“Now then,” she said, once she mastered her laugh. “What in blazes were we talking about?”
“Thee was about to tell me what time thee heard the conveyance in the street.”
“Yes, of course. Well, it was a little before ten. Mr. Toomey had just gone up to bed and I was turning off the lamps and such. So you’re not after thinking the skinny one did the dreadful deed, after all?”
“He’s down on his luck, but I’ve heard he’s a decent sort. So, no, I’m inclined to look elsewhere for the culprit. Did thee see anyone else, hear anything else?”
Catherine sipped her tea and gazed at the table as if she was thinking. She looked up. “I’d just turned away when I heard some kind of conveyance go by. Our street isn’t paved yet and the wheels thump something fierce on the planks.”
“Was it going away from the Felch home or toward it?”
“I’m not sure.”
“And did thee see a conveyance parked at the house when thee spied the man?” I asked.
“No, nary a one.”
I finished my tea. “I thank thee, Catherine. For the tea and for the information. One more question. Did thee tell Kevin Donovan about the conveyance?”
“No, I didn’t think to. And he didn’t ask. You girls be good now,” she directed her daughters. “Mama will be right back.”
As she showed me to the front door, we passed the parlor. “I was looking out that window there, do yeh see?” She pointed.
“May I?” I asked.
When she nodded, I peered out the window. There was the Felch’s home across the street and down one house. I could see the lilac, but a large rhododendron in front of Catherine’s window blocked the view of the rest of the house. I thanked her and made my way out. I stood at my bicycle for a moment, thinking. She’d heard a vehicle.
I doubted Hilarius had the means to own one. Perhaps he’d borrowed a conveyance. Of course, it could belong to any citizen of Amesbury simply driving home after a visit with relatives or a dinner out. Or maybe it belonged to the murderer.
I walked my cycle past the Felch house and spied a phaeton with its top up harnessed to a dappled horse. It looked like Mr. Felch was getting ready to go out, or someone could be paying a condolence call. Either way, I had an urge to speak with him. I approached the front door. Boards were nailed over where the broken glass had been. I rapped the knocker, remembering again how odd it was the door had been locked the morning I’d found Rowena.
He pulled open the door. “Yes?” he began. He took a closer look at me. “You’re Miss Carroll.”
“Yes. I was in the neighborhood and wondered …” Wondered what? I hadn’t thought this through.
“If you could pay your respects?”
He’d solved my problem for me. “Yes.”
“Certainly. Do come in.” He stepped back and waved his hand toward a parlor off the hall.
The room was positioned in the same place in the house as Catherine’s, but was twice the size. It was genteelly decorated with brocade-
upholstered chairs, a fine rug, delicate tables, and oil paintings in gilt frames on the walls. Heavy green draperies were pulled to the sides of the tall windows.
“Please sit.”
I took a seat on one of the smaller chairs, while he perched opposite in a big winged armchair. No one else was in the room, so it must have been his horse and carriage.
“I suppose I was short with you at the polls yesterday,” he began. “This has all been such a shock. But I’d wanted to speak to you at more length, and here you are.” He stroked his luxurious beard. His expression was much less grief-stricken than the day before.
“How is the funeral planning coming along?” I asked.
“It will be Friday. There are still many details to attend to.”
“Does thee have family who is helping? Or did Rowena?”
“I myself am without family, sadly. I was my parents’ only child and they are both deceased. It’s one reason I wanted to be father to a big family.” He pondered his long-fingered hands for a moment, and then gave his head a little shake, looking at me again. “Mrs. Felch’s parents spend the colder months in the Caribbean islands, but Mrs. Roune, her grandmother, is here in Amesbury. She and I have rather different views on the matter of the funeral, I’m afraid.”
Annie had said Mrs. Roune didn’t like Oscar much, and was helping Rowena financially so she could leave him. I’d say they might have very different views, indeed.
“I’m sure it will be worked out to thy satisfaction.”
