by Adele Fasick
Mr. Cabot raised his bushy eyebrows and looked at Daniel over the top of his glasses. "I think you're chasing moonshine, young man. The sooner you settle down to a good steady clerk's job the better off you'll be, but you can look at as many newspapers as you want in the back room."
The walls of the back room were lined with shelves holding stacks of newspapers neatly arranged according to the year and month. Where was he to start? Daniel figured he might as well work backward from yesterday's paper. It was slow, tedious work. The inky pages soon turned his fingers black and the smell of them tickled his nose. The room was very quiet. He heard Mr. Cabot go out, telling the clerks he would return after dinner. After that there was no sound except the scratch of the clerks' pens and the rustle of pages turning.
After searching for an hour, Daniel was beginning to think Mr. Whitelaw must be the quietest and most law-abiding man in the Commonwealth. Then he finally found a mention of him. He was listed as one of the sponsors of the Annual Fourth of July celebration where he introduced the main speaker, Daniel Webster. That was no use so he kept searching. Next he found a mention of Whitelaw as the "well-known owner of the whaling ships Lark and Eagle" which had arrived in harbor with the largest cargo of whale oil and ivory ever landed in Boston. It was no wonder he was so wealthy. But what kind of man was he? Had he ever been involved in anything disreputable? Was he a man who could kill his pastor out of jealousy?
Finally Daniel found an odd note in an unexpected place. He had been searching primarily the shipping news and civic reports, but in one paper he glanced at the column of Lectures and Exhibits and the name Whitelaw leapt out. It was not Mr. Whitelaw, nor his wife, but a Miss Tabitha Whitelaw who was mentioned as a leading member of the Massachusetts Anti-Slavery Society. The Society had sponsored a luncheon talk by Miss Margaret Fuller at Miss Whitelaw's home. The date on the newspaper was November 10, 1840, almost exactly two years ago.
All of the threads in Boston seemed to connect. If Margaret Fuller was a friend of Tabitha Whitelaw, perhaps Charlotte could find out from her more about Mr. Benjamin Whitelaw and what sort of man he was. Not that his sister would say a bad word about him, but she might let slip something about his temper. Daniel decided to write to Charlotte and suggest that she might call on Miss Fuller.
First though he would make another effort to find out more about the habits of the man. It was about the time of day when he would leave his office. You can tell a great deal about a man by whether he goes straight home to his wife and family or whether he lingers at a tavern or pays a call on a friend. Daniel hurried down to the dockside again where the fog rolling in made the streets darker than they were uptown. There was still a light in the window of Whitelaw's office, so he stationed himself across the street to watch.
In just a few minutes the light went out upstairs and someone appeared at the door carrying a small lantern. He paused for a minute to look around and started walking briskly up Beacon St. toward a more pleasant neighborhood. Daniel could tell by his height that it must be Mr. Whitelaw so he followed him as inconspicuously as possible. Not that there was any need to worry. Several clumps of sailors were strolling up the street talking loudly and now and then singing a snatch of song. They would have drowned out footsteps even if he'd worn hobnailed boots. Mr. Whitelaw paid no attention to the sailors or anything else, but walked swiftly to the corner of West Street where he turned abruptly to the right.
Daniel had just turned the corner when he saw Whitelaw walk up the steps to one of the small gray houses on the street. It was a neat enough little cottage and well-kept, but nothing like the mansion where Whitelaw lived. When Whitelaw knocked, the door was opened by a little servant girl; behind her Daniel glimpsed a tall woman in a gray dress who held out her hands to greet Whitelaw. He entered and the door closed quickly behind him.
What did this mean? Did Mr. Whitelaw have his own flirtations to carry on? Surely he should have been going straight home to his wife if he was an honest man. Daniel wondered what went on in that mansion of the Whitelaws. He would certainly have plenty of news to give Charlotte in his letter.
