He joined Lydia as she carried Sharon into the hall. He smiled at them and took Sharon from his wife. They walked down the stairs in a companionable silence. Annie was still in the kitchen. Weren’t they expecting her in Zion? As she took Sharon from him and expertly tied a napkin around the child’s neck, Rees looked at Lydia and raised his brows in surprise. ‘With Jerusha in school,’ she murmured, ‘I can use the help.’ Rees wondered what Sister Agatha would say about that.
‘I’m leaving later than I intended,’ he said, experiencing a sudden spasm of guilt. ‘I won’t have time to milk Daisy …’ His voice trailed off. He wouldn’t blame Lydia for reacting with annoyance. But she nodded without apparent anger.
‘I’ll take care of the cow,’ she said. ‘You’d best be on your way.’ Glad to see she’d recovered from her pique, and relieved as well, Rees grinned at her. ‘But I want to accompany you when you go to Zion,’ Lydia said with mock sternness. ‘You won’t leave me home tomorrow.’
‘I look forward to your company,’ he said. ‘We’ll catch Shem right after he comes out of breakfast. Otherwise, no telling where he’ll disappear to.’ He paused for a few seconds. ‘I think I’ll stop at the Reynard farm and speak to the Reynard boy today, before I go into town. I want to confirm Boudreaux’s story before I begin questioning the Shaker Brothers.’
‘That’s wise,’ Lydia said. They both knew that although Zion’s Elders had asked Rees to look into the murder, they would resist him if he even implied one of their fellows was the murderer.
ELEVEN
By the time Rees approached the Reynard farm it was going on three thirty. As he’d hoped, the Reynard boy was in the buckwheat field, a gunnysack looped across his chest. He walked up and down the rows, scattering seed. And when Rees stared across the other fields, he saw the entire family out. He sighed. Lydia was correct; he had fields of his own to plant. Sowing seed was not the farm task Rees hated the most but he didn’t love it either. Not for the first time, he wished his son David was here. He would have organized everything and been well on his way to finishing the planting. Rees sighed again. He missed his son. The child he had left behind when he escaped to the roads on his many weaving trips had grown into a man. With most of the quarrels between them smoothed over, David had become not just Rees’s son but his friend as well. Would he be willing to come for a visit? And help? Since the Maine interior was colder than the farms closer to the coast, he might have only just started working on his own farm and have some time.
Pushing away his longing and regret, Rees pulled over to the fence. ‘Boy,’ he shouted, climbing down from the seat. ‘Boy Reynard.’ What was the lad’s name? He looked up in surprise. ‘Remember me? I met you last night.’ The boy approached the fence.
‘I remember. What do you want?’
‘What’s your name, son?’
‘Paul.’
‘All right, Paul. I want to ask you a few more questions.’
‘What do you want to know?’ he asked. He leaned his lightly tanned arms on the topmost rail of the fence, seeming quite willing to talk as long as Rees wished.
‘Was this the field you were in?’ Rees asked, looking around. Additional rows had been freshly plowed and the scent of damp earth perfumed the air. ‘When you saw the horseman?’ The boy nodded again. ‘What time was that?’
‘Just after noon dinner,’ Paul replied promptly. ‘Two o’clock maybe.’
‘And when did you see the boy and girl?’ Rees asked.
‘Same time,’ Paul said. ‘I was here.’
‘Did you see an older man on the lane, maybe following the children?’
‘I seen him,’ said the boy. ‘He had gray hair. And I could see his clothes real well.’ He looked at Rees with bright, clever eyes, adding, ‘He was one of them from Zion for sure.’
So, Boudreaux had told the truth, Rees thought. And we are back to the man.
‘Did you see anything else?’ Rees asked. ‘Anyone else besides the boy and girl and the old man? Anyone from the circus perhaps?’
The boy ruminated in silence for a few seconds. ‘Well, traffic picked up some later,’ he said finally. ‘Lots of men on horseback; people going in to see the circus. I recognized most of them. And no one was walking.’
‘Anything unusual?’ Rees asked.
‘I saw some carriages coming off Surry Road,’ the boy said. ‘Nob’s carriages. Both brown with red wheels.’
