The boy slowed down and approached Adam tentatively.
“What is it?” asked Adam.
The boy stopped right in front of him. He looked down at his feet and then kicked the ground. Adam widened his eyes to show he was getting impatient for the boy to tell him whatever it was he wanted to say.
“I wasn’t sleeping good… Heard some noise coming from the graveyard, and I saw y’all down there.”
It unsettled Adam knowing they had been seen. Still, he was on his way to tell his grandfather what they had discovered, so it probably didn’t matter much anyway.
The boy said, “I figured y’all were trying to solve what had happened to that little girl’s grave. Did you find anything?”
Adam was relieved—slightly. “We think so. We wanted to look into this before folks got up so we wouldn’t draw a crowd. I’m sure you’ll be hearing about what we found, though.”
“Oh, that’s fine. I’m not really worried about that. I didn’t know that girl. But I just thought you should know something—if it helps I mean.”
“What do you mean?” Adam asked.
“You asked us if we’d had any oysters. My father said we’ve only had what was on our lot—and that’s true for the two of us. But I couldn’t say this in front of him.”
“You couldn’t say what?”
“A friend and I did eat some oysters a couple of days ago—fresh, right out of the Town Creek.”
“Why couldn’t you say that in front of your father?”
“He didn’t know I had gone there. I mean, we weren’t supposed to be there.”
“Why not? Wait… Did you go out to that gypsy camp and he didn’t want you to go?”
He nodded. “Well, I was there with a girl, and she’d get in awful trouble if her mother knew.”
Adam raised an eyebrow, which the boy apparently took as suspicion.
The boy sheepishly looked up. “It was Betsy Gidding.”
He no doubt offered the name in hopes Adam would understand the reason behind his secrecy. And Adam did understand. He raised his eyebrows in surprise and tried not to smile, although he was slightly amused.
“Oh, I see.”
“Are you going to tell my father?” he said.
Adam gave him a skeptical look. “You’re feeling better now, aren’t you? I mean, from the looks of it.”
The boy nodded.
“And Betsy?”
“She’s doing better, too.”
“Then I don’t think I’d have any reason to tell him—but I can’t guarantee you that circumstances won’t come up that might force me to say something.”
“But you’ll at least try to keep it quiet, right?” the boy answered.
Adam smiled. “I’ll do what I can to keep the details of this between us.”
Chapter Eighteen
“AND JUST WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?”
Emmanuel was waiting in his favorite chair in the sitting room when Adam slowly creeped through the door of the living quarters. There was no sense in keeping his activities secret anymore.
“It’s a good thing you’re sitting,” said Adam.
He came around to the front of the settee next to his grandfather’s chair and started to sit down.
“Wait,” said Emmanuel, observing his dirt-covered grandson. “Either put something down on that piece of furniture before you sit on it or go change clothes.”
“Never mind, I’ll just stand.”
Adam wasn’t going to change clothes before he told his grandfather what happened.
“Suit yourself.”
Emmanuel was without his usual cheerful demeanor. He left no room for doubt that he was vexed.
“That grave has been robbed. Just getting back from there now.”
Emmanuel’s eyes were like saucers. “What on earth do you mean?”
“Yesterday afternoon Mr. Shaw’s nephews Pony and Clem told me that they had seen no evidence that any sort of ritual had taken place in the graveyard, but they did have a theory about what could have happened.”
“Oh? What was that?”
“Well, I know we had already considered this possibility, but it was something they said.”
“What? What was it?” Emmanuel asked, impatient.
“They pointed out the girl’s body would’ve been nearly perfectly preserved in that rum, and they mentioned those men who dig up corpses for science.”
“But here in Beaufort—”
“Just wait,” Adam interrupted. “They just sort of offhandedly mentioned that Dr. Taylor would be the only man here in Beaufort who would even know about those kinds of experiments, but they pointed out that he’s out of town right now—as though that means he couldn’t have had anything to do with it. But you and I both know Dr. Taylor was here until yesterday morning at least.”
“Do you mean to suggest that Dr. Cotton Taylor might have dug up that poor girl’s grave?”
“I don’t know,” said Adam. “I’m not suggesting anything, but that’s what made me feel like we had to dig it up. We had to know at least whether or not the barrel was still in the plot.”
“You went to dig the grave up? What made you think that—?”
“I didn’t do it by myself. I had help from Mr. Shaw’s nephews. We decided we’d do it when we talked yesterday. All we planned to do was dig down until we could verify that it was still there, but we kept digging and realized soon enough it was gone.”
Emmanuel lowered his head and slowly shook it, clearly disturbed by this development.
“This is a problem,” he said.
Adam nodded. “Yes, sir. I would say that it is.”
“First of all, there’s the problem of the robbed grave. Without a doubt that is the most troubling bit of news—and especially to contemplate the possibility of Dr. Taylor having something to do with it. But then there’s the sticky bit where we have to let both the Reverend Miller and the constable know that you took it upon yourself to dig the grave up without any authority to do so.”
