Death in Salem (11 page)

“And what if someone passes away and your services are required?” Rees asked.

“I'll hurry,” Twig said. “The body can be put on ice in the shed out back until I return.” He paused and added, “Miss Peggy promised to free Xenobia once this problem is resolved.”

Rees hesitated for such a long time Twig became restless and began to tap the table. If Rees were honest, he would have to admit he wanted to go home, not just for Lydia but to see the children, too. Even David, although he probably wouldn't speak to his father. Rees missed his whole family.

“And what about Xenobia?” Rees asked at last. “Wouldn't she prefer you stayed home?”

“She'll understand,” Twig said with complete certainty. Rees wasn't so sure, although he didn't doubt she'd accept Twig's decision; the double lures of freedom and a position as a married woman must be powerful ones. What was it like, caring for Twig? Probably no different than raising a child. Of course, some women would say most men needed minding.

“What do you say?” Twig broke into Rees's thoughts. “I want to leave at first light tomorrow.”

Rees agreed. For the price of a ha'penny, they procured paper, ink, and a quill from the barkeeper and Rees set to writing his note. He was not at all sure Lydia would come, and he could just imagine David's cry: “Are you leaving me with all of these children?” David was well able to care for them; he'd had to mind Caroline's little girls when he lived with his aunt. Rees knew David would treat the children well; if he ignored them at times, at least there'd been no evidence of unkindness. Most of David's ire was directed at his father. And Simon, who David called Squeaker, idolized the older boy. It wasn't fair to David to leave all of the children with him, of course, but Rees tried not to think of that. He told himself that the sooner he discovered the identity of Jacob Boothe's killer, the sooner both he and Lydia would return home.

Once Twig held the letter in his hand, he began twitching and jiggling with nerves and could no longer sit still. Rees, wondering if Twig would even wait until morning light, rose to his feet and accompanied his friend to the street outside. Twig shot off, and Rees made his way back to Mrs. Baldwin's. Spotting her hanging laundry in the tiny yard behind the stone wall, he stopped to tell her of Lydia's likely arrival.

“It will be nice to have another woman in the house,” Mrs. Baldwin said. As Rees turned to leave, she added, “Thank you for persuading Billy to stay home.”

“I didn't do much,” Rees said over his shoulder. “And he will leave eventually. He's growing up, and he wants to see the world and make his fortune.”

“But why seafaring?” she wailed as she wiped her chapped hands down her apron. “I lost my husband to the sea. I still don't know exactly what happened to him. I don't think I can bear to lose my only son as well. Why can't he be content with becoming a shopkeeper? Or a sail maker?”

Rees shrugged. Although he didn't want to become a sailor, he understood the pull drawing Billy away from home and family. “He's becoming a man,” Rees said gently. “He needs to find out what kind of man he is.” He wanted to add that Billy could not stay tied to his mother's apron strings forever, but it seemed unnecessarily cruel. Mrs. Baldwin's eyes filled as she shook her head.

“He's still my baby,” she said. “And he's all I have. I wish I'd borne a girl. A girl would stay home.”

*   *   *

Fully intending to wait for Lydia's arrival before speaking with Georgianne Foster, Rees obtained directions to George Crowninshield's counting house the next morning from Billy. The counting house was located near the docks, as many of the counting houses were. And a busy place it seemed, too. A constant stream of gentlemen passed in and out of the doors.

He crossed the busy street and entered. A long brass rail with fretwork like a fire screen divided the clerks from the customers. A door in the back wall led into another office. Through the opening, Rees could see a map case and a variety of brass instruments.

The hubbub from the many conversations was almost deafening. “I'd like to speak to Mr. Crowninshield, if I may. It won't take long,” Rees said to a young gentleman in the newly fashionable tightly fitted breeches.

The young man, his dark hair combed over his high white forehead, inspected Rees's clothes and replied with a faint air of contempt. “In reference to? Are you an investor? Or a sailor?”

“Neither of those,” Rees said. “My name is Will Rees. I'm looking into the death of Jacob Boothe at the request of his son, William. I thought Mr. Crowninshield could offer some insight into Mr. Boothe's business dealings.”