‘And when was that?’ Rees asked.
‘After I’d been working in the field a little bit. The lady who come down the lane waved to me.’
‘Was that before or after you saw the Shaker Brother?’
‘After. Long after. Late afternoon, I think. Fourish. Maybe towards supper time.’
‘You’re sure?’
‘Positive. It was right after my mother come out to the fence with a pail of water.’
Rees couldn’t see how that carriage could be important. ‘And the other one?’
‘You won’t be interested in that one,’ Paul said, flapping his hand dismissively.
‘Why not?’ Now Rees was interested.
‘That one belongs to the magistrate. Magistrate Hanson, that is.’
‘I see.’ Rees said, feeling surprise ripple through him. ‘And was that near supper time too?’
‘Yes. I saw the magistrate’s carriage after the other one. Maybe it was closer to five than four?’ Paul Reynard glanced involuntarily at the sky. ‘He was going into town for the circus.’
‘Thanks.’ Rees spoke automatically. Although he knew Hanson had attended the circus, he was startled to realize the magistrate had been near the field where Leah’s body had been dumped and at the right time too. ‘Did either of the carriages stop?’
Paul shook his head. ‘Didn’t even slow down,’ he replied.
Another dead end. ‘Were there any wagons going out of town?’
The boy promptly shook his head. ‘Not much traffic going out. All the farmers were driving in.’
Rees stared at the sky, thinking. A flock of geese flew north, honking as they passed overhead. ‘And you watched the circus trick rider,’ he said at last. ‘He did not stop as he rode up and down the road?’
Paul shook his head. ‘Not once.’
‘Thank you,’ Rees said. ‘You’ve been a great help.’ The boy’s cheeks went pink and he grinned.
Rees turned back to his wagon. He could not understand how the murderer could have thrown Leah into the field with no one seeing him.
By the time Rees pulled up next to the circus wagons he figured he had less than an hour before the performance began. This time he did not walk around the front gate but pulled up next to the circus vehicles. They were drawn together and enclosed a small yard dotted with canvas tents. Rees paused to admire the insignias on the doors. The rearing horses on the fancier carriages were of sculpted metal or beautifully carved wood, both shining with peeling gilt. The painted horses on the plainer, shabbier wagons were not so carefully done but then these conveyances, although roofed and with windows, were not as elegant as the others either. Rees guessed that the more elaborate the insignia, the more important the performer.
Leaving the wagons behind, he entered a world of strange oddities. The same dwarf he’d seen the day before, recognizable because of the small, white dog and the pig, was crossing the yard. He wore his costume of short, white breeches decorated with colorful dots, bright red stockings and crimson jacket. His hair, combed into a brush of bristles, was dyed the same red as his jacket. Garish paint – carmine lips and red triangles over his eyes – was daubed on his whitened face.
Both animals wore costumes as well. A pink ruff encircled the dog’s white neck. And the pig! He wore a black shirt and a white wig. Rees couldn’t help but stare. When the clown caught Rees’s look, he winked. With a stick, he tapped the pig’s trotters. Obediently the animal rose to his feet and began mincing forward. The black shirt was revealed as a robe and in the wig lent the pig an astonishing resemb
lance to Magistrate Piggy Hanson. Rees burst out laughing. The dwarf grinned. Rees guessed that these circus folk disliked the magistrate as much as he did.
As a groom led two horses toward the entrance to the ring, two young women in identical short, red costumes followed, laughing and chatting. Their skirts ended at the knees and Rees had a clear view of shapely calves, covered only by thick white stockings. No one else seemed at all surprised by the equestriennes’ shockingly short skirts. The clown, glancing at these women, scurried after them. He called for Jeanne but they did not slow down.
To his right Bambola, already dressed in a white dress sparkling with crystal beads, sat at a small table. She had covered the table with a white cloth and upon that she had laid out a pattern of colorful cards. ‘Monsieur Rees,’ said the girl, waving him over, ‘how wonderful to see you again.’
‘Miss Mazza,’ he said.