“I already thought about that,” said Adam. “And I’m more than willing to take responsibility for my actions, but I seriously doubt punishing me is going to be the first thing on anybody’s mind when they learn a grave has been violated and robbed right here in Beaufort—especially a little girl’s grave.”
“You may be right, but you must know that it was wrong of you to do this without even so much as discussing it with any of the authorities.”
“I’m going to say something,” said Adam, “and I want you to know I mean you no disrespect whatsoever by this, but what do you think would’ve happened if I discussed it with the authorities?” He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “I’ll tell you what would’ve happened. Let’s say I went to Constable Squires first. He’d have said the reverend should be consulted. And if I went to Reverend Miller? He’d have said he’d need to bring it up at the next parish meeting—which won’t even happen again until December for goodness’ sake! Who can wait that long? Whoever is responsible might be long gone by then.”
“Well, I suppose at the very least this might remove the suspicion that Nan Gidding cast upon those gypsies—at least as it relates to the grave situation.”
“Maybe so.”
Emmanuel tapped his fingers on the table next to his chair and thought for a moment before saying, “I think the immediate course of action is that you should go see the constable. I’ll pay a visit to the Reverend Miller a little later this morning.”
Adam sighed. “Fine. I’m going to go clean up right now.”
Just as he was about to leave the room he said, “One more thing… That sickness—I’m fairly certain it was the oysters. Still doesn’t explain Martin’s behavior, but as for everyone else: oysters.”
“Oh? How’s that?”
“A certain young man—who has asked me to keep his identity secret—said he had raw oysters right out of Town Creek the day before he
got sick. He was with a young woman, whose identity he has asked to remain a secret. The two of them are the only members of their households who have been sick, and they both had oysters from the same place. I happen to know this is also a place where Jackson Willis likes to take oysters.”
“Well, perhaps that’s at least one mystery solved,” said Emmanuel. “I suppose only the good Lord knows why Martin Smith is in the state he’s in.”
Adam nodded. “One thing at a time I guess. I’m going to go get cleaned up and go see the constable.”
He stopped in the kitchen and filled a bucket with water to take back to the basin in his room. He stripped off his clothes, which were thoroughly covered in dirt from the grave, then used a rag to wash up. He changed into the clothes he had worn the previous day. He tried to shake the dirt off of his pants and draped them over a chair, but when he did, the piece of debris he had stuck in his pocket fell out on the floor. It was a bit of fabric. He picked it up and examined it by the light of the sun that was now streaming in his window.
Oh my. This complicates things.
It looked like fabric from Stela’s little sister’s dress, from when she was dancing at the gypsy camp, or at least was cloth very much like it. He could tell it must have been from the dress’s hem. He tried to imagine how it might’ve ended up at the base of that other grave marker. He thought back and remembered times when he was younger when his mother would fuss at him for stepping on the hems of her dresses or skirts while she was sitting, so that when she stood it would cause them to rip and she’d have to fix them. Maybe someone had been at the grave with the little girl, and if she was sitting on that marker and then stood up, it could’ve caused it to rip. And if that little girl had been at the grave, she might’ve been who the folks that lived near there saw on Tuesday night. It wouldn’t explain why no one else was seen out there, though. Surely that little girl wouldn’t have come to the graveyard all by herself… Or would she?
He would have mentioned what he’d just discovered to his grandfather, but when he came out of his room, he realized Emmanuel had apparently already left to go see the Reverend Miller.
He shoved the swatch of fabric into his pocket, put his shoes on, and took off for Constable Squires’s house. Adam knew because it was early he wouldn’t be around town yet. He only hoped that the information he would be able to provide would diminish any anger the constable might have at his assisting to dig up the grave.
THE SWARTHY LAWMAN WAS surprised to see Adam Fletcher at his door at such an early hour and invited him right in.
“You like a cup of coffee?” he asked.
His wife stood in the doorway between the kitchen and the sitting room to see if she needed to serve their guest.
“I would like one, sir, very much,” said Adam, “but I think I should wait until I’ve had a chance to tell you what I’m here to tell you.”
“Suit yourself.” He pointed to the table and chairs. “Have a seat.”
Adam nodded. “Thank you, sir.”
He sat down. The constable sat opposite him at the table.
“So you needed to talk to me about something.”
“Yes, sir,” said Adam. “And I’m going to go ahead and admit to you right now that I realize that I’ve done something quite out of line, and for that I apologize, but I hope you’ll understand why it was necessary, and that we can work together to take the steps needed to resolve this problem I’ve uncovered.”
The constable looked towards the kitchen door and then to Adam, as if he was concerned about whether or not his wife should hear what they were discussing.
Adam whispered, “It has to do with the graveyard.”
Constable Squires seemed interested. “Alright then, go ahead.”
Adam leaned forward with one elbow on the table and cleared his throat. “Sir, I’m not sure if you’re aware of it, but there was a meeting down at the tavern yesterday, and there’s a group of folks who’ve said that if the gypsies aren’t gone by the end of the week, they’ll drive them out of town by force.”
The constable gave him a nod. “I’ve heard something about that.”
