Wishful Seeing

by Janet Kellough

  It would have been a natural thing to ask her then how she had met her husband, but this was a subject that Thaddeus felt disinclined to discuss, and not only, he realized with a start, because her husband had landed her in such a mess. He let the moment go by and started reading again, and a few minutes later the gaoler appeared in the doorway to announce that it was time for him to go.

  “I won’t be back for a few days,” Thaddeus said to Ellen. “But when I return to Cobourg, I’ll come again and read some more if you would like me to.”

  “I would like that very much,” she said. “Thank you, Mr. Lewis.”

  IV

  Thaddeus spent the next three days in the eastern part of his circuit, where there was little opportunity to ask any questions that might further the investigation, but quite by accident he overheard a potential answer to one of the questions Ashby had asked, reported with a great deal of tut-tutting at a women’s prayer meeting. Three Indians from the village on the far shore of Rice Lake were harvesting the wild rice that had given the lake its name when they discovered a small skiff tangled in the reeds and grasses. They recognized the craft as belonging to a man who lived near Gores Landing, and towed it back to him.

  It was only after a few days of reflection that the owner, a Mr. Greeley, realized the significance of this and reported it to the local constable.

  “I didn’t think nothing of it when I found the boat was gone,” the man said. “I thought mebbe it had just drifted away, or someone had borrowed it and would bring it back sooner or later. It was only after I pondered for a bit about when it went missing that I thought mebbe it might have something to do with the murder.”

  “That would have occurred to anyone else right away,” one of the women said. “But Harry Greeley never was too well endowed in the brains department. It’s a wonder he thought of it at all.”

  There was no telling, of course, whether or not this was the boat that had taken Paul Sherman to Spook Island, but Thaddeus figured the timing was right, and the discovery seemed to suggest that Sherman had been following George Howell and not the other way around. After all, Howell had rented a boat. Sherman, if it was Sherman, had simply taken the first one he ran across.

  At least Thaddeus would now have something concrete to report when Ashby returned that evening.

  He arrived home to discover that Martha had rearranged the dining room.

  “How did you manage to move the sideboard?” he asked. It was a solid, carved piece that was far too heavy for one person to shift.

  “Mrs. Small gave me a hand,” she said. “I pulled it out to clean and by the time it was far enough from the wall to dust behind, it was halfway into the room anyway.”

  She had also dressed her hair in a new arrangement of braids and knots.

  “What do you think?” she asked when he commented on this.

  “I think you’re pretty no matter what you do with your hair,” Thaddeus replied. “Didn’t that take an awfully long time to do?” The style looked complicated and time-consuming.

  “Yes, but don’t worry, I didn’t skimp on any chores.”

  “I can tell that by the fact that you dusted behind the sideboard.” He wasn’t at all sure that the extravagant hairstyle was appropriate for a fifteen year old, but he had no basis, really, on which to make that assessment. For the millionth time he wished that his wife Betsy was there. She would have known.

  Martha had organized dinner on the assumption that Ashby would arrive at the same late hour as before. Much to her chagrin, he knocked on the door at five o’clock.

  “I’ve been informed that reasonable people eat their suppers at five,” he said. “I must apologize for arriving so late the other night.”

  Not knowing what time supper would be served, Martha had concocted something she called “ragout of beef” which could simmer on the stove until it was wanted, but there were still last-minute touches that she hadn’t completed. Thaddeus thought she did an admirable job of hiding her annoyance.

  “Food will be a few moments yet,” she said. “Do come in. And no talking about the case while I’m gone.” Then she disappeared into the kitchen.

  Ashby handed his hat to Thaddeus, then they both settled themselves in the parlour.

  Ashby smiled. “Well, we’ve been given our orders. Now I don’t dare tell you anything until Miss Renwell returns.”

  “Yes, we’ll have to discuss other topics. Otherwise I’ll never have comfortable socks again.”

  “How goes the railway? It was all anybody could talk about at the Globe the other night.”

  “As far as I know, it goes apace,” Thaddeus said. “It’s a dreadful nuisance for anyone attempting to travel the roads near the line, but I haven’t heard of any particular delays. There’s been another bond issue go out, which the people of Cobourg are snapping up at a great rate. Forty thousand pounds worth, or so I’m told.”

  Ashby looked concerned. “You haven’t bought any of them, have you?”

  Thaddeus laughed. “Ministers don’t have money to invest in anything other than the necessities of life. Why do you ask?”

  “Just some things I’ve heard. It’s the sort of enterprise that the big players will make a great deal of money from. I’m not so sure it’s a good deal for the small investor.”

  “But I thought the bonds were guaranteed by the government?”

  “And I expect those members of government who invested will see to it that their returns are paid. As for the rest,” he paused and shrugged his shoulders, “I don’t know if the principal will ever be repaid, never mind generate any interest. And the municipalities that invested will have to hope that the promised prosperity actually materializes. Otherwise the taxpayer will be left to pony up.”

  If true, this was bad news indeed for the town of Cobourg. All their plans for a grand new hall in the centre of town depended on everybody getting rich from the railway.