“Ah.” The disdain did not ease, but at least he considered Rees's request. “I'll inquire,” he said at last. “Wait here, please.” He disappeared into the back office, reappearing a moment later. “Mr. Rees? Mr. Crowninshield will see you now.”

Rees followed him through a gate in the brass railing, across the top corner of the long office, and into the chamber behind it. Besides the map case and a large mahogany desk encircled by several horsehair chairs, there was a large table with a map spread upon it. The gentleman poring over the map looked up. A burly man of about forty with thinning hair and blue eyes, he was dressed in a blue jacket and waistcoat that, although conventional, still managed to suggest a seafaring costume. He came forward with his hand outstretched.

“Mr. Rees? William Boothe told me you might call upon me.”

“Thank you for seeing me,” Rees said. He suspected William had been complaining.

“Jacob and I were friends and partners for many years. I—and everyone in the industry—was shocked and saddened by his death.”

“What do you believe happened?” Rees asked.

“Some sailor down on his luck robbed him,” Mr. Crowninshield responded promptly.

“Hmmm. Are common sailors familiar with the tunnels used by the merchants?”

Mr. Crowninshield looked at Rees, startled. “No, of course not. Not generally, anyway. But his business partners, well, even his competitors, none of us have—had—any reason to harm Jacob. How much about this business do you know, Mr. Rees?”

“Nothing at all,” Rees admitted. Mr. Crowninshield nodded as though that was just as he expected.

“We are not competitors as you might think, Mr. Rees. Outfitting a ship and sending it to the East is an expensive proposition, and we are all investors in one another's voyages. This is also a dangerous industry. With the best preparation in the world and the most experienced captains, we still lose ships. And dealing with the governments in these countries…” He shook his head as though he couldn't believe the strange practices adopted by these exotic places. “You wouldn't believe the amount of bribery necessary. But the rewards are enormous, plentiful enough for us all. Why, the profit for the
Grand Turk,
a Derby vessel that was the first to bring back a cargo of pepper, was 700 percent. And Jacob's captains were successful. We all made money. No, I think you must look elsewhere for his killer than the counting houses.”

“Might his death have had something to do with smuggling?” Rees asked. Mr. Crownishield grimaced.

“It goes on,” he admitted. “But it is not easy. Our ships stop less than three miles out from the harbor, and the customs inspector is rowed out to inspect the cargo and compare it to the captain's manifest. I suppose a small ship might sail into one of the smaller coves to the north, if the captain knew of a house or warehouse where he could store his cargo. But then, after offloading the smuggled items, he would still need to return to the Salem harbor. And he would have to falsify his records. Or keep two sets of books. Most of us make profit enough without taking on the risks of smuggling. And I am certainly willing to pay the duties. We have a wonderful city here.” He smiled at Rees. “But where are my manners? May I offer you some refreshment? Rum from the Caribbean or Madeira from Spain?”

“No, thank you,” Rees said. He hesitated, thinking. Finally, rubbing a hand over his jaw, he said, “So, you can think of no one who would want to harm Jacob Boothe?”

“You must not have known him.”

“I met him briefly after his wife's funeral, at the averil. He seemed an amiable gentleman.”

“He was, he was.” Mr. Crowninshield sighed. “I know of no one who did not take pleasure in his company.” He looked up at Rees with sharp blue eyes. “In fact, I'll give you the names of some other gentlemen. You needn't take my opinion as gospel.” Dipping his pen in the inkwell, he took a sheet of paper and scratched a few lines upon it.

“Thank you,” Rees said, taking it and waving it gently to dry. He wondered if there was any point in speaking to Mr. Crowninshield's fellow businessmen. No doubt they would all tell the same story, true or not. “Do you know how Jacob Boothe accumulated the necessary funds to purchase and outfit his first vessel?”

