lips together into a tense line.
“This be Miss Carroll the midwife, Mr. Settle. We appear to be quite the attraction today,” Adoniram said, his eyes narrowed at me. “What business have you got here?”
“Good afternoon. I came with a friend, who also wanted a few of thy spare seedlings, Adoniram. She’s, uh, watering her horse.” I mustered a smile, gesturing over my shoulder to the open door. “And I wanted to see how thee fares after thy fall, Merton.”
Merton’s hand went up to his bandage. “How the devil do you know about my fall, and why are you so rudely addressing me by my Christian name?” His nostrils flared.
“Miss Carroll and I were in the kitchen when you fell, sir,” Adoniram said softly. “She used your telephone and called for them medical folks.”
“And she’s not rude, she’s a Quaker.” Bertie materialized at my side holding Grover’s reins. “Hello, gentlemen.”
“This is postmistress Bertie Winslow,” I added in a hurry. “Bertie, Merton Settle and Adoniram Riley.” I knew she’d be able to figure out which was which of the two men. Merton was dressed appropriately for his class in a dark suit and neatly knotted tie, while Adoniram had dirt on the knees of his trousers and wore a working man’s cap.
“Ah, Miss Winslow. I’ve seen you in the post office.” Merton quit glowering. “You’ve mailed parcels for me.”
Bertie extended her hand to him and shook. “Mr. Settle. I gave my horse a drink inside, hope you don’t mind.”
“Not at all, not at all.”
When she extended her hand to Adoniram, he tucked his own hand behind his back.
“You don’t want to be shaking my hand, now. Got dirt on it, miss. And I’m afraid I went ahead and planted all the rest of them seedlings, so I ain’t got a one to spare.”
“Well, we’ll be taking ourselves along, then,” I said with cheeriness I didn’t feel. “I hope thee isn’t suffering ill effects from thy injury.” I addressed Merton but left off his name so as not to inflame him all over again. When he didn’t respond, I sidled over to my bicycle.
“Have a lovely rest of your day.” Bertie smiled at the men. She hopped onto a mounting block and threw her leg over Grover.
Merton’s eyes widened and Adoniram shook his head at the shock of a woman riding astride. I glanced back at the two from the end of the driveway. Merton faced Adoniram and appeared to be berating him. Adoniram, on the other hand, watched me leave as he had before. This time his stare sent shivers up and down my spine.
Forty
When Bertie and I had turned onto Thompson Street, she signaled to me to stop in front of a modest house set far back from the road. A large fenced-in vegetable garden was flourishing. Fruit trees of all kinds were scattered about the property, with immature apples, cherries, and pears evident among the foliage. A round, cheery-looking woman in an apron and a straw hat hoed in the garden, but she was too far away to hear us.
Bertie glanced up and down the road before speaking. “The runabout had a dent and a dried substance on the right side, Rose.” She leaned both forearms on the pommel, gazing down at me.
I stared at her. “Thee managed to check it!”
“Yes, that’s why I didn’t come out right away. And it has red stripes, but they’re more like piping.”
“What color was the horse within?” I asked.
“A light gray mare with a black mane.”
“Exactly as Sean described.”
She nodded, eyes wide. “Imagine, running down your own brother nearly to death.”
“It was a terrible thing to do.” I shook my head. “I wonder if he hoped to kill the man so he didn’t have to share family monies.”
“Probably. Should we hie back to the police station and inform your pal Donovan?”
I tilted my head as I thought. “I don’t know. He already knows what his son told me. And Adoniram said something about him and Merton being quite the attraction today. I daresay he meant somebody already investigated the horse and carriage.”
“Then why didn’t they arrest Settle?”
I shrugged. “Maybe because it’s only hearsay? Maybe he claimed the substance was something else, like splashed muddy water or . . .” My voice trailed off. “Or what? It might not have been blood at all, right? The carriage house wasn’t very well lit.”
“It could have been the gardener who drove the carriage at his employer’s bidding, too.”
“True. Adoniram could have done the driving.”
“Seems possible. Well, thanks for bringing me along on your lark, my friend,” Bertie said, raising one eyebrow. “I’m off to prepare a romantic supper for my darling.”
“Thank thee for coming. I was most certainly not going there alone. One time was once too often.”
We said our goodbyes and off she rode. I pedaled slowly for home, thinking of our “lark” all the way as I bumped along the paving stones.
