Thaddeus shoved the letter across the table to her. He had hoped that Luke might know of an experienced barrister, but he supposed that even someone who was newly qualified was better than someone who had no real interest in the case. And this Mr. Ashby was Perry Biddulph’s cousin. If he needed advice, surely he would be able to draw on his connections, even if they were as “distant” as Luke’s letter seemed to indicate. No doubt the Biddulph family was full of lawyers.
“Oh good,” Martha said when she had finished reading it.
“Good that he’s found someone, yes,” Thaddeus said, “not so good that he has so little experience.”
“No, it’s not that. I was afraid that if Luke found someone, he would end up staying here.”
“Well, it crossed my mind,” Thaddeus said, but not with any degree of certainty. “He is working for free. The least I could do is offer. Would that be a problem?”
“No, of course not, although it might set the neighbours talking, when you’re away so much. It’s just that …” she hesitated for a moment. “It’s just that it’s been kind of nice having the house to myself most of the time. Not that I’m unhappy when you’re here,” she added hurriedly, “but I don’t exactly mind it when you’re not, either. It’s been nice not to have much of a routine.”
Thaddeus could well understand this. She had, after all, grown up at a busy hotel, where each day’s tasks were laid out for her every morning, when meals were at set times, where the schedule was public knowledge and strictly adhered to. He supposed her delight in having the house to herself was akin to his own feeling of well-being when he was riding alone from place to place. It appeared that he and Martha were much alike in that respect.
“I understand what you mean. And you’re right — it wouldn’t be appropriate to have him here, although we should probably invite him to dinner. Would that be all right?”
She smiled. “I can manage dinner as long as I don’t have him underfoot every day.”
“Then we’ll let this Mr. Ashby stay in rooms elsewhere.”
“Try Mrs. Baker’s. I hear she offers a fair room and board and it’s close to the courthouse.”
And with the practical ramifications neatly arranged to her satisfaction, Martha rose to dish up their somewhat overcooked meal.
Thaddeus had no difficulty identifying Towns Ashby as soon as he stepped from the steamer to the dock. He was a tall, thinly built young man in a finely cut coat opened to reveal a waistcoat that was a little more garish than those normally seen in a place like Cobourg. It was something more suited to the drawing rooms of the city, Thaddeus thought, at some event like the soiree that his son Luke had attended one time. Ashby was also the only passenger who didn’t alight and immediately set off for the town. He stood looking around the wharf with an expectant air.
Thaddeus stepped forward. “Mr. Ashby? How do you do? I’m Thaddeus Lewis.”
Ashby responded with a wide grin and doffed his hat, revealing an unruly mop of black hair. “I’m so pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Lewis. Thank you so much for meeting me.” He offered his hand in a firm shake. “My luggage has yet to be unloaded, if you don’t mind waiting for just a moment.” And then, before Thaddeus had any opportunity to say whether he minded or not, “I’d have known you anyway, you know. Luke will look just like you twenty years from now.”
“More’s the pity,” Thaddeus joked.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Ashby said. “He’s quite presentable. At least, my cousin Perry seems to think so.”
The young man didn’t elaborate on this odd comment, and just then the porter set a small leather-bound trunk onto the dock.
“I can carry the trunk, if you would be so kind as to take my valise,” Ashby said.
When Thaddeus picked it up he was surprised by the weight of it.
“I tucked in a few law books — easy reference for those cases in precedent that I don’t quite have at my fingertips yet. I’m too newly qualified. Can you manage it?”
“Of course. I didn’t expect it to be so heavy, that’s all.”
They flagged down a wagon. After they loaded the luggage the driver looked at them for directions.
“I’m told that a Mrs. Baker offers clean rooms at a fair price,” Thaddeus said. “Would you like to inspect them?”
“How kind of you to think of it,” Ashby said. “I’m sure they’re lovely, but I asked around before I left Toronto and found that the Globe Hotel comes highly recommended. I thought perhaps I’d take a room there. If it proves unsatisfactory, I can always fall back on Mrs. Baker’s establishment.”
