Wishful Seeing (18 page)

“Yes, of course. She's not much company, but that means she's not much trouble either. And she can look after the dog.”

“I'll find a piece of rope she can use as a leash. Fortunately he seems to obey her, but I don't want her chasing all over town if he should happen to get loose.”

“How did it go at the gaol?”

Thaddeus shrugged. “Ashby said that Mrs. Howell didn't seem very pleased that her daughter was in Cobourg. She's expressly forbidden him to put her on the stand.”

“Did she say why?”

“No, and it's just as well, since he'd already gone in to see her when I remembered that the gaoler's name is Palmer.”

“And the old man on the road was a Dafoe.
Palmers and Plews and Dafoes.
”

“All tangled up. Just like Mrs. Gordon said.”

“Do you think the gaoler's been listening in on Mrs. Howell's conversations?”

“He wouldn't have to listen very hard. He can hear every word that's said.”

As soon as Thaddeus set off, Martha returned to the ledgers. George Howell was listed a total of fourteen times over the previous three years, and on twelve of those occasions he had taken passage to Rochester, New York. He had travelled once to Toronto, and on one occasion the previous May had gone to Burlington, a fact that Martha found intriguing. The dead man had come from Burlington.

D'Arcy Boulton, the Mayor, and several local merchants were listed often, as well — but she supposed that wasn't unusual. These men had many business interests. It wouldn't be odd for them to travel in the course of pursuing them, and the destination was most frequently Toronto, a logical place to go to if one had government business to attend to.

Two of the witnesses who had been on the Rice Lake steamer on the day of the murder had also taken passage on occasion, but to various ports of call and there was no indication of a suspicious number of trips. Of all of the names Martha found, George Howell was the most frequent traveller and the only one who journeyed to a single destination with such regularity.

She wrote a brief summary of what she had found and laid it on top of her notes. She'd give it all to Ashby when he next came around.

Caroline spent most of the afternoon in the garden throwing sticks for Digger to fetch. He did this enthusiastically, untiringly, and, to Martha's relief, without too much barking. After supper the girl went off to bed early, handing over her tattered dress when Martha demanded it.

Martha could tell it had once been a lovely dress; a soft brown check, the material of good quality, fashionably cut and beautifully sewn. But now she decided that no amount of scrubbing was going to remove the grimy marks that stained it, and when she turned it inside out, she realized that it had already been altered many times before — the seam allowances let out as far as they could go, the darts nearly non­existent, and the hem let down so far that only a small rolled piece of cloth remained to bind it.

She would have to sacrifice the dress she had on at the moment, her third-best, so that Caroline would have something decent to wear. But that would leave Martha with only two — her everyday and her Sunday-best. Mind you, her everyday had taken a beating the day before. It really was suitable now for nothing more than grubbing in the garden, but that meant that she would have to wear her Sunday-best for everyday, and she'd have nothing for special occasions. And then she remembered the wedding money — the coins Thaddeus had given her as her due. There had been two more weddings in the meantime and the little cache had grown while she dithered about what to spend it on. There should be plenty enough for a bolt of cloth. She would make herself a new Sunday-best and relegate her everyday dress to scrubbing and gardening.

She changed, then inspected the dress she had been wearing. She would need to pin it on Caroline to see how much it needed to be taken in, of course, but in the meantime she could start ripping out the hem. Shortening was always more successful than lengthening. When a hem was let out, you had to rub vinegar on the old hemline to disguise the whitened line of the fold.

This constant taking in and letting out was a nuisance, she thought, and yet they all did it so many times. Dresses cut down for someone younger, only to be let out again as they grew.

Suddenly she stopped clipping the threads that held the hem.

Dresses cut down. Thaddeus and everyone else that day had seen someone in a blue dress. Not a single one of them had seen the wearer's face. All they mentioned was the dress.

“Oh my goodness …” She said it out loud to the empty room.

Thaddeus had remarked on his surprise at how shabby the farm was, given the prosperous face the Howells liked to present to the world. Caroline's dress had once been first quality, but now it was old, torn, and too small. It had been altered once, twice, three times, as often as possible, until it was worn out and beyond use.

It must have been Mrs. Howell's to begin with. Appearances were everything to the Howells, so she didn't stint on her wardrobe, but she stretched her money as far as she could by handing her dresses down to Caroline as the girl grew. She must have done the same with the blue dress. And when it was seized as evidence by the constable, Caroline had suddenly been left with nothing to wear but a dress that she'd already grown out of.

