Seth nodded. “You said you’d explain why you were asking.”
“I have reason to believe that Rachel was murdered.”
Minta gasped, and her hand flew up to her mouth, but Seth had a thoughtful look on his face. “I’d wondered,” he said. “All this time, I’ve wondered.”
Lewis told them of the other deaths, and a little of the strange details that anointed the bodies, the details that dovetailed with what Seth had discovered at his house that night. He omitted his theory of who had done it; it was not yet time to make his suspicions public.
“I was almost certain Rachel had been strangled,” Seth said, “but I couldn’t make head nor tail out of the other stuff. I thought maybe it was the Quaker boy she’d been seeing on the sly; his father was pretty upset at the notion of him marrying out. You know how they are — it’s their way or no way. I thought maybe something had happened between the two — they’d had an argument or something — and the boy flew into a rage and killed her.”
“No,” Lewis said, “I’m sure it wasn’t the Quaker boy. If it were only Rachel, you might think so, but he was nowhere near the others. And I’m positive the murders are all related, all done by the same person. There seems to be this strange ritual with each of them. The bodies set up in the same way, with the same things placed with them. That speaks of one man.”
“How do you know it’s a man?” Minta asked. “You men always seem to think that women are far too noble to do such evil things, but there are women who are monsters as well.”
Lewis smiled at her. “Believe me, Minta, I considered it. I know that evil comes sometimes in a female form, but there are certain aspects of this that point to a man. It would have to be someone with an excuse to be in many different places. There is also something else going on here that points to a man, a certain warped and depraved lust that somehow becomes something else. Please, Minta, don’t make me go into the details.”
But they had already imagined what those details might be, and they both looked taken aback.
“Do you know who it is?” Seth asked.
“Maybe,” Lewis replied. “But I have no proof, so I’ll not bandy names at this point.”
“But at some point in time you must have wondered if it was me,” Seth said, and Lewis sheepishly admitted that he had, but had quickly dropped him from consideration. “You have a happy family, and somehow I don’t think this man knows what that is.”
His timetable was once again in a shambles. Betsy was still far too lame to sit a horse, and even when she did start to feel better, he would still have to take her back to Bath. He debated whether or not he should ride west and resume his round for a few days and then return to take his family home, but that would mean leaving them with Minta. He felt they had imposed far too long as it was. Besides, he would once again be abandoning his appointments and he knew that many of them were in the northern reaches of his circuit, which would add substantially to the number of miles he would have to ride and the amount of time it would take for him to return. It was probably wiser to wait a day and see how things were.
His mind went round and round as he tried to fit together all the pieces of information he had gathered. Again and again he came back to Simms. He studied the Book of Proverbs again, the admonition to “come not nigh the door to her house,” and to “cleave unto thy wife.”
But Simms didn’t have a wife, did he? He had spoken only of a demanding mother and three unmarried sisters. Yet, he had been in Demorestville, in Prescott, in Millcreek. And who had given Sarah the little book and the painted pin, if not a peddler who had a large stock of both? He tried to recall whether or not he had ever seen the peddler’s wagon near Sarah’s cabin, but if he had, it had obviously made no impression on him. It would have been such a common sight that there would have been no reason to remember it. He did feel for the longest time that there was something he had overlooked, and then it came to him: Simms had said he was in Prescott awaiting a shipment, a shipment that had been sent down the river by his brother-in-law. As far as Lewis was aware, he had no brother-in-law; he had mentioned only the unmarried sisters. And he had been quite specific about their unwed states. And where had he been coming from when he had caught up with Lewis that day? Again, everything was pointing to the peddler. It was as clear as the writing on the wall.
The writing … the inscription inside the cover of Rachel’s book! It was a fine, educated hand that had written that. Mentally he compared the writing to the blotched and nearly illegible scrawl that had been on Morgan Spicer’s application for appointment. Not only was Spicer absent at the time of Sarah’s murder, he could never have written the words in Rachel’s book. He just didn’t write well enough.
“Minta,” he said, rising from the table. “Do you still have Rachel’s things?”
“Yes,” she said, puzzled. “Did you want to see them again?”
She retrieved the box for Lewis, who sorted through the effects until he found the Book of Proverbs. Yes, the writing was slanted and well-formed: the mark of an educated man.
“May I borrow this for a short time tomorrow?” he asked, and Minta, though obviously puzzled, nodded her assent.
The next morning Willett was nowhere in sight, but Benjamin was in the cramped little corner of the building that had been set aside as an office of sorts.
“Mr. Lewis,” he said, “Willett told me you were around the other day. I was sorry I missed you, so I’m glad you came back.”
“It’s good to see you again, too,” Lewis said. “I hear congratulations are in order. You’ve married since I left.”
Benjamin grinned. “Best thing I ever did. Should have done it long since.”
“I hear you’re so busy you’re not painting anymore.”
“That’s right. Given it up, just like my father wanted me to for years, although Willet and I may do a mural for the new church.”
“I do have a question regarding those pins you made. I understand that you travelled for a time selling them? As well as your portraits and paintings?”
“No, that’s not really quite right,” Caddick said. “Simms had his regular routes, so I sent most of the pin stock out with him. When I travelled I was selling the paintings. It’s only the well-to-do in the towns who would buy those, you see, but the pins were more popular with the poorer folk. I couldn’t cover the same kind of ground as Simms because he had all his other stock as well. He might sell some yard goods, or a pot or a tool at the same time. There just wasn’t enough profit in the pins to merit a special trip anywhere, but it was all right for him because he was going anyway.”
“So he handled the bulk of them?”
“Yes, he had most of them,” Caddick agreed. “Oh, I’d always have a few with me, just in case, but by and large it was Simms. He always said he wished they were worth more because he sold so many of them. He gave a lot of them away, as well. You know, if somebody bought a bible or a prayer book, he’d throw in the pin as a bonus.”
A bible or a prayer book … or a little red Book of Proverbs.
“Does this have something to do with Rachel Jessup?” Caddick asked. “Willett said you were asking questions about her.”
“Well, yes it does. I have never been convinced that all the questions about her death have ever been answered.” He shrugged. “I’m just trying to put the pieces together, that’s all.”
“Don’t tell me you fell under her spell as well?” Caddick teased. “She had all the young fellows dancing, that’s for sure, but I’d have thought you’d be unmoved.”
Lewis smiled. “Oh, no. Don’t worry, I’m well aware that I’m a crotchety old man and unattractive to all, except perhaps my wife on a good day. It’s just a small mystery