“I hope so. She’s not an easy woman, Mrs. Roune.” He leaned his forearms on his knees and clasped his hands, fixing his gaze on me. “Will you please tell me every detail of when you found Rowena, Miss Carroll? I never expected, when I left for New York, I’d never see her again.”
Was he asking out of sadness or for another reason? If he’d hired Hilarius to kill Rowena, perhaps he was concerned whether the murder had proceeded according to plan or not. If he hadn’t, my heart went out to a grieving husband. In either case, I couldn’t give him the whole story. Kevin had taught me the importance of keeping crime scene details private, in case a killer revealed information he shouldn’t have known. I took a deep breath and let it out.
“I was cycling past this house early in the morning. I’m a midwife, and I was on my way home from a birth. I spied thy wife’s red shoe under the lilac. I’d seen her only the night before at the women’s suffrage meeting.”
His eyes filled. “She loved those shoes.” He extracted a handkerchief from a pocket and dabbed at his eyes. “Forgive me.”
“Please don’t apologize, Oscar. There is nothing to forgive. Thee is entitled to thy grief.” I felt a pang of chagrin, since my questions might intrude on that grief, but I went on. “After I found her, I hailed a passing man and asked him to fetch the police. Then I saw the glass in the door was broken.”
He frowned. “Indeed. The scoundrel had ransacked the dining room. But I couldn’t find a thing missing. The silver all seems to be in place.”
“Only the dining room?”
“Yes. Which is odd, because Rowena kept expensive jewelry in her room, and there are other valuables in the house.”
Odd, certainly. “I believe thee might be acquainted with my betrothed, David Dodge of Newburyport.”
“Yes, of course.” Oscar pursed his lips. “A fine physician. Young yet, but he’ll go far, mark my words.”
“He said thee was away at a medical convention recently.”
He narrowed his eyes. “He did, did he? I was, of course. But what business is it of yours where I was?”
“We only were curious about why thee wasn’t at home when thy wife was murdered.” I watched as he cringed at the word murdered.
He recovered and stared at me. “Who is we? You and Dodge?”
“No, Detective Donovan and me.”
His nostrils flared. “What, you work for the cops?”
“Not at all. But you understand I needed to summon the police after I found your wife’s body.”
“Yes, of course.” He gazed at the floor, then at me. “But now you’re speculating on my whereabouts not only with the detective but with your beau? Isn’t talking about a murder investigation a little unseemly, Miss Carroll? Not the type of thing ladies normally get themselves involved in, now, is it?”
No, it certainly wasn’t. But, then, I wasn’t exactly a society lady, either. “Had thee known Rowena would be going to the suffrage meeting that evening?”
“I did not.” His eyes glinted like new steel. He clapped his hands on his knees. “You must excuse me. I’m expected elsewhere.” He stood.
I followed suit. “Let me again express my condolences on the death of thy wife.”
He strode to the door and opened it. “That’s all very nice. But it won’t bring my wife
back, will it?”
twenty-one
I cycled slowly toward home, thinking. Someone was lying. Was it Oscar? His dining room—and only his dining room—was ransacked with nothing missing. Combined with the locked door, things just didn’t add up. And he didn’t seem happy with anyone investigating him, me least of all.
Was Hilarius lying about his innocence? Zula had said Rowena didn’t suffer fools lightly. Had she wronged Hilarius in the past in connection with her employment as a lawyer? Maybe I should go back to Bixby & Batchelder and ask the voluble receptionist if Rowena had ever been involved in a case involving Hilarius.
And what about Elbridge? He’d said he wished he’d killed her himself. Maybe he said so to cover up that he had, in fact, killed her.
Zula could be lying. She’d clearly been angry the night of the suffrage meeting, and no one had seen what time she’d arrived home, or in what state. Maybe I could find a time soon to talk all this over with David. His calm, intelligent brain might be able to help me make sense of the matter. But I didn’t want to lay it all out in a letter. What if the missive went astray and landed in the hands of one of the suspects? Such a mishap would be most unfortunate—and likely dangerous for me.
