Weak Flesh (32 page)

She slumped against the wall. It was hopeless.

Crouching down, she tried to find an opening under the door. She jabbed her fingers beneath the bottom, but even as small as her hand was, the space was too narrow. Bending further still, she inhaled deeply and detected the fecund odor of wet dirt and sodden foliage – marshland.

The Great Dismal Swamp? The smell there was unlike any other area on the coast.

Continuing her way around the edges of the room, she squatted in what she thought was the farthest corner from the door and relieved herself. Then she inched forward, searching for the belt she'd left to mark her starting place. She retrieved it within minutes.

Part of Papa's confederacy uniform, the belt had a heavy brass buckle on a thick leather strap. When she'd left home dressed as a boy, she had wrapped the belt several times around her waist to secure the trousers, but now she might use it to defend herself.

Making her way to the next corner, she sank to the floor, clutched her improvised weapon to her chest, and waited.

#

Emily Nolan returned to the parlor a few minutes after she left to take her mother the message from the Marshal. She descended the stairway slowly, her eyes wide and her face white as newly fallen snow.

Her mouth trembled so she could barely stutter the words out. "M – m – mama won't wake up."

Dr. Bailey rushed up the stairs with surprising speed for a man his age, Gage close on his heels.

At the top of the stairs, Gage yelled, "Right, I think."

Inside the bedroom Mrs. Nolan lay half on, half off the bed, her upper body dangling over the edge, her arms flung outward. Her face was chalk-like, her unbound hair tangled in strings across her face.

"Quick!" Dr. Bailey ordered, hauling her onto the bed. He pressed fingers to her neck, then laid his ear to her chest. After a moment he shook his head. "She isn't breathing. No pulse."

Arranging her on the pillows, he smoothed her hair from her face and pulled the covers up to her shoulders. He lifted her lids to inspect her eyes and examined her fingernails.

"Dead?" Gage confirmed. "How long?"

"Too many minutes, I'm afraid, her body's very cold." The doctor frowned. "It's not unexpected. Mrs. Nolan has been ill a long while. I'm not her physician, of course, but it's well known in town that she's suffered from one or another ailment in the year the Nolans have lived here."

Gage walked around the room, examining the dresser top where Mrs. Nolan's hairbrush and mirror lay, along with various cosmetics, beside a chest which contained expensive jewelry. He noted no sign of Mr. Nolan's personal items and only female clothing hung in the armoire.

The single nightstand next to the bed held a variety of vials of medicines – a prodigious amount, in Gage's estimation. "Can you identify these drugs?" he asked Dr. Bailey.

The doctor picked up each bottle and perused it carefully. "Smelling salts, laudanum – common for female ailments." He handled a dark-colored, well-corked bottle, unstopped it and sniffed. "Medicinal hydrocyanic acid," he muttered. "It's often used for convulsive coughs or painful stomach afflictions."

"Isn't it poisonous?" Gage asked.

"Yes, in large doses, or even small doses administered over a period of time." He bent his head to Mrs. Nolan's slack mouth. "Ah," he exclaimed. "A bitter almond odor." He shook the near-empty bottle. "I'll wager she died from cyanide poisoning from the contents of this vial."

"Accidental?"

Dr. Bailey shrugged. "With her numerous complaints and with this as evidence," he waved the bottle in the air, "her doctor would likely rule it an accidental death. Perhaps even a suicide."

"And without the vial?"

"Natural causes, no doubt."

"Let's locate Mr. Nolan and see what he has to say about Mrs. Nolan's medications."

"I'll find someone to tend to the child," Dr. Bailey offered, his lips set in a grim line. "Be honest with me, Tucker, do you think Mr. Nolan is responsible for the death of this poor woman?"

"I was hoping Mrs. Nolan could tell me something about her husband's activities in the last several months." Gage turned away so the good doctor wouldn't see the hopelessness in his eyes.

#

Meghan heard the man enter the room before her eyes adjusted to the bulky mass near the spot she judged was the door. With his arrival the very air smelled indefinably wicked, palpable enough to take her breath away. She hovered in the corner, very still, her eyes wide open, straining to see through the thick darkness.

A sliver of pale light had entered the room for a second before the door slammed shut behind the intruder and then the sound of heavy boots trod across the boards. She hunched on the hard floor, trying to make herself as small as possible.

