Читать книгу Thaddeus Lewis Mysteries 4-Book Bundle - Janet Kellough - Страница 35

In the middle of all the proposals and propositions, Lewis had completely lost track of where Simms might be. Everywhere he went, he inquired whether or not anyone had seen the peddler, but no one had.

“I wish he’d come around, all right,” said one woman in the northern part of his circuit. “The bottom of my big black pot has burnt right through, and I like his better than the ones the store has.”

No one had remarked him for a month or more, and Lewis wondered uneasily what he was doing and where he was doing it. He found his answer with, of all people, Morgan Spicer, who continued to ride the settlements, spreading his version of the Word.

He had seen little of Spicer, either. The boy had developed an almost magical ability to dodge the regular itinerants. He knew that sooner or later his ministrations would be called into question, but if he could avoid a confrontation, he could delay the day of reckoning. That was Lewis’s theory anyway, for he never seemed able to catch up with the self-appointed preacher. He had always just been there, or was expected at any moment, but seldom did they occupy the same place and time.

He was just leaving a most satisfactory meeting in Percy’s Mills where there had been many new faces present, and several who had embraced the faith with fervour. He had christened three babies and for once had been paid in cash. He was not an avaricious man — he would never have gone preaching if that was the case — but he reflected that there was something very reassuring about having a few coins to jangle in one’s pocket. It was a beautiful, bright spring day, with the warm sun reflecting off the shiny green of the newly leafed trees that lined the road, and the sense of new life pushing up through the moist, fertile soil was nearly palpable. There was a smell of promise in the breeze and for a time he forgot about his nagging worries and simply let himself enjoy it, lulled by sunshine and the steady clip-clop of his horse’s hooves.

He had just rounded a pronounced bend in the road when he came face to face with another horseman. It was Spicer.

“Mr. Lewis,” Spicer greeted him. He was always cordial when they met, as if Lewis somehow didn’t qualify as an authority and any challenges to Spicer’s right to preach could be safely ignored.

“I’ve wanted to talk to you, Morgan,” Lewis said. “You know you can’t keep doing this.”

Spicer turned red in the face and was about to protest when Lewis went on. “Don’t worry. You know I won’t turn in a complaint. I don’t think that would serve any purpose at all. But you’re not qualified, you’re not appointed, and you shouldn’t be preaching. I’d like to try to help change that.”

The statement took Spicer by surprise. He had opened his mouth to speak, but closed it abruptly as he tried to absorb this information.

“What I’m suggesting is that you ride with me,” Lewis said. “I could use an assistant, and along the way I’ll try to teach you how to read and steer you toward what you need to know and understand in order to successfully apply for an appointment of your own.”

If it hadn’t been so sad, he might have laughed at the look on Spicer’s face. It was clear that few offers of help had ever come his way, and he obviously wasn’t sure how to respond to it.

“I know you haven’t had much schooling,” Lewis continued, “and that’s a handicap. But I was a schoolteacher for a time, and I expect you’d be quick enough to learn. What do you say?”

“Why?”

It sounded rude the way it came out, but Lewis understood what he was asking. Why him? Why now? Why bother with it at all?

“Life is a struggle, Morgan. It’s been a struggle for you. It’s a constant struggle for me. We all have to strive to keep to the way and the truth, and all too often we fall by the side of the road in spite of our best intentions. I have done you a disservice by not recognizing the sincerity of your zeal, and for that I apologize. Please, set my conscience to rest by letting me help you.”

“All right,” he said, and Lewis privately made a note to work on Spicer’s eloquence as well as his literacy.

The serenity had quite skittered away from the afternoon and there was a strained silence as they rode along, but Lewis reflected that, at the very least, he had stopped Spicer from spreading his garbled version of the gospel. Whether he could ever get him educated enough to be appointed was anyone’s guess, but Lewis would make good on his offer to try. And in the meantime, at least Spicer would have the benefit of acquiring some experience and Lewis would have an extra hand.

“Where are we going?”

“To Hilton” Lewis replied. I haven’t attended them in some time and I want to see how they’re getting on.”

“Oh, I just came from a class meeting there. They’re doing fine.” He realized, suddenly who he was talking to. “That is … as far as I could tell.”

Lewis let the moment pass. There was no point in extending a hand only to employ it immediately in a sharp slap. “Well, maybe we’ll just drop by anyway. There will be a men’s meeting tonight.”

The silence descended again, and Lewis cast about for some topic of conversation that would set his new assistant at ease. He had never minded his solitary travels, enjoyed them in fact, but if he was going to have a companion he would prefer one that didn’t sit glowering and sullen beside him. He seized on the first neutral topic that crossed his mind.