As I rode, I sniffed. Beyond the ever-present scent of horse manure, I detected again the sharp smell of impending snow, a smell matching the slate-colored sky. What a blessing yesterday had been fair. We demonstrators might not have lasted the day standing outside in a snowstorm. Or we would have all gone home wet and cold and then contracted the grippe or worse.
A detour to the police station wouldn’t take long. I wanted to tell Kevin about Catherine’s report of a conveyance outside Rowena’s home. Unfortunately, once I arrived I learned Kevin was out. My small piece of news seemed too complicated to leave a note about, so I merely asked the officer at the front desk to tell the detective I’d been in.
I was eager to get home to Mother, whose visits were rare, so I steered my steed toward home. When I spied John Whittier strolling toward me I halted, reaching one foot to the ground for balance. Perhaps I could ask his counsel on these matters of the murder. We exchanged greetings when he approached.
“I’m off to a meeting with the trustees of the library. They’re planning to construct a new building for the library and wanted my ideas on the matter.” John had been one of the founders of the public library twenty-two years earlier, buying most of the books for the collection, and had been a trustee ever since.
“What an excellent project.”
“It is indeed. I fear I might not prevail with my views on simplicity in this effort as well as I did with our Meetinghouse.” He shrugged. “Regardless, I’m late and those fellows don’t like to be kept waiting.” He said good-bye and walked on.
“I’ll stop by to see thee soon,” I called after him. I wheeled away, too, chilled from the damp, cold air. But when I arrived home after buying the Newburyport Daily Herald, it was to the welcome sight of four round loaves of bread lined up on a cooling rack, the peaks and craters of their toasty brown crusts still letting steam wind upward. Mother was just sliding a pan of a dozen fat turnovers into the hot oven, with tops glistening from an egg wash. I inhaled deeply of the warm, yeasty air as I removed my cloak and gloves. My day was looking up.
“Mother, thee has outdone thyself.”
She turned and smiled. A white smudge of flour decorated her nose and her apron was stained with egg, ash, and something golden. “I like to take care of my lovies, thee included, while I’m here. I know how much the children miss Harriet.”
“It’s true. They are coping, but sometimes a memory rises up and one or another of the children dissolves into tears. Even Faith.”
“Even me.” She nodded. “Food always soothes the spirit. And I think I might stay an extra week or two, if Frederick will have me. was to have gone from here to Washington City to attend a national suffrage meeting, but it’s been postponed until the spring.” She frowned. “A rift continues between the factions. The National Woman Suffrage Association, which I support, is often at odds with the American Woman Suffrage Association, and the differences sap the energy of both sides.”
“Why are the two groups at odds?”
She sighed. “NWSA wants progress in more areas than the vote. We want it to be easier for women to obtain a divorce, for example, and are pushing for equality in employment and pay.”
“This group has ambitious plans,” I said.
“Yes, but those are part of our rights. Or should be. The AWSA promotes only the vote. It’s hard to maintain momentum with the women’s rights movement split.” She shook her head.
“Does thee think the sides will come together in time?”
“I pray so.”
I sniffed the alluring air. “What’s in the pies?” I pointed to the oven.
“A curried chicken filling.”
Curry explained the gold-colored stains on her apron. My stomach gurgled audibly despite it being not yet noon.
Mother laughed. “Have a bite of bread with me and tell me about thy morning.” She brought a loaf and the butter crock to the table while I fetched small plates, the cutting knife, and a couple of table knives.
“What did thee learn?” she asked while cutting two thick slabs.
After I finished my first mouthful of the chewy, crusty, slightly sour bread, I pointed to the paper I’d dropped on the table. “Harrison has it.”
“Oh?” Her eyebrows went up as she spread the paper open. “So he does. ‘Harrison Will Go to the White House. Republicanism Triumphant,’” she read.
“Even though Cleveland received a larger popular vote, Harrison won the electoral college. The discrepancy between the popular and the electoral vote never seems quite fair to me,” I said.
