Читать книгу Thaddeus Lewis Mysteries 3-Book Bundle - Janet Kellough - Страница 31

Lewis was given an appointment on the Brighton Circuit. The feeling was that the duties were a little lighter there and would be less taxing. There were still enough Methodist families to offer firm support, but his presence would be required at fewer meetings. Now that the church union had dissolved and more itinerants were once again within the fold of the Methodist Episcopals, he could share the huge area with another preacher. This circuit seemed to divide itself east from west, rather than south from north, and his appointment plan showed that he would be ministering mostly to the communities that stretched from Port Brighton to the more scattered villages and hamlets that nestled in the rolling hills away from the front. Here the twangy speech of the older settlements was modified by a soft burr that spoke of Scottish descent, for the Scots had found the rounded hills and the green valleys much to their liking, as had many Irish, who added their own lilt to the conversations he overheard.

He was surprised, though, that in the short time he had been away from travelling, how quickly the little towns had contracted, especially the ones that had grown up around mills and were dependent on the custom that came from farmers in the surrounding country. The back townships had acquired an even more forlorn look. Here and there a farm appeared to be abandoned entirely — a stray chicken or two flapping hysterically around a coop, a door blown open by the autumn winds, swinging on its hinges. In other places it appeared that the march of improvement had ceased in mid-step — fences half-built, the log walls of cabins only partially covered by planking, the boards already weathered grey before the job could be completed. He had to be wary of the dogs that had been left behind to run wild in yapping packs. With no owners to control them, they had turned feral and ferocious and more than once a bitch with a brood had challenged his right to the road, snarling and daring him to pass. He had reined his nervous horse in, and simply waited until she led her pups back between the trees.

A stagnant economy and the uncertain political situation had proved too much for too many. Families simply packed up and left their cabins and their debts behind. To compound the province’s woes, immigration had dwindled to a mere trickle. The rebellion and the subsequent battles had frightened people away from Canada, and reports of crop failures and business difficulties in this isolated place made it an unattractive option.

Hard times fed his meetings, however, and they were usually well-attended, despite being held in whatever space came to hand. Lewis felt an enormous satisfaction that his appointment had come from the newly reconstituted Methodist Episcopal Church, and that local preachers were again given the authority they had earned — although women preachers continued to be notably absent in the new order of things. Any ambitions in that quarter had been firmly stifled by articles in The Christian Guardian that denigrated their past accomplishments and discouraged the notion that females could contribute to public life, or that their efforts would be recognized in any way. Instead they were encouraged to limit their influence to the establishment of Christian values in the home, to raise God-fearing children, and to defer to their husbands in all other matters as befitted their fragile, flighty natures. In other words, he thought, they were all to become like Nabby — sewing by the fire, the buzz of nothing where her thoughts should be.

He couldn’t imagine what it would be like to have a wife who had no opinions, who never challenged, who never pointed out his errors and shortcomings and could let fly when she deemed it necessary and keep her own counsel when she thought it best. One would have thought that women would take encouragement from the new queen, the most powerful person in the British Empire after all. He couldn’t imagine anyone telling the Queen that she had no right to an opinion and should limit herself to making sure all the palaces were clean. But then she was just a slip of a thing and no doubt totally dependent on her ministers and advisers to tell her what to do. Then again, perhaps this was another of Ryerson’s schemes to make the Canadian Methodist Church more acceptable, for if it fell in with a more fashionable doctrine there would be less about it to object to. Unfortunately the sentiments Ryerson expressed in The Guardian effectively segregated some of the church’s most ardent supporters and made a mockery of early Methodists like Barbara Heck. To Lewis’s thinking it was just another case of the Church playing politics, as though they hadn’t done enough of that already.

Sometimes Isaac Simms fell in with him on his travels. This was the time of year when the weather could be counted on to render roads impassable or, at the very least, difficult. February had been too cold, and March too warm with violent storms and heavy rain, and as expected, all but the main roads were a muddy mess.

“I’m not sure it makes all that much difference,” Simms grumbled. “There’s not much business along the front. The storekeepers are still strapped, but I tell you there’s next to nothing at all in the backcountry. In fact, there are almost no people there anymore. It’s astounding how many of them have pulled up stakes and left.”