Thaddeus was astonished. The Globe Hotel was touted as the finest hostelry between Kingston and Toronto. It was quite grand, and therefore quite expensive. Apparently this Ashby was accustomed to the best. But he was, after all, a cousin of the Biddulphs, Thaddeus reminded himself, even if the relationship was distant.
“I’m sure the Globe would be most adequate,” he said meekly. “I guess the thing to do would be to get you settled there first, but would you care to join us for supper this evening? I could fill you in on what I know about the case. My granddaughter is my housekeeper and she’s a fair cook.”
“I’d be delighted. You’re so kind.”
Thaddeus deposited him at the hotel and gave directions to the manse, then went home and told Martha to prepare for a guest.
“What’s he like?” Martha asked.
“He seems a very pleasant fellow,” Thaddeus replied. “Other than that, I guess we’ll just have to find out.”
Ashby arrived quite late that evening, long past the usual supper hour. Thaddeus ushered him in and introduced him to Martha. Ashby took her hand and bowed over it, ever so slightly, one eyebrow raised.
Martha’s eyes widened a little, but she quickly recovered her self-possession and bade him sit in the parlour until dinner was served.
The only word Thaddeus could think of to describe Townsend Ashby was polished. But it could well be a deliberately assumed manner — there were hints of a more exuberant nature under the veneer, one that bubbled up when something caught his attention and stirred his interest. In the meantime, his affable courtesy and ease of address made Thaddeus instantly comfortable. Ashby appeared not to notice the shabbiness of the chair he was sitting in, or the fustiness of the manse furnishings. He merely leaned back, gracefully folded his legs and beamed at his host.
“I can’t thank you enough for making me welcome,” he said. “This is my first time in Cobourg, and I must admit I’m a bit lost. You’ve been so kind.”
Thaddeus rather suspected that you could dump Towns Ashby down in the middle of Arabia or any other exotic place in the world and he would immediately find some way to make himself comfortable, but the sentiment was appreciated nonetheless.
“And how are things in the city?” Thaddeus asked, groping for a civilized remark.
“Hectic, as always,” Ashby said. “Everyone rushing around trying to do business with everyone else. The prospect of reciprocity has everyone nattering on about new opportunities, and of course, the whole country has gone railway mad.”
“No more so than here. The town of Cobourg has invested thousands in a line to Peterborough.”
“The feeling in the city is that all those thousands may turn into millions if we have free access to American markets.”
“Do you think that’s likely to happen?”
Ashby shrugged. “I expect the American government will need some persuading, but there’s an insatiable demand for raw materials in the States. The right pressure exerted at the right time may swing it.”
“So all this railway construction isn’t as foolish as it appears?”
Ashby smiled. “I didn’t say that. We’ll have to see how it all plays out. Your son sends his best regards, by the way. I ran across him the other day, quite by accident, in one of the ph
armacies. He was buying enormous packets of things.”
“That’s good. That means he’s busy.”
“Oh, I understand that he has a thriving practice. There are even a few people from Toronto who travel all the way to Yorkville just to consult him. I expect my cousin Perry has sent some traffic his way. Apparently Luke has been the saving of the practice. Christie is such an odd duck.”
“Yes, he is,” Thaddeus said. “But I like him very much. And he has certainly been good to Luke. I’m not sure what would have happened to the boy if Christie hadn’t taken him on.”
Ashby gave him an odd look, but before he could say anything more, Martha appeared in the parlour doorway to invite them into the dining room, a room that had seen little use to date, other than as a repository for Martha’s mending. This had all now been cleared away. The table was polished to a gleam, and the badly worn rug, the corner of which had tripped Thaddeus the first time he walked across the room, was nowhere to be seen. Martha had gone to a great deal of trouble to impress their guest. Or maybe the improvements to the dining room were just another result of her experimentation with the furniture.