“So tell me, Morgan, have you been running across many of those little pins that the Caddick brothers make? They seem to be everywhere I go.”

“Yes, they certainly are popular. Isaac Simms was telling me this morning that he’s nearly run out of them, but the Caddicks have refused to make any more.”

“This morning?” Lewis was suddenly at full alert. “Where was this?”

“In Brighton. He said he was just passing through on his way east.”

“Did he happen to mention exactly where he was going?”

“He said he was heading to Prince Edward, as he had business in Picton.”

They had been travelling due south, toward the front, but now Lewis abruptly set his horse on a small path that he knew cut eastward through the woods toward the Carrying Place, where the neck of the peninsula met the mainland — the only place nearby that a man with a cart could cross into Prince Edward.

“Where are you going?” Spicer said as he followed. “I thought we were going to Hilton?”

“I need to find Isaac Simms. I’d lost track of him and it’s very important that I intercept him. I’ll explain when we find him.”

They pushed their horses as fast as they dared on the narrow track, Spicer’s sorry nag scrambling to keep up. Had it been full summer, they would have had difficulty getting through, but the sumac and dogwood had not yet had time to crowd the way and they maintained a steady pace. It was not nearly fast enough for Lewis and the time it took seemed to stretch into hours, his impatience chafing at him as they rode.

At last they came within sight of the small settlement that had grown up around the Carrying Place. An ancient Indian portage route had become a road that crossed the narrow neck of land. It was a nuisance for mariners, as it blocked access from the Bay of Quinte to the western end of Lake Ontario, but it did prevent the isthmus from being cut off entirely from land travellers. There was talk of a canal here, with a bridge over it, but like other projects of its kind it remained a thing of the future, to be undertaken when times were better.

They stopped at the inn, both to rest and water their horses and to ask if anyone had seen the peddler. Several had. He had visited the small general store, and had apparently been upset with the shopkeeper because he had no need of any of Simms’s wares.

“He was in a right state, he was,” the man said. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen Simms like that. Usually he’s a good-natured fellow and happy to share the news, but this time he was downright surly.”

“Do you happen to know if he carried on toward Picton?” Lewis asked.

There was an old man warming himself by the stove, and now he spoke up. “No, he went the other way, toward Trenton. I know, for he nearly rode me down.”

Lewis puzzled over this information as they rode toward the growing town of Trenton. Why would he have told Spicer he was going to Prince Edward, and then abruptly turn another way? Had he been intending to go there all along, and what he had said to Spicer was misdirection? If so, then Lewis would need to be doubly careful, for it would mean that Simms was deliberately covering his tracks. There may have been another reason for this decision though. He knew that the peddler had been increasingly unhappy with his reception in the settlements along the front, and perhaps, after having no luck at the Carrying Place, he had merely decided to go elsewhere, beyond Trenton and north to one of the lesser-populated areas. And then another thought struck him. He had once told Lewis that his mother and sisters lived in Belleville. Was Simms on his way there? But if they went there and he hadn’t been seen, they would have wasted a great deal of time, unless the family could shed some light on where he had gone.

As they rode on they reached the corner where the Carrying Place Road intersected with the Concession Line. They could keep going straight and head north, or turn to the right and follow the well-travelled route through Sidney to Belleville.

“Which way would you go if you were Simms?” he asked Spicer.

“Well, he’s trying to sell his stock, isn’t he? He’d go north if he’s had no luck here.”

Lewis couldn’t argue with Spicer’s logic, and yet for some reason he didn’t spur his horse into a trot, but sat there, considering.

“Let’s just ride east a bit and see if there’s a sign of him,” he said finally. Spicer shrugged and followed. They rode for half an hour, asking along the way, but no one had noticed the peddler.

Just as they were about to turn back, Spicer was hailed by a young woman with dark hair walking along the side of the road beside a tall red-haired boy. “Mr. Spicer,” she called, “Mr. Spicer. I wanted you to know how much I enjoyed the meeting the other day. I feel convinced that my choice to join the Methodists is the right one, and I can only hope that one of these days I’ll find myself filled with the spirit of the Lord.”

“I’m sure you will,” Spicer replied, “and I look forward to rejoicing with you on that day.”

The woman smiled. “I’ve been praying and praying for it. I even bought one of those little books with the Bible passages. I can’t read it of course,” and here she blushed a little, “but I hope that it will help me concentrate my prayers just by holding it, although it does seem to leave an awful mess on my hands.”