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
Charlotte Pays a Call
November 4, 1842
On Friday morning as Charlotte's young students struggled to copy the words she had written on the large slate at the front of the class, Charlotte couldn't get her mind off Mrs. Whitelaw. Why would a woman who led such a comfortable life become entangled with her minister? Most women were struggling to feed their children and take care of their husbands while Violet Whitelaw wasted her time fussing about bonnets. Did she ever have a serious thought in her head? She wouldn't lift a finger to make the world better. Thinking about all the women like her made Charlotte gloomy, so she dismissed her class a little early for dinner and went downstairs where she discovered a note from Daniel:
Dear Miss Edgerton,
Yesterday I learned much of interest. I visited Mr. Benjamin Whitelaw in his office and inquired about Reverend Hopewell. My reception was unfriendly and when I asked permission to speak to Mrs. Whitelaw, I was ordered to leave the premises. There is undoubtedly bad feeling there about Reverend Hopewell.
Perhaps the most interesting news I was able to learn from newspaper files is that Mr. Whitelaw has a sister named Tabitha Whitelaw who appears to be acquainted with Margaret Fuller. Do you think it might be possible for you to inquire from Miss Fuller about the Whitelaws? Is she still visiting your Community? She might be able to tell us more about Mr. Whitelaw's habits and his nature. Another oddity I discovered about the man is that when he left his office last night he did not go immediately to his home, but to another house where he appeared to be visiting a lady. I am growing very curious about Mr. Whitelaw's habits.
May I call on you this coming Sunday so we can talk further about what we have discovered?
Your respectful friend,
Daniel Gallagher
Daniel's news strengthened Charlotte's belief that Mr. Whitelaw had a grudge against Winslow. She found it hard to believe that such a respectable man would commit murder, but a quarrel can easily lead to unplanned violence. She had seen men in taverns beat a man half to death in a fight over a missing calf or a spilled pint of ale.
Miss Fuller was staying with friends at nearby Spring Hill, so Charlotte made plans to pay a visit. On Saturday afternoon after dinner she set out with Ellen, a great admirer of Miss Fuller, who was glad to have a chance to see her heroine. They trudged along the heavily rutted dirt road past brown fields covered with a skim of snow. A pair of clumsy young collies barked at them from an isolated farmhouse, but not a soul was visible around the house or barn. Winter was closing in.
At Spring Hill, they quickly identified the house where Miss Fuller was staying. It was the largest house in the tiny village and the only one that looked as though it would have room for entertaining visitors. Charlotte knocked boldly at the front door and they were soon inside a warm, friendly-looking hallway. Miss Fuller seemed pleased to see them; she was the only one at home except for the cook and housekeeper because her hosts had driven into Boston to buy supplies for the coming cold weather.
The front parlor was austerely furnished with dark upholstered chairs, a large bookcase and a small desk. Charlotte enjoyed sitting in front of the fire blazing in the brick fireplace. After a few polite exchanges, she launched into her questions.
"We are trying to discover the person responsible for the Reverend Hopewell's death," she began. "The sheriff has decided that it was a misadventure caused by an unknown person and he is no longer interested in searching for the culprit. I am determined to continue searching and so is our friend Daniel Gallagher, who works for the Transcript."
"I applaud your determination," said Miss Fuller, "but I don't believe I can help you find any answers."
"Oh, but wait until you hear what we have discovered," Ellen broke in eagerly.
"Our friend Mr. Gallagher," Charlotte continued "has discovered that some of the men in
the congregation of the Third Street Church were rather angry at Reverend Hopewell." She felt herself blushing as she said that and a slight smile crossed Miss Fuller's face.
"Do you think they were jealous of Reverend Hopewell's influence over their wives?" she asked.
"Yes, it has been known to happen that clergymen are indiscreet. In particular we are curious about Mr. and Mrs. Whitelaw. I have spoken with Mrs. Whitelaw and she appears to be overcome with grief caused by Reverend Hopewell's death while her husband became very angry at Mr. Gallagher when asked questions about the man. He seems to harbor anger at the minister. I believe you might know the Whitelaws and perhaps Miss Tabitha Whitelaw too."
