“But Mother didn’t need eyeglasses,” Faith said with a frown.
“True. In our family it’s only thy grandfather and me. Now, thee, Faith?” I smiled at her, with her rosy cheeks and clear eyes. “Who will thee apprentice to? John Whittier, perhaps?”
“I don’t know as yet. I’m not aspiring to write poetry.” She frowned. “Perhaps the Amesbury and Salisbury Villager would let me write a news story now and again, or publish a serial.” A dreamy look came into her eyes. “But I really want to write like Alcott. I want to write stories, novels that everyone will want to read. I wish she hadn’t passed on last year. I wish I could meet her.”
Luke burst into the room. “I’m hungry.” He grabbed an apple from the wide wooden bowl in the pantry and took an enormous bite out of it.
“When is thee not hungry, beanpole?” Faith said. “We’ll have supper in fifteen minutes. Run and wash up, and tell the rest to do the same.”
Faith’s more carefree life as a teenage girl had been snatched from her with my sister’s passing, but she was doing an admirable job of mothering her younger siblings and being a responsible worker while still managing to enjoy her own life as much as possible. And, of course, there were plenty of girls of seventeen who were already married and mothers of babes in arms. The ambition of both Annie and Faith to be more than that pleased me, as I knew it would have Harriet. Being a mill worker hadn’t been her career of choice, but I knew she’d been saving what money she could so she might follow her dream of being a horticulturist. Poor Harriet had left me that small nest egg wrapped in a handkerchief. I was saving it for an emergency, since I had already followed my own dream.
Luke ran into the house as we all sat eating our porridge the next morning. He’d been out getting Frederick’s horse ready for the two of them to ride to the Academy. One of the blessings of Frederick’s position was that his older children could attend classes free of the cost of tuition, so these days Luke rode to school behind Frederick on the family horse. As Faith had done before my sister’s passing.
Betsy picked at her breakfast, more interested in playing with her little straw doll than eating. Matthew and Mark bickered quietly about the rules to a new game they had made up.
Luke stood in the doorway. His face was pale, his eyebrows drawn together.
“Come in, Luke, and shut the door,” Frederick said. “Thee is letting the cold in. Now, what’s this face?”
Luke shut the door. “Terrible news! I heard some men across the fence in the factory yard,” he choked out. “Thomas Parry was killed.”
Faith brought her hand to her mouth. Frederick’s square face turned stern. I narrowed my eyes. Everything seemed to revolve around the Parry family this week.
“That is tragic news. Did they say how or when?” I asked.
“Sometime in the night. He was stabbed.” His mouth turned down. “To death.”
Faith held out an arm. “Come here, Luke. This is indeed terrible news.”
Luke hurried to his sister’s side and let himself be embraced. The children were all still so affected by Harriet’s demise that any new death was a reminder of their own loss. I wished Frederick had been the one to comfort Luke, but that was not his habit.
“What does stabbed mean?” Betsy asked, kicking her chair with her feet.
Mark opened his mouth to answer.
I held up a hand to Mark. “It means he was hurt, Betsy.” I said.
“But to death means he died,” Mark said. “Like Mother.” His eyes filled.
“And like Isaiah.” Matthew laid his head on his arms, the sound of his weeping filling all our hearts. Mark put his arms around his twin and Betsy watched them with wide eyes, her hands stroking her doll.
“Our town has seen too much violence this week,” I said. “Let us take a moment, all of us, to hold Thomas Parry’s soul in the Light, and that of anyone who cannot find a peaceful way in which to live.”
Frederick pursed his lips. Perhaps I should have waited for him to call for a moment of grace, but in my experience I would have waited a goodly long time, and the children needed the comfort of silence now. He finally joined the rest of the family members as they closed their eyes and fell silent, Matthew’s sobs quieting, Betsy’s feet stilling. I joined them, but my mind was not so still. Thomas Parry dead. William’s son murdered. Who would kill him? It had to be connected with the arson of the factory. I prayed it wasn’t a revengeful act by Ephraim Pickard.