Mr. Crowninshield, who had returned his attention to his map, looked up with a startled expression, and Rees suspected the other gentleman had already forgotten him. “In the usual manner, I expect. I know he learned sailing at his father's knee, on a shallop fishing for the sacred cod. Tiring of that, he shipped out on a merchant ship as a cabin boy at the age of thirteen. Under the British, of course. That was before the War. That voyage was successful and he returned home with a pocketful of money. He worked his way up to captain and by the time he reached his twenties he'd amassed sufficient funds to send a ship to Russia. For iron, I believe. Really, Jacob had the Devil's own luck. He lost very few ships.” Rees, who had wondered if Jacob Boothe might have inherited his money or obtained it illegally, was disappointed.

“Can you think of anyone who disagreed with Mr. Boothe or had some animus toward him?”

“Jacob was an amiable fellow,” Mr. Crowninshield said. “I know of no one who quarreled with him.” He paused. “Perhaps someone from another part of his life?”

“I know Mr. Boothe argued with his son Matthew,” Rees said, frustration sharpening his tone.

Mr. Crowninshield nodded. “Well, he's a boy. And that Derby youth is not a good influence. But Mattie is straightening out as he grows up. I look forward to the play he and his friends are rehearsing.”

“I expect William will keep his father's shipping concern going,” Rees tried again.

“Indeed he will. But William isn't the man his father was. William doesn't care for risk. He is planning to build ships for the new Navy.” His words trailed away and Rees did not think he would speak again. But Mr. Crowninshield added in a burst of candor, “It is truly a pity little Peggy wasn't born a boy. She has the interest and the brains. She would have continued in her father's footsteps. But she's only a woman. And even if she wishes to behave in a manner unbefitting her sex, and assist her brother in running Jacob's shipping operation, William would never allow it.”

Rees nodded in reluctant agreement. He had already seen that. “A shame, indeed,” he agreed.

“I wish you good fortune, Mr. Rees,” said Mr. Crowninshield, extending his hand. “I hope you find the villain who took such an estimable gentleman from us. Jacob Boothe was a good man. Besides, everyone is frightened. I've increased my security force and instructed my wife and daughters not to go abroad without a man accompanying them. Just in case it is someone targeting us merchants.” He smiled faintly. “My womenfolk are not used to being so confined and complain loudly about the imposition. Now, Mr. Rees, if there's nothing else?”

Rees bowed. He knew he'd learned everything he could. “Of course. I know you're busy. Thank you for answering my questions.” This time he left the office.

 

Chapter Ten

Rees secured directions to the Coville estate from one of Mr. Crowninshield's clerks and discovered that it was such a distance away he would need to drive. Salem Neck was north and east of the city center. He walked back to Mrs. Baldwin's, buying a pie from one of the street vendors for breakfast, and hitched Bessie to the wagon. She shied and bucked as Rees drove through the crowded streets, and he was hard-pressed to keep the mare moving forward. A buggy would have capsized, but the wagon was heavier and more stable. When they left most of the traffic behind, Bessie settled a bit. But Rees knew if she did not calm down, he would have to find another mare to draw his wagon.

The Covilles lived on a hill overlooking the ocean. From the road Rees could see the granite ledges that edged the shoreline, a sight that reminded him of the coast of Maine. The road sloping up to the house bore witness to the variety of wheeled traffic that had taken this route: narrow buggy wheels, broader carriage wheels, and the deep grooves left by the wagons carrying heavy cargo up to the house. The track was lined with trees but when Rees arrived at the top of the slope, approaching the house from the back, he saw that the trees had been removed from the house's front. Nothing blocked the view of the water.

The Coville house was large with at least two stories, probably three. The Mansard roof disguised the top floor. From ground level, Rees could see the railing of a widow's walk and he suspected that that elevation gave a watcher not only a view of the Atlantic Ocean but of the harbor as well.

Rees tied up Bessie at the back and walked round to the front. It was a point of pride with him; he avoided entering by way of the back door, since he believed he deserved the same respect as those wealthy and important men who were admitted at the front door. He pounded on the door. After a long wait, a young girl opened it. She looked harried; her dark hair was escaping from her cap and a smut darkened her nose.

“I'd like to speak to Mr. Coville,” Rees said.

“Mr. Adam is not here and Mr. Edward is busy,” she replied and began to close the door. Rees slapped his hand on the wood and held it open.