Miss Fuller was silent for a few minutes and appeared to be deep in thought. Finally she spoke. "I know Tabitha Whitelaw quite well. She attended several of my Conversations a few years ago and I have met her at various gatherings. She is a very serious person and devoted to causes such as the abolition of slavery. It is mainly in connection with this work that I have seen her. I know her brother and sister-in-law much less well, but I have met them.
"Violet Whitelaw is considerably younger than her husband and his sister. She has two young children and appears to be very devoted to them. She is not from Boston, not even from New England, I believe, but from Virginia. Perhaps that is why she does not strongly support Tabitha's devotion to abolition. I have never seen them quarrel, but at a large reception once I noticed that Violet Whitelaw was fluttering about the room talking gaily to many of the men there and paying very little attention to Tabitha's efforts to engage the group in serious conversation. Benjamin Whitelaw seems to be quite proud of his wife's beauty and charm."
"Does he have a harsh temper?" Charlotte asked. "Do you think he might resort to violence if he thought his wife was doing something he deemed inappropriate?"
Miss Fuller was quiet for a long minute, while the cook came in with a tray bearing a teapot, three teacups and a plate of biscuits.
"Thank you, Mary," said Margaret Fuller with a smile in her voice. "It's very thoughtful of you to have brought us tea."
As she poured the tea and offered biscuits, she shook her head firmly as though she had come to a decision. "I believe I should tell you the story that Tabitha Whitelaw told me about her brother. It might have a bearing on the events here."
Ellen and Charlotte leaned forward with anticipation as she began to speak.
"Some fifteen years ago Benjamin Whitelaw was the first mate on a ship that brought molasses from the West Indies to Boston to be made into rum. The hold was full of cargo, such a large haul that many of the stores were lashed to the the masts on deck. About two days out of Kingston, he was walking the deck at sunrise one morning making sure that everything was in order when he heard a faint noise from behind one of the barrels. It sounded like someone singing. He immediately pulled the barrels and bales aside and discovered a skinny young African huddled behind the stores.
"When Whitelaw hauled him out and demanded to know his business, the youth replied he was fleeing from a cruel slave master who had often beaten him because he was not strong enough to work all day in the sugarcane fields. He was trying to make his way to Canada, which he had heard was the promised land of freedom.
"As a ship's officer Whitelaw knew his duty was to report the runaway to the Captain, but he also knew the Captain was a Southerner who had worked in the slave trade for many years before it was outlawed. A runaway slave could expect no mercy from him. Despite twinges of conscience, Whitelaw determined to hide the runaway and help him escape when the ship reached Boston.
"The days went by as the ship made slow progress north. Winds were not favorable and the crew grew unruly as the days grew longer and their hopes of making it home seemed fainter. And of course as the days passed, the store of supplies on deck dwindled and the runaway's hiding place grew less secure. Finally, late one evening when Whitelaw was in charge of the vessel, he heard a commotion on deck. He investigated and found that the ship's cook, a massive man, had discovered the runaway and hauled him out of his hiding place. He was pursuing the boy with a meat cleaver as the boy tried frantically to escape. Ordered to stop, the cook paid no heed but continued forcing the boy back toward the railing. Finally Whitelaw moved in to stop the cook, but as he moved toward the fighting pair, the cook gave the boy a final push and he fell to the deck hitting his head on a stanchion. It was apparent that he was dead.
"Whitelaw was so incensed at the ferocity of the cook's attack that he rushed at the man and started giving him a thrashing. By this time the noise of the fight attracted a circle of spectators who soon realized Whitelaw would likely kill the cook in his turn. They pulled him off before he could dispatch the cook. At last the captain appeared and gave orders that Whitelaw be confined to his quarters for the day. The runaway was unceremoniously dumped overboard and the cook, as Tabitha tells it, was punished by being deprived of his ration of rum for a week. After all, he had only injured a runaway who should not have been on the ship at all.
"There were no charges brought against Whitelaw, but when the ship returned to Boston the captain spread word about the incident. He claimed Whitelaw was a hothead who might cause trouble and warned other captains not to take him on. That was the end of Whitelaw's career as a ship's officer. It certainly proves that he has a quick, sharp temper, although he seems to have controlled it for these last fifteen years. He became a merchant, earned a lot of money, and has been a leading citizen of the city."