It remained uncertain whether or not the unification of the two colonies would result in any lasting prosperity. Britain had offered to guarantee loans for the building of canals that would finally tame the St. Lawrence, and the employment offered by these projects would surely begin to generate a quickening in the new province, especially along the front, but this had not yet become evident. There was talk of a railroad that would connect Montreal and Toronto, but Lewis thought it unlikely that this would ever be realized. He had read that the huge engines lumbered along iron tracks belching smoke and sparks, but as massive as they appeared to be, it was reported that they still had difficulty pulling any great amount of cargo behind them. And how could they ever coax such behemoths through the forest? Surely the mud would drown them or the frost would heave the rail, and they would go careering off the track in a screeching, twisted wreck of metal. Besides, the cost of such a thing would be far too great for a government that couldn’t even maintain a road or two, although the new Parliament had promised to address that question as well.

“I’m not sure I see the point of them trying to build a railroad,” Simms said. “There aren’t enough people left in the colony to make it pay.”

“Where has everyone gone?” Lewis asked. “To the States?”

In contrast to Canada, the republic to the south seemed to be shaking off the financial woes of the past few years and its promise of unlimited opportunity was a siren call to the ambitious.

“Most of them have gone to the States. Some of them have given up trying to farm and have moved to the towns looking for jobs. The rest are just generally headed west, I guess, but I don’t see how it’s going to be any better out there, except for the fact that there’s barely any government at all. If you’re the independent sort, I suppose no government is better than one that hinders your every effort. If it weren’t for mother and the girls, I’d pack up and go myself.”

“Why don’t you go and take them with you? Women often seem to have better luck in the marriage department in places where there aren’t so many of them. Men aren’t so choosy when there’s fewer to pick from.”

Simms snorted. “They’d never leave Belleville. And even if they did, they’d never lift a finger once they got there.” He sighed. “No, I’m afraid I’m here for the duration. Let’s just hope things get better soon.”

There were a few glimmers of hope, even Simms had to concede, although they were slow in materializing. There had been several new steamships launched in the previous year, and more regular excursions between the towns around the lake had been instituted, although many travellers complained of poor service, indifferent food, and unrealistic timetables. The harvest had been good, especially the wheat crop, and some farmers had done well, at least the ones who were able to get their crops to market. Those who couldn’t gave up and joined the exodus, but there was no one to replace them. Those immigrants still willing to come to Canada were no longer pretentious British with money in their pockets, but starving Irish with little more than the clothes on their backs, hoping to be hired for the back-breaking work of canal-building.

Still, there was at least a stirring, as if the colony had held its breath for a long time and was now cautiously exhaling again. The future might be rosy yet, the omens were there, but in the short-term that was of little benefit to a peddler like Simms. Lewis felt quite sorry for the man and the pressure he was under.

Still, he could not be absolved from suspicion in the matter of the four murders. It remained difficult for Lewis to subscribe to the notion that this man with the friendly, open face and the wagging tongue was anything more than an honest peddler, yet there was something that kept nagging at him about that day in Millcreek. Simms had too quickly seized on the opportunity to blame Bill Johnston for the Clark girl’s death. It may just have been a serendipitous opportunity to make a little money, and he supposed that if he were in Simms’s place he would do the same — as odious as that was given the circumstances — but Simms had been just a little too quick off the mark, too eager to agree with the pat answer as soon as it was presented. And what had he been doing there in the first place? Why had he been hovering outside the meeting that day? Had he heard about the murder and rushed to the meeting, sure that his relics would be in demand? He had stood outside the graveyard gate at Rachel’s funeral, as well, although he hadn’t attempted to sell anything that day. He wasn’t aware of any connection between Rachel and Simms and yet the man had more or less attended her funeral. Why?

In spite of his suspicions, he found Simms’s company entertaining and enjoyable and was not at all sorry that they travelled the same route so often. He reassured himself that by riding along with the peddler he would be able to keep a closer eye on him, alert for signs that might give the man away if he were the culprit. He was careful not to signal distrust in any way, but he couldn’t resist the opportunity to ask a few artfully posed questions.

As soon as he finished grumbling about lack of business, Simms filled him in on all the latest news. Seth Jessup had finally purchased the smithy in Demorestville — an arrangement that Minta had mentioned to him at one point. Lewis hoped that she and the baby were happily settled into the house behind the smithy and reflected that, no matter how bad the economic times, people would still need their horses shod.

“He always used to strike me as an evil-tempered man,” Simms remarked, “but there’s quite a difference in him now. He’s got a family to work for and his wife rules the household, they say.”