Spicer shot the question out before Lewis could even open his mouth. “I’m sure it will help immensely. Where did you buy it?”

“Oh, from Mr. Simms, the peddler,” she said. “He went riding past my house earlier this afternoon. I knew he had them, as I’d seen him with them many times before, so I called to him to stop.” She made a face. “I won’t ever do that again.”

“Why not?” But suddenly Lewis knew why.

“He was in the strangest mood. He seemed almost annoyed when I first stopped him, but then when I said I had to go into the house to get the money, he followed me right in. I had to reach up to the top shelf to get my money box down and when I turned around, he was right behind me. Scared the daylights out of me, I’ll tell you, he was that close. It so surprised me that I sort of gave a little scream and then I realized that his eyes were all sort of funny — glittery and cloudy all at the same time, like he was taken with the drink or something, though I couldn’t smell it on him.”

“What did he do then?”

“Do?” The woman was astonished. “Why, he didn’t do anything.” She gestured toward the boy. “My Bob here was playing out back and he must have heard us, because he came in to see who was there. Mr. Simms just handed over the book I wanted and left. He must not be much of a peddler though, for he very nearly forgot to get the money for it.”

They thanked the woman and rode on, but only after she extracted a promise from Spicer to come and preach again soon. “I’ll bring Mr. Lewis with me next time,” he said, in deference to their new arrangement. Lewis snorted.

But instinct had proved him right and they continued travelling east. Lewis was thankful that the woman didn’t realize how close to danger she had been, for he was fairly certain what would have happened had “her Bob” not come in when he did. The question was, what would Simms do now? It seemed he had wanted to kill again, but had been denied. Would he simply ride on until he found another lone woman and gratify himself there, or would he have time to calm himself down and take more effective steps to hide his trail? He had left his wagon by the side of the road, right in front of the house. Anyone could have seen it there, and recollected seeing it after the woman had been found dead. If he had truly intended to murder again, he was growing careless.

The two men rode on toward Belleville. Surely it would be easier to find the peddler there, with so many more people around who might have seen him. At the very least they could call on the Simms family. He was not sure where in the bustling town the family lived, but when they arrived it did not take long to find someone to provide directions; Belleville was the largest town in the area but most of the inhabitants still knew where everyone else lived. They were pointed toward a narrow two-storey brick house that stood in a row of similar houses. Lewis was surprised; it was a very prosperous-looking neighbourhood, and never himself having aspired to anything as grand as a multi-storied brick dwelling, he was amazed that Simms could afford such a thing. It was no wonder that he grumbled at the lack of business.

He knocked at the front door, and it was opened by a young carrot-haired girl, obviously a domestic judging by the poor quality of her dress and the grease stains on her apron. He asked for one of the Misses Simms. The girl informed him that none of the Misses Simms was receiving company at the moment, and that if he wished to conduct business with the household, he must use the kitchen door at the back of the house.

Lewis was suddenly very conscious of his dusty coat and his muddy boots. Nonetheless, he wasn’t about to be put off by the hired help. He drew himself up to the full height of his lanky frame, and called upon every ounce of the authority he had assumed over the years. “It is a matter of some urgency. I suggest you go and get one of them. Now.”

The girl looked startled, but obediently turned around and went to deliver his message. After a few moments a very tall, very plain woman returned with her.

“Who are you, and what do you want?” she said, sniffing a little at his travel-weary appearance. “And how dare you come to the front door. Tradesmen go to the rear. You should know that.”

This was a deliberate insult, as Lewis’s profession should have been obvious to even a casual observer. He ignored the barb, however, and politely explained that he was looking for Isaac, and asked if he had returned to the house recently.

He never found out what response the woman would have given him — likely none at all, or a tongue-lashing — as another woman appeared suddenly at the door. “Who is it, Tildy?” this woman asked. “It’s not Isaac again, is it?” And Lewis could hear the fear in her voice.

“He has been here, then?” Lewis said.

“Oh, yes,” the second woman replied. “I’ve never seen him in such a state. He was extremely rude to mother, and actually lifted a hand to Esther. I don’t know what’s come over him.”

“Was there an argument?” he asked. “Was he upset?”

“Don’t answer,” Tildy said. “We have no idea who this man is or what he wants.”

“What I want is to help your brother,” Lewis said. “Please? Tell me.”

Tildy glared at the other woman, but she answered anyway. “Yes there was a dreadful argument, but I don’t think I should tell you anything more.” It was obvious that she was torn between wanting to talk about the incident and fear of what her sister would do if she did.

“Please,” he pleaded. “This could be a matter of life and death.”