It was the sort of detail that would never occur to a man.

If she was right about this, Ashby needed a dressmaker who could tell the court that the blue dress had been cut down to fit someone smaller than Ellen Howell.

Thaddeus wasn't planning to return to Cobourg until the following evening. If Martha waited until then to tell him what she'd discovered, Ashby might not have time to find a willing dressmaker before the trial began the following day. Martha had no idea how fast or in what order evidence might be presented, but she knew it would be better if she could find Ashby at once and tell him herself.

She went upstairs and peeked into Caroline's room. The girl was fast asleep, Digger curled up at her feet. The dog growled a little when he saw Martha, but not loudly, and settled down again when Martha backed out of the room.

She grabbed her cloak and went next door. Mrs. Small answered her knock.

“I'm sorry to bother you,” Martha said, “but I need to run an errand in town. I wonder if one of you could sit in the kitchen while I'm gone. Caroline is fast asleep, but should she wake up, I don't want her to find an empty house. I'll only be a few minutes.”

“Well, of course, dear,” Mrs. Small said. “I'll go right over.”

It didn't occur to Martha to have any qualms about marching into the Globe Hotel and asking for Ashby. She had grown up in a hotel, after all. However, her confidence wavered when she walked in the front door. She had expected that it would be much like the Temperance, the door opening to a small front hall with the register sitting on a table. She could ask for Ashby and wait by the door until someone fetched him. She hadn't expected anything quite so grand. She was disconcerted when the heads of so many bewhiskered men swivelled to look her over. She took a deep breath and started walking toward the carved wooden counter at one side of the room. She didn't take many steps before a man intercepted her.

“May I help you?” he asked. Whether he was the owner of the hotel or a just a clerk, Martha had no way of knowing, but it was clear that she would be allowed no farther until she explained her presence.

“I need to speak to Mr. Townsend Ashby,” she said. “I'm sorry to bother him at such a late hour, but it's very important.”

“I'm afraid Mr. Ashby is not currently at the hotel. Would you care to leave a message for him?”

This was a development that Martha had not foreseen. She hesitated for a moment, wondering if she should scribble down the bare facts and ask this man to pass on the note. But then she decided against it. Hotels had too many listening ears and prying eyes, and she didn't dare risk the information being passed to the wrong party.

“Do you know when Mr. Ashby intends to return?” she asked. She couldn't afford to be away from home for long, but if he was expected shortly, she supposed she could wait for him.

“I'm afraid I have no information as to Mr. Ashby's intentions,” the man said, a coolness in his voice. “And even if I did, I would not be at liberty to tell you.”

She should have waited until the next day. After all, what was Ashby going to do with the information so late in the evening? In her excitement at what she had discovered, she hadn't stopped to consider that he might not even be there. Annoyed with herself, and more to the point, with Ashby, she thanked the clerk and walked back out into the night. She was followed by an older man with a very bushy beard.

“You might try Musgrove's,” he said as he walked past.

“Where?”

The man stopped and looked her up and down in a way that made her extremely uncomfortable. “Musgrove's Inn. Down the street. I could go there with you if you like.” And then he winked at her.

She fixed him with what she hoped was her best look of disdain. “You can go to the devil if you like.”

He held up his hands in protest. “All right, all right. Just trying to be friendly.” And then he walked on.

She hesitated. She knew where Musgrove's was. She had walked past it on the way to the butcher's. It was a tavern that seemed to cater to the rowdier elements in the town. What on earth was Ashby doing there?

Her question was answered a half-block down the street. Two figures came toward her, weaving from side to side, laughing together. When they drew closer, she realized it was Towns Ashby. And a woman.

He halted when he saw her. “Martha!” he said. “Lovely to see you. Is your grandfather with you?” He looked behind her, as if Thaddeus might be hiding there.

“No, he isn't. I need to speak with you. Urgently.”

“Aren't you going to introduce me, Towns?” the woman giggled. Her hat had fallen forward over her face, and now she reached up to adjust it. As she did so, her cloak fell open, releasing a waft of scent and revealing the low neckline of her dress.

“No,” Ashby said to her. “You shouldn't be here,” he said to Martha. He seemed to find the fact of her presence somehow astounding.

“I don't want to be here,” Martha replied. “But I need to speak to you. Privately.”