‘Call me Bambola,’ she said. ‘Everyone does.’ She fanned the brightly painted cards upon the table and gathered them up again. ‘Have you ever seen the Tarot before?’ Rees shook his head as he bent over to peer at them. ‘I use them to tell the future. May I tell yours?’
‘I–I …’ Rees cleared his throat. ‘I don’t believe in such silliness.’
‘Well then, let’s pass a few minutes in pleasant conversation while I lay them out.’ She gestured to a nearby chair. ‘Please, sit and we shall see what the cards say.’
Rees pulled the chair closer to the table and sat. What would Lydia say if she saw him now, sitting before a scantily clad woman with only a thick pack of heathenish cards between them.
Bambola scooped up the cards and placed the pack in front of him. ‘Shuffle,’ she directed as she smoothed her gloves. ‘And think of the problem in your life to which you want an answer.’
‘Well, that’s simple,’ he said, with a laugh. ‘I want to know who killed Leah.’
‘Of course,’ she said with a faint smile. ‘But I think the true question is who are you that you care so much, hmmm?’ Taking the cards from him, she dealt them in a cross with some of the cards lying over others and four in a line to her right.
She turned over the first one, the colorful image of a young man with a sword and dressed after the Italian fashion. ‘The Page of Swords. You, Mr Rees, are perceptive and a quick thinker. You have some connection with the law.’ She regarded him gravely. ‘Yes? Perhaps that explains your interest in the recent death.’
She turned over the next card. This one had a picture of a young man in armor. ‘Ah, the Knight of Rods. You are a traveler, an explorer, if you will. You are also a passionate man. You must always struggle to keep your passions from causing trouble.’ She smiled suggestively and Rees felt heat rise into his neck. With a thoughtful frown, Bambola tapped the card a few times. ‘You may be changing your residence in the near future.’
Rees shook his head at that. He doubted that was likely to happen.
‘Maybe sooner than you think,’ Bambola added with a smile. She turned over the third card. This one she laid at the top of the Knight of Rods. It was an old man, facing Rees but standing upside down to the ropedancer. She raised her dark eyes to meet his and her admiration was like a warm hand on his cheek. ‘You are the protector of victims, those who have no other guardian. But be careful; if you hesitate this time you will fail in your current quest.’ She turned over another card.
‘That looks bad,’ he said, trying to make a joke of the blindfolded and bound figure on the card.
‘Not necessarily. The eight of swords is reversed. Change is coming. Something in your past requires resolution else it will haunt you all your days. You must face it and solve it.’ Flipping the bottom card, another reversed card, she said, ‘You are still suffering from a recent unreasonable legal decision.’ She bit her lip. ‘Connected to the other problem, perhaps? It is something very important.’
Rees involuntarily nodded as he recalled the reasons for his and his family’s flight from Dugard. Lydia had been accused with witchcraft and he still sometimes dreamed of the constable’s son pulling the rope – intended for Lydia’s hanging – through his hands and grinning. An involuntary shudder shivered through him.
‘Your trouble is not over,’ Bambola continued, turning another card. ‘The Knight of Cups, reversed. You should beware of a charming rogue. He does not have your best interests at heart. Be careful.’
‘No idea which charming rogue I should be watching for,’ he said, trying to make it a joke.
Bambola shook her head without smiling. ‘He is dangerous to you,’ she warned as she turned another card. Another old man, reversed.
‘This card is about you and your character.’ Now she smiled. ‘It indicates you are unconventional and frequently defy the rules. Always with the best intentions, of course. We know that is true, don’t we?’ The next card, again upside down, was of what he took to be a juggler. Bambola frowned. ‘You must be careful in whom you put your trust. I see deception ahead for you.’
‘That’s always true,’ Rees observed dryly.
The next card, right side up for a change, depicted an angel blowing a trumpet. ‘Well, Mr Rees, it appears you have some serious reflection ahead of you. It is time to forgive those who have done you wrong and put those affronts behind you. You have an opportunity here to make a fresh start.’ She turned the final card to reveal a bright sun and a baby – no, a cherub. ‘But I see success in your future. Your decisions will bring you happiness and contentment.’