“It’s our election system.” Mother shrugged. “Now, what did thee learn in thy investigation?”
“It was interesting. I heard from a neighbor of the Felches about a conveyance which passed by the night of Rowena’s murder.” Christabel strolled over and purred as she rubbed against my skirts. I picked her up, set her on my lap, and stroked her with my left hand as I ate with my right.
“Surely carriages must pass along all the streets with regularity. Did the neighbor think the vehicle belonged to the man thy detective arrested?”
“She had no opinion on that. Of course it could have been an innocent passerby. I think it was the timing she remarked on. I doubt Hilarius owns any kind of vehicle. He’s quite hard up financially.”
“If the murderer came in a conveyance, maybe the police have the wrong man. Had she told the authorities?” Mother asked.
“No. I stopped by the station on my way home to let Kevin know, but he wasn’t there. The neighbor, Catherine, is an acquaintance of mine. I hadn’t known exactly where she lived.” I chewed and swallowed another bite of the enticing bread. “After I left Catherine’s, I paid a visit to Oscar Felch.” I told Mother what he’d said about nothing going missing in the apparent burglary. “He was exceedingly curious about the details of when I found her, but I kept my tale vague.”
“Thee is becoming quite the detective.” She cocked her head, studying me with a smile playing about her lips.
I shrugged. “It’s something I learned from Kevin. If a criminal reveals during questioning a detail about the crime scene which hasn’t been made public, it can help the authorities to convict him.”
“I see.” She cleared her throat. “I want to let thee know I’ve decided to call on Clarinda Dodge this afternoon. I think it might further thy cause with her.”
I wrinkled my nose. “Is thee sure?”
“Yes. Does thee want to accompany me?”
“No, I most definitely don’t. Does thee mind?” I asked.
“On the contrary, I think the conversation might go more smoothly in thy absence. However, I felt obligated to ask.”
“I’m relieved. I think it might snow soon, though.”
“It’s no matter. I’ve arranged for a hack to pick me up.” She finished her piece of bread.
I smiled at my ever-resourceful parent and didn’t even ask her how she’d managed to arrange for a ride.
“Oh! The turnovers.” She jumped up and grabbed a cloth to take the fast-cooking treats out. Their tops now shone golden with the egg wash and the edges were a toasty brown.
I stood. “Thank thee for the bread. I’m off to do some quick paperwork before my client comes at eleven thirty.” I wished I had time to update my scribblings about the murder, too.
I tried not to frown at my last client of the day as she reclined on my chaise, but I couldn’t help it. Charity Skells, a fellow Quaker, had put on very little weight for a woman six months along. I finished listening to her heart, which at least sounded strong and normal. She lay with her eyes closed as if grabbing a few minutes’ rest was a rare commodity. She’d pulled back her walnut-colored hair, already shot through with silver, into a braid coiled at her nape, and her dark blue dress resembled mine, except the threads were worn thin. I expected she’d already turned it once.
I sat back and gently laid my hand atop hers. “Charity, is thee eating enough?”
Her eyes flew open. “I’m sorry, Rose. I’m just so fatigued this time around. What did thee say?”
“I asked if thee had been eating well.” She was a normally lean woman, anyway, all angles and planes. And she stood as tall as I. But I remembered her previous pregnancy, since the baby had been born only a year prior. That time she’d gained a healthy amount. The newborn had been of an adequate weight, too, around seven pounds, as I recalled. Not the chubby nine-pound infants some of my mothers birthed, but certainly big enough to survive and do well in the world. “Thee is a bit thinner than I would like to see at this stage.”
She grimaced, then pulled her mouth to the side, chewing on her inner lip. She regarded me for a moment with a face too lined for her thirty-five years, as if deciding how much to share. “Between Howard’s scanty employment of late and six children under the age of ten, I don’t eat enough, not nearly. We don’t have food to go around, and that’s a fact. And, you know, the children come first.”
Turning the Tide Page 14