“My goodness, that sounds important.”

“It is.”

He took a deep breath. “Oh, very well. Be a good girl, Lizzie, and leave me alone for a moment, will you? I'll catch up with you later.” And he patted her crinolined backside to send her on her way.

Martha was mortified. She could smell the liquor on Ashby, and the cigar smoke, along with a trace of the woman's perfume. Ashby's cravat was half untied, his eyes sleepy-looking and unfocused. She took a step back, not sure that she should deliver her message after all. Would he even remember it later?

But then he seemed to gather himself together.

“What have you found out?” he said. “It must be important if you've gone to all this trouble to find me.”

Briefly, and with a great deal of hesitation, Martha presented her theory.

Ashby listened through to the end of her speech without saying a word, and when he did speak, it was in a low voice. “Of course. That's why Mrs. Howell is so unhappy that Caroline's here in Cobourg.”

“Yes, she's been protecting her daughter all along.”

His face split into a grin. “Martha, you are brilliant! I could kiss you!”

“You'd better not try,” she said. “You, sir, are drunk. Good evening.” And with as much dignity as she could muster, she turned to march home, only to find herself face to face with a very angry James Small.

 

Thaddeus was weary to the bone. He had been tired enough after the long drive to the Howell farm and the even longer ride home again, not to mention everything that had happened in between, and now James Small's injury had upset all of his plans. The doctor assured the Smalls that James should recover without incident, but suggested that it would be a good idea for the young preacher to rest as much as possible for a few days.

Small had agreed to take all of the meetings during the week of the trial, but now it appeared that this would not be possible, and Thaddeus was scrambling to figure out how to cover them. On the day he was injured, Small had just come from the eastern part of the circuit. Thaddeus judged that the meetings there could easily wait a few days for a minister. But the congregations to the west had been neglected in the previous week. He would take the meetings at Cold Springs and Gores Landing, he decided, then work his way south to the lakeside village of Port Granby for the Sunday morning service, with afternoon stops in Port Britain and Wesleyville. That should put him back in Cobourg in time to consult with Ashby before the trial began the next day. Even after it got underway, he might be able to cover Baltimore and Precious Corners, as well as the two churches in town. Everyone else would just have to wait.

His mental state matched his fatigue. He didn't want to be delivering sermons and leading prayers just then. He wanted to be sitting in Ellen Howell's gaol cell reading
Mansfield Park
. Or sitting at his dining room table with Martha and Ashby discussing evidence. Or, at the very least, slouched in one of the overstuffed chairs in his parlour, dreaming of bedtime.

When he arrived at the meeting in Port Britain he looked for the old man who had rambled on about his uncle's farm at Rice Lake. Thaddeus hadn't been paying much attention at the time, but he was sure the name the old man mentioned was either Palmer or Plews, and he wanted to verify this information.

“Walter's not feeling well this evening,” he was told. “He wanted to come, but he just couldn't manage it.”

Thaddeus knew how he felt. It seemed to take all of his energy to bring the prayer meeting to a successful conclusion and get back on his horse. The ride to Cobourg seemed to take forever.

He stabled his horse and was just walking across to the manse when James Small and his mother waylaid him.

“I need to talk to you, sir,” James said. His mouth was set in an angry line. Mrs. Small was wringing her hands.

“Well, you'll have to wait until I at least take off my hat,” Thaddeus said. “Come in.”

Their arrival set off a round of angry barks from Digger, who was in the kitchen with Caroline and Martha. Martha's welcoming smile slid into a look of exasperation when she saw that the Smalls were behind her grandfather.

Thaddeus slumped wearily into a kitchen chair beside Caroline, who was unconcernedly munching on an apple. He didn't invite the Smalls to join them and they stood awkwardly by the back door.

“All right. What's going on?”

Mrs. Small spoke first, but what she said made no sense to Thaddeus. “Oh, Mr. Lewis, I'm so sorry, I didn't think. She said she just wanted to run an errand, that's all, and that she'd be right back. As soon as I walked in, the dog started barking and then James came across to see what all the fuss was about.”

“What are you talking about? Who went on an errand?”

“Miss Renwell,” James said. “I'm sorry. I should have been keeping a closer eye on her.”

“You keep far too close an eye as it is, Mr. Small. This is none of your affair,” Martha said. Thaddeus could see that she was very angry.