After a brief moment of silence, she sensed the light brush of something across her cheek like the gossamer threads of a spider's web. She jerked away.

How could he have found her so easily in the dark?

He laughed viciously. "So you're awake at last," he chortled, "and still alive. I thought I might've smacked you too hard or doused the cloth with too much chloroform."

Chloroform! That accounted for the bitter taste in her mouth. "Bastard," she ground out, glaring furiously at him although she knew the effort was wasted, for surely he could not see her face in the dark.

Even that proved wrong at the sudden flare of a match beyond which she could see nothing. He chuckled as if amused by her attempt at bravery.

"I'm going to enjoy taming that wild nature, Miss Meghan." He suddenly groped at her bodice, found her breast, and gave it a hard, vicious tweak.

She bit back a cry of pain, but tears filled her eyes. "Tucker Gage will have your hide for this." She spat the words out and wiped the tears from her eyes, scuttling backward from the reach of his filthy hands.

The meager light from the match flicked out.

His low growl was more menacing than if he'd shouted. "I'm going to break you, Meghan Bailey," he whispered from somewhere beside her ear. "I'm going to crush you until there's nothing left of you."

He paused and then added in chilling tones, "Then I'm going to kill you for meddling in my life, you stupid little bitch."

#

Oliver Nolan was nowhere to be found.

He'd last been seen at the bank yesterday evening. Emily Nolan confirmed that she hadn't seen her stepfather at all today, and he hadn't joined the groups of townspeople searching for Bailey. Now at late morning, he hadn't returned to the bank either.

The wily Mr. Nolan had fled, Gage surmised, and no one had any idea where he'd gone.

"Don't the Nolans have a maid, Tucker?" asked Dr. Bailey as the two men sat in Gage's office. "Seems to me there was a pretty little colored girl who worked for them, but she wasn't there today."

Gage shouted toward the reception room where Sergeant Henderson was on duty. "Henderson, come here." When the Sergeant joined them, he asked, "Do you know anything about the Nolans' maid?"

Henderson's round, ruddy face scrunched in concentration. "Yeah, one of the Atwood girls, I think. Miss Lettie was her name. Good girl, good family, far as I know."

He scratched his head. "But I think there was some trouble with her recently. Can't remember exactly, but she was let go by Mrs. Nolan."  

Gage thought of Bea Miller. "There's someone who'll know for sure."

#

Meghan would be prepared the next time he came.

She gripped the leather of the belt in such a way that the heavy brass buckle faced outward. The mass of it wasn't large, but then her kidnapper wouldn't be expecting her to have any sort of weapon. She'd wait for the exact moment and take him unawares.

Minutes later she saw the telltale sliver of light, heard the sounds of shuffling feet, the rustle of clothing, and then the scratch of a match. Quickly pulling her knees up to her chest, she tucked the belt into the lap created by her knees.

Suddenly the slow glow of an oil lantern cast a dull light around the room. Meghan inhaled sharply, and even as she did, she realized some part of her had been positive about the identity of Nell's killer.

Oliver Nolan knelt on the floor several feet in front of her. "You!" she hissed.

"Ah, you've been a mite slow for an educated school teacher, Miss Bailey." His thick lips curled in malicious glee and his pale blue eyes were like cut glass. "I thought you'd figured it out a while ago."

"You killed Nell." She heard the flat, resigned tone of her voice while her body absorbed the fresh shock of it.

"Nellie, sweet luscious Nellie Carter." He shook his head in mock sadness. "Actually, I believe I was falling a bit in love with the little tramp."

"What harm did Nell do you? She helped your wife. She played with Emily."

"Which only made it all the easier for us to ... well, enjoy each other's company."

"You're a monster." She clutched the belt buckle so tight her fingers grew numb around it.

"But our little Nellie was a clever girl," he continued as if she hadn't spoken. "She loved playing her clever games."

He reached out to scrape a finger down Meghan's cheek. She jerked away. "You took advantage of her," she accused.

"Oh come now, Miss Bailey. You didn't know your little friend as well as you thought. Our Nell was a complex woman, full of all sorts of surprises ... and innovations."