  “The only person who appears to be guaranteed of anything is the contractor, Samuel Zimmerman,” Ashby went on. “He seems to have tied up the agreements for an enormous number of these smaller projects, all with clauses that allow him to charge extra for unforeseen difficulties in construction. Gossip has it that difficulties will be encountered in every single one of them.”

  “But why would anyone agree to such an open-ended contract?” Thaddeus asked.

  “Because Zimmerman somehow has the ability to expedite their charters in the first place. No Zimmerman, no railway. And he floats his negotiations on a sea of champagne. The company directors sign on in a golden haze, then he does what he wants with them.”

  “And if the directors refuse to pay the extra charges?”

  “They don’t get control of the line. Zimmerman doesn’t have to turn it over until he’s been fully compensated.”

  “Champagne and greed are a bad combination, aren’t they?”

  “Believe it. And should you happen to have a little extra money, there are far better investments, trust me.”

  Thaddeus had many more questions he wanted to ask Ashby, but Martha appeared in the doorway to announce that their meal was ready. She must have finished her preparations in record time. They filed into the dining room and Ashby pulled out a chair for Martha before he went to his own, then he took his seat and waited while Thaddeus said grace.

  Martha served them from a covered bowl that Thaddeus was pretty sure was meant to be a soup tureen. She passed Ashby a plate, and his face lit up when he took his first bite of the ragout.

  “This is delicious. Much better than the fare at the Globe. You’d better be careful, Mr. Lewis, or the hotel will try to steal your cook.”

  Martha blushed, but all she said was “Thank you.”

  “I made a good choice when I asked her to keep house for me,” Thaddeus agreed, determined to give credit where it was due. “She’s a fine cook.”
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br />   Martha blushed even redder.

  “Well, now that we’re all in the same room, I can fill you in on what I’ve discovered,” Ashby said, getting down to business right away. “As I indicated in my letter, Mrs. Howell had absolutely nothing to contribute to my understanding of the case. In fact, she almost seemed uninterested in anything I had to say. I came away with the impression that she’s protecting someone, and that she’s willing to go to any lengths to do so.”

  “Her husband?” Thaddeus offered. “Maybe she knows where he is and is afraid to say a word in case she gives something away.”

  “Maybe.” But the young lawyer looked unconvinced. “I keep coming back to the funny land deal, although I’m still not sure what the connection is. The title seems to be clear enough as of the present. In the past, the difficulties appear to have been a little more than the usual contention over whether or not settlement duties were carried out. The thorniest of these cases often concern the districts where there was confusion over how many acres the land agent could claim as his own. I don’t know whether or not this is one of those cases, or how it ties anything to Paul Sherman, but I have a colleague who has agreed to dig back through the registries to see what he can find. With any luck, I should have an answer before the trial begins.”

  “There was an old man at one of my meetings who said his uncle farmed that land years ago, but that he couldn’t ever get clear title. He seemed to think that Jack Plews didn’t own it in the first place, because of the prior difficulties. And an old woman in Sully said she could remember several disputes in the neighbourhood.”

  There was something else that Patience Gordon had told him, but Thaddeus couldn’t quite retrieve the conversation from his memory.

  “The general consensus around here is that the railway company will just pay off whoever owns the land so they can go ahead and build their station,” Martha said.

  “Yes, that’s what I’ve been hearing, too,” Thaddeus said. “It would be rather a lot of money by ordinary standards, but everyone seems to think it’s nothing at all for the company. And I don’t see how it could be enough to justify murder.”

  Ashby shook his head. “People have been killed over the matter of a few pounds, you know. It happens all the time. But it does raise the question of someone besides Mr. Howell having a motive for murder, provided, of course, that Paul Sherman can somehow be tied to ownership of the land. After all, Howell and Plews already have their money from the sale, and sorting out the title is the railway’s problem.”

  “Even if you can find someone with a motive, don’t you have to prove that this someone else actually shot Mr. Sherman?” Martha asked.

  “No, actually. In this particular instance, the rule in Hodge’s should apply.”

  “Which is what?”

  “The case against Ellen Howell rests on the premise that she and her husband went to Spook Island with criminal intent, and that the murder was committed in the course of enacting this intent.”

  Martha nodded with impatience. Ashby had already explained this.

  “This is based purely on circumstantial evidence. The rule says that the court can convict only if the evidence is consistent with the guilt of the accused and inconsistent with any other rational conclusion based on fact.”

  “So if we can find someone else who had a good reason to kill Paul Sherman, that would be enough to prove Ellen Howell’s innocence?” Thaddeus said.

  “Well, not entirely,” Ashby said. “Circumstantial evidence can consist of many things. Motive is certainly important, and in this case George Howell doesn’t appear to have one. He had opportunity — he was there on the island with Sherman — but I’m not sure the opportunity was exclusive. There were many other people on the lake that afternoon. Any one of them could have put ashore, or even, I suppose, have fired the shot from a boat.”

  He stopped for a moment as a thought struck him. “I wonder no one heard the shot? Noises echo across water in a way they don’t on land. Unless the wind was blowing in the wrong direction. You don’t happen to remember what the wind was like that day, do you, Mr. Lewis?”