“Who is it?” A plaintive voice floated out into the hallway from somewhere within the house. “What does he want?”

“It’s just some scoundrel who claims he’s looking for Isaac,” Tildy called back. “It’s all right, Mother, he’s just leaving.” And with that she shut the door and left him standing on the step in a boil of frustration. He had hoped against hope that a clue to Simms’s whereabouts might be found here, and now it appeared that the line of inquiry had been decisively closed. He had no idea where to look next.

Spicer had been silent by his side, but now he spoke up. “Let’s go down the road a little way,” he said. “Just far enough so they can’t see you from inside.”

The curtains at the front window twitched as he said the words. The Simms family was watching, all right, watching to make sure their unwelcome company had well and truly departed. And then the lacy fabric was pulled aside farther and Lewis saw a figure that was certainly not either of the plain women they had talked to. This girl had a beautifully shaped oval face with a slightly aquiline nose and a mass of chestnut hair. Lewis felt a familiar stab of pain at the sight. It could have been Sarah standing there. Then, abruptly, the curtain fell back across the window and the apparition disappeared.

They walked their horses down the street until they judged they were out of sight of the house. Spicer found a lane that he thought would lead to the back of the dwellings, and this he followed, leaving Lewis to wait for him at the corner. In spite of the fact that they were in a desperate hurry to find Simms, he welcomed a few moments of solitude so he could deal with the turmoil of emotion he felt. He had thought that he was past the wrenching shock that had so often assailed him whenever he saw someone who reminded him of Sarah. He’d begun to lose track of her features, to forget the details of her appearance, but the resemblance to Simms’s sister was so pronounced that one brief glimpse had been enough to bring it all storming back. Again he felt the grief of losing his daughter, but at the same time he knew that he was very close to unlocking the secret of Simms’s madness — young women with chestnut hair and grey eyes; young women who looked like his sister, whom he had just now argued with and struck.

Fifteen minutes later, Spicer returned with the girl who had answered the door.

“Tell him what you told me,” he urged.

The girl looked at Lewis. “Is it true Mr. Simms is in trouble and you’re trying to help him?” she asked. Lewis nodded. “And you’re a preacher, aren’t you, sir?” She hesitated for a moment and then she said, “Well, if you’re a preacher, then there can’t be anything wrong with telling you, can there? It would be just about like talking to Jesus himself, wouldn’t it?”

Lewis chose to ignore this piece of doctrinal confusion and waited for the girl to go on.

“I don’t give two hoots about the women in there. Nasty, the whole bunch of them, but Mr. Simms has always been right kind to me, and if he’s in trouble, I’d like to help him. Well, you met Miss Tildy and Miss Bella, the two who came to the door, right? Have you ever seen two such ugly women in your life? Well, there’s another one, the youngest, Miss Esther and you couldn’t imagine a body so different from her sisters. She’s right pretty, she is, but she knows it, too. And just between you and me and the doorpost, she uses it to get what she wants. The others all wait on her hand and foot, especially Mr. Simms.”

“But there was an argument, wasn’t there, between Mr. Simms and Miss Esther? When he was just here?”

“Oh, yes, it was dreadful, shoutin’ and yellin’ like you wouldn’t believe. Esther got another marriage proposal, you see, but of course the old woman forbade it again.”

“Another?”

“Oh, my yes, gets ’em all the time. And the answer is always the same. The old lady won’t let her wed until the older ones do. Says its “unseemly” or some such thing, and “just ain’t done.” The girl pantomimed looking down her nose with disdain. “Well, that ain’t goin’ to happen anytime soon, I can tell you, not with the way them older two look. And then Mr. Simms come bargin’ into the house and starts yellin’ at Esther to go against their mother’s wishes and get married anyway. And like I said, she’s real pretty and uses it, and she just sort of smiled at him and said, ‘Oh, no, Isaac, I couldn’t possibly go against mother,’ and then she did this real funny little smirk at him and said, ‘Besides, dear brother, where would that leave you and me?”

Lewis had the feeling that the girl was rehearsing, practicing her story until she got it dramatic enough to recount for her friends and family. He was suddenly glad that he had never been able to afford help for Betsy; obviously everything that happened in the house was grist for the gossip mill.

“And then?” Spicer said. “Tell him what happened then.”

“And then Mr. Isaac slapped her acrost the face. I expected there to be screamin’ like the banshees were out, but never a sound came out of her. She just stood there with her hand on her face and kept smilin’ at him with this strange smirk on her face.”

“I see,” Lewis said. “And can you just answer one more question, please? How long ago was this?”

“He’s been gone this last hour.”