Rees stared at the brightly colored cards, each one a small work of art, with their Italian inscriptions. He found them disturbing. Miss Lucia Mazza should not have been able to read his character so well. When he raised his eyes to meet the dark, liquid gaze of the woman sitting across the table, she smiled.
‘I see you are startled. I can only assure you the cards never lie.’
‘Mr Rees?’ He jumped and looked up. He had fallen so deeply under Bambola’s spell he had lost all awareness of his surroundings. Mr Asher, resplendent in a scarlet jacket and white breeches, stood a few feet away. ‘I see Lucia has drawn you into her fanciful little hobby.’
‘The cards never lie,’ Bambola repeated in a sharp voice as she swept the cards from the table. Clearly annoyed, she gathered the cloth and the cards and huffed away.
‘You must forgive her,’ Asher said. ‘She is from an old Gypsy family; her grandmother told fortunes and Bambola believes in all manner of magic and superstition.’
‘How did she become a ropedancer?’ Rees asked.
‘Her mother. Bambola was meant to join her father’s act; he threw knives and shot pistols with deadly accuracy, but she demonstrated an early gift for rope dancing.’
‘I’m sure there is no harm in her little hobby,’ Rees said.
Asher laughed condescendingly and shook his head. ‘I hope your presence here means you plan to attend our show this evening,’ he said.
‘I expect to enjoy it,’ Rees said, rising to his feet. ‘I also congratulate you on your wagons. They are far more elaborate than the vehicle I own.’
Asher smiled. ‘Thank you. I saw something like them when I lived in Europe. I adapted the design so all of them double as living space. They make traveling more bearable.’
‘How is Monsieur Boudreaux doing?’ Rees asked, changing the subject. ‘I didn’t visit today.’
‘As well as can be expected. At least Mr Rouge has agreed to feed Pip if I pay for the meals.’ Asher gestured at the arena a short distance away. ‘Come. I’ll show you the best place to stand for a good view.’
‘I hope Boudreaux will not remain in the jail for very much longer,’ Rees said as they crossed the muddy field. ‘I have someone I want to speak to tomorrow and after that I’ll talk to the constable again.’
‘Damn! That’s another day at least. I wanted to leave as soon as possible,’ Asher said. ‘It is unusual for us to stay in a town this small for more than a night. There isn’t the custom, you see.’
‘Are you
reserved at the next town over?’ Rees asked.
Asher laughed. ‘Reserved? Of course not. We travel on until we see a likely village. We send in one of our criers to post signs and then go through town announcing us. A day later we follow up with a parade.’ He paused and looked around, his gaze going over the tops of the wagons. ‘We’ve never come this far north before. I thought we could expand our circuit.’ Rees thought of all the names on the posters and nodded. ‘But we’re all eager to move on,’ Asher added.
As they spoke, they crossed the scarred ground to the flimsy wooden walls. Asher gestured Rees through the curtain. ‘Stand by the wall. You’ll have a good view from there. I’ll be starting the show soon.’
Rees positioned himself by the wall as instructed. Directly across from him stood a cluster of men and boys behind the stones that marked the ring. They were mostly farmers by the look of them, but the crowd also contained a scattering of townsfolk. He recognized some of the men from Rouge’s tavern. They smiled and talked, their voices loud with excitement. ‘Here he comes,’ one said. Rees’s breath quickened.
TWELVE
‘Gentlemen.’ Asher’s voice boomed voice out as he strode into the ring. With a flutter of wings, the birds roosting on the arena walls took flight. ‘Prepare to be amazed.’ As he began detailing the joys that were to come, the two equestriennes, clad in their short red frocks, rode into the arena. They passed right next to Rees, so close he could hear the women’s faint grunts as they jumped to their feet. Standing erect on the backs of their mounts, they cantered around the circle. They had added plumed headdresses to their costumes and with the high feathers dancing in the breeze the women looked very tall and graceful.
Sometimes riding in unison, sometimes opposite one another, they wheeled and turned in an elaborate pas de deux. At one point the ladies, both standing on the horses’ backs, held hands across the gap while the animals thundered forward beneath their feet. They left the ring to loud applause.
A Circle of Dead Girls Page 7