Ellen and Charlotte were enthralled by the story. What sort of man was this who showed such great kindness toward a helpless runaway, but such vicious cruelty to the man who bullied him? Was he the sort of man who might strike and kill an innocent clergyman because his wife found him too attractive?
"That's a heroic story," Ellen commented. "Do you think he would have killed the cook if he had not been stopped? Do you think he is capable of killing?"
Margaret Fuller leaned back in her chair and pulled her gray shawl closer around her shoulders as she said, "Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord. That's what the Bible tells us, isn't it? Yet I can't help honoring a man who tries to save a poor wretched runaway. I was of two minds about telling you this story. I am not sure a man should be a suspect because of the violence he showed when he was young."
Charlotte found herself sighing and shaking her head. "Nothing is easy, is it? What are the pieces we can put together? Benjamin Whitelaw seems to have been troubled by his wife's flirtation with Winslow Hopewell. He has a history of taking it upon himself to punish a man who is doing wrong. Is that what happened? He could have gone to Brook Farm to talk to Reverend Hopewell and ask him to refrain from having contact with his wife. Then perhaps he was seized by jealously and struck out angrily without thinking of the consequences. But how are we to know for sure?"
"Can you find out whether or not he went there?" asked Margaret Fuller. "Surely a man like Benjamin Whitelaw would have ridden a horse, or perhaps driven a buggy out to the Farm for an early morning visit. Did anyone see him? Is there any evidence of a horse being in the area?"
"The recent rain and snow would surely have destroyed any traces of an animal being there," Charlotte admitted slowly. "We will have to find a different way to discover what happened."
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
Daniel Has a Disappointing Day
November 6, 1842.
Daniel had promised to visit Charlotte after dinner on Sunday and he was waiting for her when the Brook Farmers started clearing their tables. The smell of molasses and beans made his mouth water although he had eaten a rasher of bacon and an egg at the boarding house. In the parlor someone was playing the piano, lovely music with trills and flourishes that made him stop for a moment to listen. But he was impatient and eager to talk to Charlotte privately. He had no time to enjoy music today and suggested they take a walk.
November is not the best month for a walk in Massachusetts and the wind was harsh, blowing the crows backwards when they tr
ied to fly into it, but the sun was bright. Charlotte told him the strange story about how Benjamin Whitelaw had protected a runaway African stowaway on his ship and then attacked the man who had struck him down and caused his death. That seemed to prove that Whitelaw was a hothead even though he was a respectable middle-aged Boston businessman. Daniel couldn't picture him either protecting an African or attacking another officer, but there's many a man who has committed rash acts in his youth.
"He might have attacked Winslow Hopewell if he was angry enough about the way the minister was attracting his wife. Don't you think so?" asked Charlotte.
"Yes, I suppose he might. But the sheriff won't be convinced of his guilt just because he was in a fight fifteen years ago. We need to know more than that."
"We have to find out whether he was anywhere near Brook Farm when Reverend Hopewell died. Did he have his horse or buggy out here that morning? If we could find out that he went out early that morning, we would be closer to the answer," suggested Charlotte.
"You're right. Tracking down the horse is the only way to find out. And that's up to me because I can't see you wandering around Boston stables looking for a horse."
"I could, if I had too," insisted Charlotte. "But it will be easier for you. All you have to do is look like an unemployed stable hand looking for a job." She eyed his clothes and then added mischievously, "That shouldn't be too hard for you."
Daniel huffed a bit thinking she had no right to criticize his clothes even though he wasn't wearing his best suit. He had to save that to impress Mr. Cabot. But Charlotte was laughing now and Daniel knew she meant no harm. She had been a poor girl herself and knew what it was like to be always worrying about saving good clothes for when they were really needed.
By the time they got back to the Hive, their cheeks were red and their hands numb with cold, but they sat by the fire in the kitchen for a while and soon felt better. Daniel was cheerful when he headed back to Boston late in the afternoon.