Somewhere in the sideboard she had discovered a matching set of reasonable-quality dishes with which to set the table, a step up from the cracked and mismatched collection of dinnerware they used when they ate in the kitchen. She served lamb chops. They were a little overdone, not surprising since she had been frantically trying to hold their dinner in an edible state until Ashby’s arrival. The savoury onion sauce she spooned over them helped disguise the blackened edges. Thaddeus was so ravenous he would have bolted down anything she put on the table. He dove in to the food on his plate.
Ashby was a charming dinner guest, having the ability to appear profoundly attentive to whatever remarks his companions made, whether they merited any weight or not. Thaddeus could see that Martha was flattered when any observation she ventured was taken quite seriously and responded to with consideration. Small talk, including several remarks about the unusually hot summer, occupied the first few minutes of their meal. Thaddeus wondered at the propriety of introducing the topic of murder over the dinner table, but decided that he might just as well, as murder was Ashby’s only reason for being there in the first place.
“I don’t know whether this has any bearing on the Sherman case or not,” he said, “but at any rate you may find it interesting in light of what you were saying about the railway turning thousands into millions. There was some sharp dealing with regard to the sale of some lands that one of the stations is to be built on.”
Briefly, he outlined what he had heard about Jack Plews and the land at Sully.
Ashby absorbed this for a moment and then he said, “This could well be more than a simple case of an argument gone wrong then, do you think?”
“I wasn’t at all sure that’s what it was to begin with.”
“You could be right,” Ashby said. “An argument is the simplest explanation, and all too distressingly often the simplest thing is what, in fact, occurred, but that scenario doesn’t offer our client much of a defence. If you have any other theories, I’d like to hear them.”
“I’m not sure I’d call them theories,” Thaddeus said, “but there are some very peculiar aspects to the case that puzzle me.”
“My grandfather has quite a history of sorting out puzzles, you know,” Martha said as she passed a dish of mashed parsnip.
“Yes, I did know that,” Ashby said. “He’s been involved in several rather thrilling adventures, hasn’t he? I’ve heard all about them.”
“From my son, I expect,” Thaddeus said.
Ashby waved a languid hand. “Yes, some from Luke, although the topic rather embarrasses him, but I’ve heard from other sources as well.”
Thaddeus wondered what other sources could possibly have any information about his past history, but Ashby didn’t seem inclined to elaborate. Instead he said, “So, what can you tell me about the woman who has been accused?”
“I don’t know a great deal about Ellen Howell at all. She attended a couple of my services, but it was in the company of others, and purely, I’m sure, for the entertainment it afforded. And anything I know about her came via her neighbour, although I have no reason to believe that the information is inaccurate in any way.”
“So you have no particular interest in this woman?”
“No, not really, except that I hate to see anyone subjected to trial without adequate counsel. Especially when it’s a capital offence.”
“Fair enough,” Ashby said, and turned his attention to the delicate dissection of a chop.
Thaddeus was grateful that the young barrister didn’t belabour the point. If pressed, he would have a great deal of difficulty explaining his interest. He wasn’t sure what it was himself.
“She’s English, but has been here for a number of years,” he went on. “The Howell farm is just south of Sully, which is on the near shore of Rice Lake. That’s where the railway will cross if they ever manage to build the bridge. She’s liked well enough in the neighbourhood, although her particular class of English settler tends to consider itself of a finer cut than the ordinary farmers around them. Everyone refers to Mr. Howell, her husband, as “The Major.” Thaddeus shrugged. “I’m not sure if he really was ever a major or not. Apparently he puts on a few airs, but no one takes it very seriously, and that’s their way of showing him up.”
And then he stopped, momentarily embarrassed. He knew nothing about this young man who sat across from him. For all Thaddeus knew, Ashby himself came from that same background and might take offence at his remarks.
However, “I see,” was his only response, and he appeared in no way put out, but returned to carving away at another thin slice of lamb. He was taking an enormous amount of time to eat his meal. Thaddeus had dispatched his in short order and Martha appeared to have finished, as well, but Ashby’s plate was still half full of food. Martha took a slice of bread and made a great business of buttering it while Thaddeus toyed with a spoonful of potatoes, both of them waiting for Ashby to catch up. He seemed in no hurry, and frequently placed his knife and fork on the sides of his plate when he spoke, a habit that further delayed the completion of the meal.