Meghan wasn't sure what he meant, but she knew his words hinted at something dark and decadent. How had poor Nell come under the influence of such a man? She bit back a retort. She wouldn't flame the man's arrogance.

"Cat got your tongue?" Without warning his hand snaked out and grabbed her hair, jerking her head back until her eyes stung with tears.

"You made a mistake crossing me, Miss Bailey. And just like Nell, you will pay for that error." He released her suddenly and her head bumped hard against the wall.

"What could Nell possibly have done to you?"

Nolan's face flushed as he narrowed his eyes and answered in a voice as cold as winter on the Pasquotank. "She threatened me. The little slut thought she'd get paid for keeping quiet."

The longer he spoke, the greater the burning embers of anger seem to grow into a flame of fury. He jumped up and paced the room in front of her. "She expected me to pay for her silence. Threatened to tell my wife, ruin my reputation. The little whore actually believed I'd let her blackmail me."

"I don't believe you. Nell wasn't like that."

"Oh ho, you think you knew your friend, but you have no idea how she'd changed in the last year. She enjoyed the sexual power she had over men."

He halted in front of her, looking down from his height. She gripped the belt, anticipating her defense.

"Still, I could've persuaded her not to take such foolish action." He crouched down again, leaned into her, his breath hot and fetid.

"But she learned something else. Wouldn't keep her nose out of my business."

"What?"

He paused, looked upward as if he contemplated lying or telling her the truth. "I suppose there's no harm now in your knowing."

A chill ran through Meghan. She shivered, realizing if he told her anything more, he'd never let her live. But she asked anyway. "The Klan robes?"

His harsh laugh startled her. "Those old rags?" he scoffed. "Antiquated robes for an antiquated group."

"You're not a Klan member?"

His chuckle turned her blood to ice. "Oh, my dear, I've found something much more enjoyable than killing coons."

Chapter 36

Bailey had disappeared. Nolan had vanished and Mrs. Nolan was dead. The search parties had reported to Henderson and Pruitt. No success on any front.

Gage forced himself not to panic. The cool logic that he'd brought to his Army assignments now served him well, at least on the surface. Dr. Bailey also appeared calm, although Gage knew the older man was frantic with worry over his only child.

Bea Miller brought them strong, hot coffee. "I can't help with the searches," she explained, "but the brew will brace you up." Her pretty, lined face looked haggard. "It's the least I can do."

"Maybe you can help us after all," Gage ventured.

Bea drew up a chair and sank onto it.

"There's been some gossip about the Nolans' maid," Gage began. "She left their employ under awkward circumstances?"

Bea's sharp eyes looked even more alert. "You think Mr. Nolan's got something to do with this business?"

"You know I can't say, Bea." Gage didn't want to spook Nolan if the man returned, unaware of their suspicions. "I just want to ask the girl a few questions."

"Humph. Well, her name's Leticia Atwood – Lettie – and I've known her since the day she was born. Her mama used to take in laundry, scrub floors, anything to keep the family together."

She rubbed at her chaffed hands. "Good girl, Lettie was, about eighteen, I think. Her mama Grace was born a slave. Lettie started working for other folks when she was nine or ten." She shrugged. "Big family, everybody had to do their share."

Gage let Bea ramble for a moment and then brought her back to the subject. "Why did Lettie leave the Nolans' employ? Was she let go?" 

"Yes, and without a reference!" Bea's indignant voice rose, but she looked around and then spoke softly. "Mrs. Nolan grumbled about some missing jewelry and other items, but I'll tell you, Marshal, that girl never stole a thing in her life. Good God-fearing family, they are."

"So Mrs. Nolan dismissed her?" Dr. Bailey put in.

"Yes," hissed Bea, "but I know who really wanted her gone."

Gage merely raised his eyebrows.

"The Mister!" she spat. "He's got that look in his eye when he watches the young girls." She narrowed her eyes meaningfully. "You know what I mean, Marshal."

"Yes," Gage answered and briefly explained to Dr. Bailey. "Where is Lettie now?"

"Oh, she's gone," Bea answered. "Left a few days after she was let go. Up north to Raleigh, I think. Got kin up there."

Gage pondered the information a moment. He'd hoped to speak with the girl. If anyone knew what went on in a household, it was the servants. Rich folks acted like their help could neither see nor hear and seldom guarded their words around them.