“Ah, Minta. She’s one of those women who hide a personality of iron behind a facade of soft washed cotton.”

Simms chuckled. “Seth doesn’t seem to mind at all. He’s even begun attending the Methodist meetings.”

He had never seriously considered putting Seth Jessup on his list of potential suspects. The man had not really been in the right places at the right times. Still, Lewis wondered where he had disappeared to so mysteriously on the night of his son’s birth —the night of Rachel’s death. He briefly reviewed the information he had gathered. No, Seth couldn’t be the killer, at least not of the last two victims. If he was comfortably settled in the Demorestville smithy shoeing horses day in and day out, he would be hard-pressed to find a reason for absenting himself from his work and was unlikely to forego the money he earned from it. He could ask, if he got the chance, whether or not Seth had gone away for a day or two on occasion, but he was fairly certain what the answer would be.

Sometimes he wondered if the murders were indeed unrelated, although the doctor in Millcreek had agreed with his assessment that one hand had slain all. But who was to say that he even knew the man that the hand belonged to? There were any number of desperate men roaming the colony — strangers, madmen, rogues, thieves. Why not murderers as well? But then why did the murderer seem to be following Lewis wherever he went?

“Are you still selling those little pins of the Caddicks’?” he asked Simms one time as they jogged along the road toward Percy.

“Oh, yes, they’re still good sellers,” Simms said. “Although the Caddicks haven’t time to make many these days. Benjamin’s married, you know, and so is his brother Willet.”

Lewis hadn’t heard this.

“Oh, yes,” Simms said. “The two brothers married two sisters. Willet always did have to do whatever Benjamin did, although I hear that even in this instance he lost out. Benjamin got the sister that’s much the best-looking.”

“And the girl who was murdered in Millcreek? Have you heard any more of that?”

“Not at thing. I think it’s pretty clear that it must have been the pirate … or Americans. Do you know a preacher named Spicer? Runty little fellow.”

“Morgan Spicer? Yes, but he’s not a preacher, not really. He just wants to be. What about him?”

“He’s not one of yours? How odd.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I was sure that he must be some sort of assistant or something. Everywhere you go he seems to be somewhere close by.”

Lewis shrugged. “Anyone can preach the Word. It’s just unfortunate that he calls himself a Methodist, after all the accusations that we’re uneducated and illiterate. Spicer tends only to confirm this opinion.”

“No, I mean that murder seems to happen wherever the both of you are. It’s becoming rather a disturbing pattern, don’t you think?”

Except that Spicer was nowhere near Sarah when she was murdered, at least as far as Lewis was aware. He had never mentioned the details of his daughter’s death to the peddler, only the fact that she was one of many who had died. Come to that, he couldn’t ever recall expressing to him the opinion that Rachel’s death had been anything but an act of nature. A pattern? Two deaths were no pattern, four surely were, but how would Simms know that? Except that Simms always seemed to know everything.

He was uncertain how to respond. Was this mention of Spicer’s name in connection with the murders a genuine attempt to help bring a criminal to justice, or was it a ploy to divert attention, in the same way that Simms had shifted focus to Bill Johnston that day at Millcreek?

He decided to laugh off the statement. “What are you suggesting, Isaac? Do you think I’m the killer? Or that Spicer and I have conspired in some way?”

“Of course not,” Simms replied. “I just think Spicer bears watching.”

As do you, Lewis thought.

The conversation was unsettling, though Simms’s words only echoed what he himself had considered, and he worried away at it for several days afterward. And then, when the words he remembered were becoming jumbled and fragmentary in his mind to the point where he had almost decided to try to forget them, he realized what his problem was. It was his approach that was faulty. He had been trying to find the connections that would point to one person, but what if he turned the riddle around, and simply tried to eliminate rather than prove? “Murder seems to happen wherever the both of you are,” Simms had said. What if one of them hadn’t been there after all?

Simms’s movements would be the most difficult to trace, especially if he was trying to be discreet about his inquiries. It would be far easier to track Spicer. He knew for a fact that Spicer had been in both Demorestville and Prescott when the murders had occurred nearby. He could have been in Millcreek — he had dropped in at Bath often enough to enquire after Lewis’s health — but it was uncertain where he had been specifically when the Clark girl was killed. And where was he when Sarah died? He would need to return to Demorestville to find out.