“Why don’t you just tell me what you’ve heard, whether it’s confirmed or not?” he said. “I have the basic facts from the news articles, but I’d like to get an idea of the lay of the land, so to speak. What is Mrs. Howell’s explanation of what happened?”
Thaddeus was happy to oblige, not least because as long as someone else was talking, Ashby would continue to work away at his dinner.
“She offers no explanation at all. She seems to think that the whole affair has been decided already, and that her days on this Earth are numbered.”
“Really? Now that’s interesting.”
“She claims not to know the victim, and denies ever having been on Spook Island where the body was found, but other than that, I don’t believe she’s provided any details that would either prove or disprove the allegations.”
“And the blood-stained dress?”
“I don’t know,” Thaddeus said. “I don’t think she said anything about it.”
Ashby must finally have noticed that the others were waiting for him to finish his meal, because he let silence fall as he scooped up the rest of the food on his plate, then laid his knife and fork across it to signal that he was finished. Martha rose to clear the dishes away and returned a few moments later with a pudding and a carafe of coffee, instead of the usual pot of tea she and Thaddeus normally shared after meals. She must have decided that a city person would prefer the more exotic beverage.
As soon as they finished dessert, Ashby reached for his valise and pulled out a stack of papers.
“Would you like to use the parlour?” Thaddeus asked. “There’s a good writing desk there.”
“Oh no, I’m fine
here, if you don’t mind me commandeering your table,” Ashby replied. “There’s room to spread these papers out, and I must admit I wouldn’t mind getting Miss Renwell’s opinion of the case. I’ll willingly forego my brandy and cigar so that she can remain with us.”
Thaddeus didn’t bother to point out that there weren’t any cigars, or brandy either, and that this was a Methodist household where Ashby would be unlikely to ever be offered such things, but he was pleased that Martha wasn’t being chased away. She had as good a grasp of the case as he did, and might well remember some detail he had forgotten.
Martha looked astonished. The law was men’s business, as a rule, and ladies were seldom invited. Nevertheless, she smiled a little and said, “I’d be happy to consult, if you give me but a moment. I’ll just clear away the dishes.”
“Well,” Thaddeus said as soon as Martha returned and took her seat, an eager look on her face. “Where do we start?”
“Let’s just recap what we know to date,” Ashby began. “What I could gather from the papers is this: Mr. and Mrs. Howell were seen in the village of Sully by a number of steamer passengers and a few of the villagers, but they weren’t seen to board the boat. Instead, they rented a small skiff and went out on the lake for the afternoon. No one saw them return.”
For some reason, Thaddeus found that he was reluctant to mention that he had seen someone in blue rowing for shore that same afternoon. After all, he wasn’t at all certain that it had been Ellen Howell. It could have been anyone else. There were any number of people on the lake that day.
Ashby went on. “Some time later, a Mr.,” here he stopped and shuffled through his notes again, “Donald Dafoe discovered a body on Spook Island, which, I take it, is in Rice Lake?”
“Yes. More or less halfway across at that point, and set a little away from the other islands.”
Ashby nodded. “Mr. Dafoe delayed reporting the discovery until his father persuaded him that it would be in his best interest to do so. A contingent of local law enforcement went to the island to confirm the report. As Dafoe said, there was a dead man who had been both shot and whacked on the head. Nothing was found in the deceased’s pockets, but there was a banknote stuck on a bush. The police then questioned the neighbours, who reported having seen the Howells that day, one of them having rented out his boat to them, but this gentleman was unsure who returned it or when. Based on these accounts, the chief constable proceeded to the Howell farm, where he discovered a blue dress soaking in a washtub. The dress has a stain on the skirt, which the constable concluded was a bloodstain. Mrs. Howell was arrested on the spot. Mr. Howell would have been as well, except that no one seems to know what’s become of him. Is that correct?”
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