But when I arrived at Powow Street, I slowed and gazed up toward the top of the hill. It was a perfect spot on which to construct an observatory. The hill’s summit was the highest point around, rising seventy-five feet above even Whittier Hill. It would be as free as possible from the illumination produced by the town’s lamps and bulbs, which would mar a clear view of the starry firmament. Nalia—and apparently her father before her—would have an excellent window onto the night skies for her studies.
I parked my bike against the fence of the Osgood factory at the corner of Chester and began my ascent on foot. I wanted to set eyes on the dome for myself, and the hill was too steep to attempt by bicycle. I shuddered as I passed a carriage house most of the way up where I had nearly met my demise late last fall. I trudged now, breathing hard as it became steep, until the road twisted to the right and then back left for the final fifty yards to the summit.
The last house on the right was a lovely gabled structure with fanciful woodwork painted in contrasting colors to the walls. And, indeed, behind and to the side was a carriage house, but with a domed roof atop a cylindrical tower sticking up off the back of the building. The dome had a ridge bisecting it from one side up over to the top to the other, which must be where it opened.
I didn’t want to be discovered lingering in front of the home, so I kept hiking to the summit of the hill where it flattened. I could see all the way north to Mount Agamenticus in Maine, east to the Atlantic coast off ten-mile-long Plum Island, and Ipswich to the south, a more extensive view than the one afforded from the Grand Hotel. But I wanted to find out more about the woman who lived at the observatory right here on Powow Hill. Why had I never seen her in the neighborhood? Perhaps she’d inherited her father’s house last year and only then moved to Amesbury. Maybe she spent most of her time in Cambridge with other scientists at Harvard, or in Boston at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. It also occurred to me the abode wasn’t very far up the hill from the Barclay home on Prospect Street.
I let out a breath. I wasn’t going to learn a thing standing rooted in place staring downhill. I resolved to return home, play with Betsy and the twins, and put murder out of my mind as best I could.
But I hadn’t taken more than a half dozen steps when I halted. A gleaming black rockaway, made by Biddle and Smart if my guess was right, was ascending the hill toward Nalia’s home, the roan pulling it plodding with every step. And Irvin Barclay occupied the driver’s seat. I shrank behind a nearby tree so I wouldn’t be seen. After the conveyance pulled to a stop in front of the house, Nalia hurried out the front door and down the walk. I watched as she climbed in. Irvin turned the rockaway around and drove away. It was about three o’clock. Where were they off to now?
I waited until the carriage disappeared around the bend to continue my walk. Right before I reached Nalia’s abode I saw something
I hadn’t spied on my way up. A maid was unpinning dry laundry from a clothesline behind the house. My timing couldn’t have been better. I made my way along the side of the house toward her.
“Good afternoon.” I smiled at the dark-skinned girl, who couldn’t have been any older than Faith, and looked even younger than eighteen.
“How d’you do, miss.” She finished unclipping a dish towel and made a little bob like a curtsy. She wore a faded blue cotton dress, but it had been neatly mended and the apron over it was clean and white. Her nappy hair was pulled back and covered by a white mob cap.
“I am well, except I seem to have lost my way. I seek a Belmont Street.” I knew very well Belmont Street was down the hill a little to the east, but I wanted an excuse to speak with her about Nalia. I decided to be careful not to reveal my faith in my manner of speech, in case the girl happened to tell her employer an odd-speaking Quaker had been nosing around.
“You won’t have far to go, miss.” She pointed. “Go that way to Prospect, down the hill to the first cross street, and Belmont will be the next downhill street you come to.”
“I appreciate the help.” I gazed around. “This is a fine spot for a residence. Fresh air up here, and a lovely view.”
“So it is, but it’s sorrowful hard to reach in the winter snows and ice.” She shook her head.
“I suppose it would be.” From back here I could see the observatory structure more clearly. “What’s that curious thing?” I pointed to the domed roof.
“It’s Miss Bowerman’s. She looks at the stars from within.”
Miss Bowerman. She was a single lady. “She’s an astronomer? What an unusual occupation for a woman.”
The maid beamed. “She’s a right unusual lady. She treats me real good, too, not like some of the ladies in town. She don’t pay much, but someone like me can’t expect more than a pittance.” She shrugged.
One of life’s many injustices. “And she’s not married, I gather.”
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