After Frederick cleared his throat, his signal that the time of prayer was complete, I stood. “Now, there’s still school in your day,” I said to the children. “Let’s get you ready, shall we?” I bustled the three youngest into the next room to don their coats and make sure their shoes were properly laced up.
When the children were ready, I led the way back into the kitchen. Faith was preparing the lunch pails, speaking in a soft voice to Luke, who helped her. Frederick must have gone out to bring the horse around, a gelding Betsy had named Star. I pulled on my cloak and clattered down the back steps. Frederick stood at the fence holding Star’s reins and talking with a man from the factory. When I joined them, Frederick shook his head.
“Not much more information than Luke told us, Rose.”
The man tipped his hat and greeted me.
“Who did thee hear it from, the news of Thomas Parry’s death?” I asked him. I stroked Star’s soft nose.
“Well, miss,” the man said, “it was my sister who works up to Haverhill. She was on her way to catch the Ellis trolley when she met the Parrys’ kitchen girl going out for fresh milk at dawn. That household is all a flurry. My sister came back right quick to tell us about it.”
“We thank thee,” Frederick said. He turned back to the house and I followed. “We must be off to school, Luke and I. This is a sad and serious turn in events, though.” He shook his head.
“I’ll see thee tonight. I might venture to the Parry home to make sure Lillian isn’t too distraught.” And to see what else I could learn about this serious turn of events, I added to myself.
I arrived at the stately Parry home on Hillside Street. The large house, almost a mansion, which had been built only a few years before, featured all the latest styles in the homes of the financially comfortable: the hexagonal corner room with its own pointed hat of a roof, elaborate shingling, various slants to the other portions of roof, large rooms, and the covered porch that wrapped around three sides of the home ending in a portico.
Kevin Donovan rushed down the stairs of the wide veranda. He halted when he saw me walking up the path from the street.
“Miss Carroll, what are you doing here?” He folded his arms across his chest.
“I heard the news. It’s so very sad. Has thee learned who killed poor Thomas?”
“Now, I know I asked you to keep your eyes and ears out about the case of arson, but I can’t be talking about a murder case with you. I repeat, what are you doing here?”
“I’m Lillian Parry’s midwife. I came to make sure she isn’t suffering from distress.” I looked him straight in the eye.
He snorted. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say it was more a case of her doing a happy jig now Thomas is gone. For all I know she stabbed the young man herself, just to be rid of him. It’s no secret they hated each other. And many others in town didn’t like him, either.”
“She did once mention Thomas didn’t care much for her. Did thee speak with William, too?” I asked.
“His grief is relentless, poor man. Who wouldn’t drown in sorrow, losing his only son? I regretted having to question him at such a time, but a case of murder demands it.”
I nodded. “Indeed.”
“Aye. Well, I’m off to speak with that Eph—” He cleared his throat. “With a possible suspect.”
“Does thee mean Ephraim Pickard? Oh, no. I’m sure he wouldn’t kill a soul.”
> Kevin sighed. “You were the one who told me about him, and that Thomas Parry fired him. That he had soot on his shirt. Maybe the fire wasn’t enough, because Thomas survived it. Maybe Ephraim did him in. What do you think of that idea?”
I shook my head and pulled my cloak closer about me. “I don’t believe it. Does thee have evidence? Does thee have the knife, the murder weapon?”
“How do you know about that?” His tone grew even more exasperated.
“I don’t.” I shrugged. “Thee said he was stabbed. I assumed it was with a knife. Was it something else?”
“Miss Carroll. Rose! Leave off these conjectures. Get in and see your patient. I’ll do the police work around here. Do you understand?” He pointed to the front door with his arm extended.
I understood that all of a sudden he didn’t want my help, after all. “Thee needn’t be so harsh with me. Good luck in thy investigation.” I walked up the stairs.
Kevin climbed into the police wagon waiting at the edge of the wide street. He glanced at me and shook his finger before signaling the waiting officer to drive off. I waved at him, then tapped the heavy door rapper shaped like a carriage wheel. If I uncovered a piece of information, that would only help him in his job, wouldn’t it? I wasn’t sure why I was so driven to discover the truth, but I knew that drive was part of who I was and always had been.