“Well, sir, Nan Gidding had suggested that the gypsies had conducted some kind of ritual at the grave that was found disturbed this past week, and she even described how it was probably done.”
“Huh. Is that a fact?” The constable seemed amused.
Adam nodded. “I’ve been concerned about things turning violent, and since I had already been out to Anne and Craven Streets and the surrounding area earlier this week, and even talked with Mr. Shaw, the old man who keeps the grounds at the graveyard, I thought it might be a good idea to just go back and ask Mr. Shaw if he or his nephews—they help him with things, you know—if they’d seen anything like Mrs. Gidding described, but they said they hadn’t seen anything like a circle drawn around the grave or any evidence of any sort of burning on top of the grave.”
“Son, where are you getting with all of this?”
Adam took a deep breath, then said, “Long story short, sir, I’ve learned earlier this morning that the barrel with the girl in it is gone.”
“Boy,” said the constable, his face stern, “are you tellin me you dug up that poor girl’s grave?”
“Sir, somebody already did that. We just verified it. The barrel is gone.”
The constable’s eyes grew wide. “We who? Who verified it with you?”
“Me and Pony and Clem, Mr. Shaw’s nephews. Now I’m sorry we didn’t come to you first, but I know you’d have prob’ly just told us that we should take it to the reverend, and he’d have wanted to take it to the parish, and God only knows how long that process would take. The fact is, though, sir, that the girl’s grave has been dug up all the way, and she’s gone. And her corpse might very well be on its way to some big city where scientists experiment on those sorts of things.”
“What kind of experiments? And how do you know so much about this?”
Adam tipped his head to the side and slightly narrowed his eyes at the constable. “Sir, if I’ve heard about grave robbers digging up graves for money to sell to science, surely you have.”
Constable Squires drew in a deep breath.
“Well, since you’ve come here, Mr. Fletcher, you might as well tell me if you have any ideas about who might’ve done it.”
Adam shook his head. “Not really, sir. See, what prompted us to go ahead and dig it up this morning was that Pony and Clem reminded me yesterday that since the poor girl was buried in rum her body would be so well preserved. They mentioned that would make it ideal for some kind of scientific experiment, as gruesome as that might sound, but then they said the only person in town who might even know anything about those kinds of experiments is Dr. Cotton Taylor, but they pointed out that he was out of town—like that means he couldn’t have done it— but of course then I started thinking that if he had dug the girl up, it would make sense that he’s out of town right now. I don’t even know where one would have to go for those kinds of medical experiments, but I’m sure he wouldn’t be doing them in his kitchen here in Beaufort.”
“Wait a minute,” said the lawman. “Are you suggesting that Dr. Taylor dug that girl up?”
“No,” said Adam. “Well, I don’t know. But them mentioning that drew attention to the fact that no one actually even knew whether or not the barrel was still in the grave.”
“But it sounds to me like he could have done it.”
“He could have,” Adam agreed, “but you know Dr. Taylor. He’s old and not really such a strong man. I’ve thought about it, and there’s no way he couldn’t have done it by himself, and I can’t imagine who he’d have gotten to help him. First of all, the Taylors don’t have any slaves, and before he and his family left town he was awfully busy running from house to house, checking on sick folks. I don’t really see how he would’ve had time to dig that girl’s grave up.”
The constable made a noise halfway betwe
en a growl and a sigh. “You’ve come here this morning to tell me you took it up on yourself to dig up a grave with Archie Shaw’s nephews, and that the barrel with the girl’s corpse in it is gone. But the one person who makes the most sense as the culprit is out of town and probably couldn’t have done it anyway. Tell me, Mr. Fletcher, what do you expect me to do now?”
“Well, sir, there’s something else.”
Adam pulled the piece of fabric out of his pocket and put it on the table in front of him. The constable picked it up and examined it. Adam explained that he’d seen that fabric on the youngest gypsy girl’s dress.
The constable stroked his chin and appeared to be considering the piece of fabric he was holding. Adam said nothing and instead waited to see what the constable would say.
“You think those gypsies dug up that girl?” the lawman asked.
“I don’t know why they would,” said Adam. “But it’s possible. There’s a lot of ’em.”
Constable Squires continued turning the piece of fabric between his fingers. “You’re right. There are a lot of ’em. You know something?”
“What’s that?”
“Did you know there’s only one prescribed punishment for a body snatcher? You know what it is?”
Adam shook his head. He imagined it might be a brutal one—maybe forty lashes laid on a bare back, or the stocks, or both.
The constable said, “The only punishment is a fine—unless, of course, there are living relatives who wish to file a civil suit, and that still comes down to money. And of course this girl’s relatives are long gone. We don’t even know for sure where they are now. They could be anywhere.”
“A fine? That’s it?” asked Adam. “No wonder it’s such a lucrative profession. Gruesome, but I reckon those grave robbers can make right much money before they ever get caught—if they ever get caught.”
“Hmm.” The constable was pensive and clearly frustrated. “Now tell me, Mr. Fletcher: What is it you think should be done about this, since you’ve taken it upon yourself to carry things this far?”
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