  “No, I don’t,” Thaddeus said, “but it doesn’t matter. There was work being done on the bridge. The crews were putting in the log supports with a pile driver. I remarked at the time on what a racket they were making.”

  “Excellent. Remind me to write that down later.”

  No writing at all would take place unless Ashby started to eat a little faster, Thaddeus thought. He had been so busy talking that he had taken only a few bites of food from his plate.

  “As well, a jury would have to consider whether or not Howell had the means to commit the crime,” Ashby went on. “No one knows if he had a firearm with him, so I expect a certain amount of doubt could be raised over that. And although he is certainly a bit of a shady character, there is no history of violence.”

  The taste of Martha’s excellent supper suddenly turned sour in Thaddeus’s mouth. The livid marks on Ellen Howell’s forearm were a sure sign of violence. The Gordons didn’t seem to think that they had been inflicted by her husband, but Thaddeus could think of no other explanation for what he had seen. Reluctantly, he told Ashby about it.

  “Really?” Ashby thought for a moment. “Were you the only person who saw the bruises?”

  “Patience Gordon noticed them. And a number of other people did as well.”

  “Still, that’s no proof that Howell would kill a man. It’s not good news as far as our defence goes, but there’s a lot of difference between raising your hand to your wife and actually killing a man.”

  “Not really,” Martha interjected. “If you can hit someone you love, what are you capable of with someone you don’t?” She looked at her grandfather, as if she expected him to protest this statement. “We need to anticipate what the prosecution will say,” she pointed out. “I expect they would have rather a lot to say if they thought Mr. Howell was in the habit of beating his wife.”

  “Yes, Martha, you’re quite right,” Ashby said. “We’ll just have to hope that the prosecution doesn’t know about it. Whether or not they do, they certainly will make a great deal about Howell’s apparent flight and continuing absence, but really, that and opportunity are the rather shaky cornerstones of the prosecution’s case.”

  “But if you find a connection between Mr. Howell and Mr. Sherman, don’t you run the risk of supplying the motive?” Martha asked.

  “My goodness, my dear, you could be a barrister yourself,” Ashby said with a laugh.

  “But really,” she insisted, “aren’t you taking a chance?”

  “Yes I am. But you can be certain that the prosecution is scrambling to find the same thing. I don’t need any surprises in court. If I know about it, I can deal with it. And if I’m really lucky, I’ll find something they don’t.”

  “I have another piece of information that may or may not help,” Thaddeus said. He was beginning to feel a little left out of this conversation. Once again all the really intelligent remarks had been made by his granddaughter. “I have a strong suspicion that George Howell has been passing bad money.” Briefly, he outlined what he had seen at the camp meeting. “Afterward, I discovered a number of bad notes in my collection plate.”

  “Currency exchange,” Ashby said, “the perfect way to introduce counterfeit bills without much chance of getting caught. And it would be particularly easy with all the uncertainty over the new currency law. Yes, that would fit with the impression I got of George Howell. Is it possible that Paul Sherman was stung? And that he threatened to expose Howell?”

  “But why go all the way to Spook Island to do it?” Thaddeus said. He was getting his stride back. “You could have that sort of argument on the main street of Cobourg and no one would take any notice. In fact, if Sherman wanted to confront Howell, it would be in his best interests to do it in a public place.”

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bsp; “Yes, the island. Why the island?”

  Ashby’s expression mirrored his puzzlement. He sat, head bowed slightly, lips pursed. Thaddeus wasn’t sure whether to break the silence or not, so he reached for a sip of water while he waited for Ashby to work through whatever line of thought had suddenly struck him. The movement appeared to bring the young lawyer back to the present. He looked up at Thaddeus, then at Martha, then down at his plate, as if he had only just noticed the food that was there. He grabbed his fork and disposed of his main course in short order, delicately dabbing at his mouth when he was finished.

  Martha carried the dishes into the kitchen and returned with dessert — poached pears with shortcake.

  “Splendid!” Ashby said, and without delay picked up his spoon and ate. By the time Martha brought the coffee through to the dining room, he had finished and was pulling papers out of his briefcase.

  “So where does this leave us?” he asked. “What do we need to know that we don’t already?”

  “I do have an observation about Ellen Howell’s continued silence,” Thaddeus said.

  “Oh yes?” Ashby stopped fussing with his papers and gave Thaddeus his full attention.

  “I went to the Howell farm, but I didn’t get much chance to look around. It was obvious that someone is living there, and it appears that it’s the Howells’ daughter, Caroline.”

  “They have a daughter? How old?”

  “I judge her to be twelve or thirteen maybe. The neighbours say she’s very shy at the best of times, but now that so many troubles have afflicted her family, she’s grown very reclusive. She runs away whenever anybody approaches.”

  “Did Ellen Howell say anything about her when you were speaking to her?”

  “Not really. And that’s what I’m puzzled about. If you had a shy twelve-year-old who was suddenly left alone on a remote farmstead, wouldn’t you be asking how she was managing? Or if anybody had thought to look after her? I worry enough about Martha, and she’s older and has the Smalls right next door.”