The house maid pulled the door open. Her white cap sat askew and her apron sat a little off kilter, as well. I had met her on my initial visit to Lillian.
“Oh, Miss Carroll. It’s a dreadful day. Just dreadful.” She ushered me into the elegant foyer and shut the entry door behind me. Both the door to the parlor on my left and the door to the library on my right were closed. I removed my cloak and bonnet and handed them to her.
“I came as soon as I heard the news. How is Lillian taking it? And William?”
“Mr. Parry is beside himself. He treasured that boy so. He’s locked himself in the library there. He let the policeman come in, but that’s all. He won’t even take a cup of coffee or his breakfast. The missus is upstairs in her bed, still.”
She made as if to show me up, but I stopped her. “I know the way. Thee has other tasks this morning, I’m certain.” I had made one home visit early in the pregnancy, so I’d know where the birth chamber would be and to ascertain it would be suitable. Hardly an issue with a rich family like this one, but it was part of my practice, and I carried it out for every client.
She thanked me and hurried off to the back of the house. I climbed the gentle curving stairs stretching the width of two arm spans. The dark wood of the railing gleamed from polish and contrasted with the lighter wood of the balusters. A tall arched window marked the landing, but the cloudy day let in little light. I continued up to the second floor and turned left into the hallway toward Lillian’s rooms at the end. I tapped lightly on her door.
“Lillian, it’s Rose Carroll. May I come in?” I heard nothing but turned the knob anyway. I poked my head into the room. The tall drapes were still drawn and a gas light shone above the bed. Lillian sat up amid a half dozen pillows and cushions reading a letter with a small smile of satisfaction on her face. Her hair looked remarkably well arranged for one still abed. A breakfast tray sat on the small table next to her.
“Lillian?” I said again.
She glanced up and whisked the letter under the puffy coverlet. Her expression transformed into one of pain.
“Oh, Rose, I’m so glad you came.” She patted the bed next to her. “You heard our tragic news? Poor dear Thomas has met an early demise.”
I sat next to her. “Thee must be grieving for thy stepson.”
She nodded gravely, although her eyes were dry. “And for William. It has hit him hard, I’m afraid. That policeman, a Donovary—”
“Donovan. Kevin Donovan. He’s the detective looking into the arson, too.”
“Yes, yes.” She waved a hand. “He came at first light to tell us. William received him and then came wailing up the stairs to tell me. Wailing, I tell you. A grown man.”
“Thomas was his firstborn, and his son,” I said. “Anyone would so mourn, as I’m sure thee is for thy stepson. How is thee feeling physically? Has thee noticed any change in the baby’s activity?”
“No. Why should there be?” She shrugged, as if a member of her household hadn’t just died by violent means.
“I’m glad. Sometimes a stressful event can cause the body to react. I’d like to do a quick examination, only to be sure you both are well. May I?”
“If you’d like.”
I drew out the Pinard horn and checked the baby’s heartbeat. It was strong and regular. I palpated the baby and got a little kick into my hand for my efforts. No change in position from last week. I monitored Lillian’s pulse for half a minute and listened to her heart, as well.
“You both seem perfectly healthy. And thee doesn’t seem to need a calming tonic, of which I’m glad.”
“Would you look in on William before you go?” Lillian asked. “If he’ll let you? He’s the one who might need a tonic.”
“There’s no reason not to go down and speak with him, thyself, Lillian. Doesn’t thee want to?”
“I will, by and by. I have also sent for Robert Clarke. They’re close friends, and perhaps Robert can comfort my husband. But will you, please, see if you can calm William a bit?”
“I shall. Please accept my sympathies for losing Thomas.”
Lillian tossed her head ever so slightly. “It’s really William you should be saying that to, Rose. In truth, Thomas didn’t like me and I didn’t like him. His death doesn’t change that.”