“But it is,” Small returned. “We're supposed to be looking after you when your grandfather isn't here. I certainly don't think he would allow you to go chasing around after that lawyer at all hours of the night. And nor should we.”

“That's enough, thank you, James,” Thaddeus said. “I certainly do appreciate everything your family does for us, but I will take it from here.” He held his hand up to Martha, who had been about to say something more. “Enough. You and I will discuss this later. In the meantime, we should let these good people go home and get their suppers.”

But James was in full complaint and not about to give it up. “All gussied up she was in her best dress, walking the streets of the town looking for him.”

“I said I would take care of this, James. Thank you for bringing it to my attention. I will speak with Martha.”

“People are talking enough as it is,” Small muttered.

“I beg your pardon?”

Small turned bright red. “I said people are talking as it is.”

“About Martha?”

“No. About you. And Mrs. Howell. And the time you spend at the gaol.” Small was very flustered, but determined to have his say. “And now you've got the daughter here, and your granddaughter gallivanting around after this Ashby fellow you hired. You're not doing the church any good, you know. It's hard enough as it is without all this gossip about the minister and his family.”

His words fell into a room that became silent except for a low mutter from the dog.

The tense silence stretched out. Finally, it was Thaddeus who broke it. “Thank you for your concern, James. Good night.”

Small was left with nothing he could do but take his mother by the arm and return home.

Martha waited until the door closed, then she said, “You look done in. What can I get you?”

“You wouldn't warm up a little milk for me, would you?”

“Of course. I'll give Caroline her supper while it heats. I have something to tell you.”

“All right. But I need to sit for a minute.”

“Go and sit where it's comfortable. I'll bring your milk through and help you with your boots.”

Thaddeus walked into the parlour and sank down in one of the chairs, which unaccountably seemed to be in an entirely different part of the room than when he'd left. He only briefly registered this fact. His thoughts were in turmoil.

Whatever Martha had done appeared to be a minor affair, which he was sure she would tell him all about. Of far more concern were Small's words about Thaddeus himself. He supposed he shouldn't be surprised that his actions had become the subject of speculation. What he was doing must look very odd to an outsider's eyes. And he had no answer for it, no explanation beyond the obvious one — he was in love with a married woman and no good could come of it. Small was right. Thaddeus was doing irreparable harm to the church he had laboured for most of his life.

Wearily, he leaned over and began to loosen his boots. He still had his coat on, but removing it would entail standing up, and he wasn't sure he had the strength for it just then. He gave up on the boots and slumped back in the chair.

He hadn't even been particularly successful in proving Ellen's innocence. Bits and pieces, guesses and assumptions; none of it was enough to build a case on. He had been prideful and vain, and for the most selfish of reasons. He had sinned, if not in deed, then in thought. What had he been hoping in his heart of hearts? That George Howell would be caught and brought to justice, and that Ellen would somehow be magically absolved? And that the way would then be clear for Thaddeus? It was a sneaking, disgusting thought, and yet he had to admit that he had wished it.

Martha came into the parlour and put a mug of milk on the table beside him.

“You still have your coat on,” she said. “Here, let me have it.”

He shrugged out of it. Instead of taking it to put on the hook by the back door, Martha sat down in the chair opposite him, hugging the coat to her. She watched him warily, and Thaddeus was brought back from the sorry contemplation of his own failings.

“So what's this all about?” he asked.

“James Small spying on me.”

“Let's put James's motivations aside for the moment. What happened? Did you go looking for Ashby?”

“Yes, but I had good reason.”

She thought he would be angry with her, Thaddeus could see. How could he be angry when whatever she had done paled in comparison with his own transgressions?

“Just tell me what happened.”

“I figured out who was on Spook Island with George Howell.”

It was enough to grab his full attention. In a low voice, and with one eye on the doorway in case Caroline should appear, she explained the conclusions she had reached about the blue dress. “I knew you wouldn't be back until tonight, and if Ashby is to take advantage of what I discovered, he needed to know about it as soon as possible. Or at least I thought he did.”

“Did you find him? What did he say?” And then he realized what Martha had done. “Did you go to the hotel looking for him? Alone?”

“Yes, but he wasn't there. I met him coming along the street.”

“What did he say?”

She blushed. “He said I was brilliant and that he could kiss me.” She ducked her head in embarrassment. “I'm sure he meant nothing by it. He'd been drinking. And he wasn't alone. There was a woman.” Thaddeus could tell from her tone of voice that she knew exactly what kind of woman it had been.

“I asked Mrs. Small to stay here while I was gone, you see,” she went on, “just in case Caroline woke up. When James found out where I'd gone, he followed me into town and saw me with Ashby.”

No wonder Small was so angry, Thaddeus thought. No girl could be on the street at night in the company of a drunken man and a woman of questionable virtue and not expect to be talked about. And the fact that she was the granddaughter of the man who was already a subject of local gossip would make the information even more titillating. It wasn't the sort of thing that a Methodist congregation would put up with for long.

“I'm so sorry, Martha,” he said. “This is my fault entirely. I should never have got you involved in this.”

“Don't say that. It's what I wanted, more than anything, to be part of one of your adventures.”

“But I've ruined everything. I've disgraced my office. And I've put you in an unspeakable position.”

“For all have sinned, and come short of the glory of God.”

Thaddeus glared at her. “You're quoting scripture at
me
?”

“Why else did you make me learn all those Bible verses if you didn't expect me to use them now and again?” she said. “So what do you think? About the dress?”

Thaddeus looked at her eager face and in spite of himself began to be drawn into her argument. It made perfect sense. Ellen Howell's damaged leg would make her clumsy in a boat. Caroline “followed her father around like a puppy,” according to Leland Gordon. Ellen Howell stubbornly refused to say anything in her own defence and was upset that Caroline had been brought to Cobourg. No wonder Martha had gone running off to look for Ashby.

And then, in spite of his conviction that he had made a mess of things, Thaddeus felt a slight lightening of his mood. Maybe now they had something to work with.

Ashby arrived at nine, an hour later than expected. He went straight to the dining room table and began laying papers in piles across its top. Martha nodded at him coolly, took the chair farthest from him, and gave her attention to the dress she was altering for Caroline, aggressively stabbing the needle in and out of the fabric.

Ashby looked a little surprised at this reception, then smiled to himself. “Miss Renwell,” was all the greeting he gave her.

When the papers were arranged to his satisfaction, he began. “Each pile represents a prosecution witness,” he explained. “All of the prior testimony is noted, along with the questions we need to ask about it. Now we need to add what we've found out in the meantime.”

“You seem well prepared,” Thaddeus said.

“Oh, I'll do well enough in cross-examination,” Ashby said. “Thanks to you and Miss Renwell, I've discovered some rather large holes in the argument. I hope it's enough, because when it comes to the defence, I don't have many of my own witnesses to call.”

“Aren't you going to ask Mrs. Howell to tell her side of the story?” Martha said, without looking up.

“No, I'm not. I can't. The accused is not allowed to testify on his or her own behalf.”

Martha frowned. “That doesn't seem fair.”

“There are many who agree with you, my dear. It's a great controversy. There are those who claim that the accused will always lie, and that therefore the testimony should be automatically discounted. There are others who say that should he or she be allowed to testify and choose not to, the jury will simply assume guilt because of the refusal. It's a bit of a conundrum.”

“And Caroline can't confirm her mother's whereabouts when the murder occurred,” Thaddeus said. “Caroline was on the island with her father. She'd be equally culpable.”

“What's
culpable
?” Martha asked. She addressed the question to Thaddeus.

“Criminally responsible,” he answered.

“Not only that,” Ashby said, “but Mrs. Howell has threatened to confess on the spot if I put Caroline on the stand.”

“So where does that leave us?”

“Thanks to Miss Renwell, we stand a good chance of getting a jury to discount the eyewitness reports stating that Mrs. Howell was with her husband that day. Especially if Caroline is sitting in court and they can see for themselves how much the two look alike.”

“You want her to come to court? What will Ellen … Mrs. Howell think of that?”

“I don't know. I promised I wouldn't put Caroline on the stand. I said nothing about having her present as an onlooker. I think it's worth the risk.”

Worth the risk to win the case, Thaddeus thought. Not so wise a gamble if it ends with a confession.

“The one thing the prosecution doesn't have in this case is a motive,” Ashby went on. “They can speculate about robbery, since Sherman's pockets were picked clean, or postulate about some disagreement that turned violent, but they have no evidence to back it up. No one knows why George Howell and Paul Sherman were in the same odd place at the same time. The only potential link we have is the Sherman family's claim about a piece of business Sherman had in Cobourg. I'd surely love to know what that business was.”