I nodded as I rose. I thought as much. I bade her good-bye and made my way slowly down the staircase. As I did, a tall, slender young man burst through the door from the outside and rushed up the stairs toward me, a shock of light hair falling in his eyes. When he saw me, he slowed. He brought his hand to his brow and gave me a mock salute with a single raised eyebrow. I was about to greet him when he clattered on past me. I watched him go, realizing he must be the man Lillian had gotten into the carriage with after her visit to my office. A relative, most likely, possibly a younger brother.
At the library door I knocked.
“Don’t want any,” William’s voice barked.
“William Parry, it’s me, Rose Carroll. The midwife.”
“Wife’s upstairs,” he said in a gravelly voice.
“Yes, I just saw her. May I come in? She asked me to check on thee.”
Silence. I waited. “Please?”
At last the knob turned. He opened the door and stood before me. His face had lost the flushed look of a man who indulges in rich foods and fine liquors without benefit of fresh air and exercise. Now his skin was pale and his eyes devoid of light.
I held out my hand. “I want to express all my sympathy for the loss of thy son, William. I was truly sorry to hear the news.” When he kept his own hands at his side, I dropped mine.
“Lillian is concerned for thy health,” I went on. “I can bring thee a sedating tonic.”
He sank into a large leather armchair, rubbing his brow with one hand. He gazed up at me. “I don’t want to be sedated. I want to feel the same stabbing pain my boy felt. And I want to feel the rage when it replaces the millstone of sorrow that’s within me. When they catch this person, I’m going to rip him apart with these hands.” He held his hands up in front of him, turning them from side to side.
“I lost my own sister last year, mother to five children. I know that millstone well.”
He looked into my eyes. “But this was my boy, Miss Carroll. He was my baby, then my little boy, and then my son, the man. I know he was a prickly type, but he didn’t deserve to die. Not before me. And to be brutally murdered.” His voice wobbled and he swallowed hard. “Please go.” He sank his face into his hands and mumbled something I d
idn’t catch.
“I will. Once again, please accept my sympathies. I hold you all in the Light.”
I donned my outerwear and let myself out. As I walked away, a fine carriage pulled up and Robert Clarke stepped out. Perhaps he could comfort his friend. So much death in our town in so few days.
fifteen
I walked slowly toward home, barely seeing my path. I had Genevieve’s postpartum call to make and two clients to see this afternoon. But for now, my brain was full of possibilities about who could have stabbed Thomas Parry in the dark hours of the night, and my gait kept pace with the fullness of my thoughts. Kevin had joked Lillian might have killed her stepson. I thought that highly unlikely for several reasons, primary being that she was a typical upper-class young woman with no muscles in her arms to speak of. She never needed to work a busy loom, lift a hod of coal, or wrestle a calf out of its mother. She didn’t knead bread or scrub laundry. That said, what if she so detested Thomas that she hired someone else to do him in? She’d been reading some kind of missive when I’d first entered the room, and had been smiling, not full of grief. I supposed that didn’t necessarily make her a murderer or even a conspirator, especially when she was the first to admit she was not sad about Thomas’s passing.
Ephraim was a logical choice for a suspect, but I didn’t want him to be a killer. I prayed he was not. Maybe William had an enemy who chose to strike at him by killing his son. The same carriage business competitor who started the fire could have also killed Thomas, if that theory were correct. But Kevin had rightly pointed out Parry’s factory wasn’t the one to envy of the top three or four. That honor would belong to the Clarke factory, or perhaps Ned Bailey’s establishment. I wished I’d asked Kevin where the murder had happened and who had discovered the body.
I longed to discuss all this with David and wondered where he was today, what he was doing. I smiled to myself, picturing him examining patients, smiling at them, reassuring them, explaining both their ailments and their treatments. He had a bedside manner much to be emulated. But in place of being able to talk through the murder with David, I suddenly realized where I might be able to learn more. In a town this size, I was sure that information was already running through all the gossip channels. I changed course slightly and headed down Main Street to Market Square and Sawyer’s Mercantile. The busy general store was always an active source of news. Whether the details were accurate or not was a different matter.
Delivering the Truth Page 10