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Praise for Janet Kellough and the Thaddeus Lewis series
On the Head of a Pin captivated us from the beginning. Janet did a great job of weaving her characters into a mystery that keeps you turning the pages.... This is a four-star selection that will be loved by all mystery fans.
— Suspense Magazine
On the Head of a Pin works on several levels; the murder mystery is woven into the larger story of Canada’s wild, pre-Confederation era.
— Quill & Quire
Kellough does a fine job of bringing life to the times and to her ministerial hero on horseback.
— National Post
[Sowing Poison] is a thoroughly well-done historical mystery.
— Globe and Mail
Kellough manages to work all these ingredients to conjure another rich tale of murder and intrigue in the County.
— The Wellington Times, review of Sowing Poison
[In The Burying Ground] Kellough weaves a tale that is almost as much a history lesson as it is a thrill ride.
— Publishers Weekly
Love the Murdoch Mysteries? Then you need to discover Janet Kellough’s terrific series set in 1851 and featuring preacher/detective Thaddeus Lewis.
— Globe and Mail
[The Burying Ground] is an engaging historical mystery.… Fans of Chesterton’s Father Brown or of Anne Perry and others who set their mysteries in Victorian England will find this Canadian variation much to their liking.
— Booklist
Dedication
For Sam and Alex
PROLOGUE
Committal Proceedings, Cobourg Courthouse, September 21, 1853
Thaddeus Lewis was not in the least surprised that the courtroom was packed with spectators. The newspapers had been full of lurid details about the Paul Sherman murder, and the fact that the accused was a woman made the case even more sensational. As he elbowed his way to the front of the room, he couldn’t help but overhear snatches of speculation and opinion. The circumstances surrounding the arrest of Ellen Howell had been thrashed over many times in the days leading up to the committal, but now everyone seemed to expect that the prosecution would present new evidence, something they hadn’t heard yet, facts that were not yet common knowledge.
In Thaddeus’s opinion, most of the people he pushed out of the way were gawkers and idlers, there out of nothing more than curiosity. They would repeat the details of the proceedings later in the streets and taverns. Others would crowd around to hear news of the latest developments. Some of them would even pay for drinks in exchange for eyewitness accounts.
Thaddeus managed to find a seat in the second row of benches on the right hand side, near the prisoner’s box. Mrs. Howell had asked him to attend. “So I know for certain there’s a friendly face in the crowd,” she’d said; but his presence would be no comfort if she couldn’t see him. A beefy man and an elderly woman with a cane had glared as he shoved past them and slid into a vacant seat. Under any other circumstances, Thaddeus would have stood back and let the woman take the space. Today, he firmly claimed possession of a few inches of bench.
The hubbub in the room grew louder as the prisoner was led in from a door at the side of the courtroom. She walked with her head down, looking neither left nor right, but just as she reached the box she stumbled slightly and reached out to steady herself, grabbing the rail in front of her. At that moment she happened to glance up. Thaddeus caught her eye and nodded. She smiled slightly.
The crowd quieted and everyone rose as three grim-faced justices of the peace entered and took their places at the front of the room. Thaddeus rose only far enough to show the requisite respect. He wasn’t taking a chance on losing his seat.
When they had all settled themselves again, the clerk read out the charges, alleging that “Mrs. Ellen Howell did feloniously, willfully, and with malice aforethought, on the night of September fourteenth in the Year of Our Lord, eighteen fifty-three, in the Township of Hamilton, kill and murder Mr. Paul Sherman.”
Mrs. Howell’s head sank lower as the accusation was read, and the audience in the courtroom was strangely silent as the gravity of the charge struck home. Newspaper reporters scribbled furiously, recording every detail so they could later describe it all for their readers.
One by one the prosecution witnesses were called and swore to tell the truth. The first to testify was the coroner, who had determined that the death was suspect and had called together a jury who agreed. He described the scene he encountered when he’d arrived on Spook Island, and read the autopsy report stating that Paul Sherman had died from a gunshot wound to the chest.
The prosecutor thanked the coroner and then walked the other witnesses through their testimonies.
Donald Dafoe, the man who had found the body, repeated his account that he had been fishing, and had put ashore on Spook Island to cook a pickerel, whereupon he discovered the dead man.
Two people testified that they had seen Ellen Howell on the shore with her husband earlier on the day in question. Two more swore that they had later seen her walking along the road from Sully in the direction of the Howell farm, although “she was ahead of us,” one said, “and turned down the lane before we reached her.” Both claimed that she was alone and that she was wearing a blue dress. And one witness testified that Ellen Howell had previously attended a Methodist meeting wearing that same blue dress. He said he remembered it because his wife had remarked upon it and had been badgering him for one just like it ever since.
The crowd became restless as the testimony proceeded. This was all old news. These details had been discussed and debated long since. They were hungry for something new to talk about.
The next witness was a man from Close Point who had rented his skiff to “an Englishman.” He was a newcomer to the area, and did not know the man’s name.
“And was this man alone?” the prosecutor asked.
“No,” the witness replied. “There was a woman with him, a woman in a blue dress. She stood a little way away, so I didn’t see her face.”
“Nevertheless,” the prosecutor continued, “can you say with any certainty that this same woman is in the courtroom today?”
“No, I can’t be certain at all. She was about the same height and build as the woman in the prisoner’s box, but she wore her bonnet low and I wasn’t close enough to see her clearly.”
Thaddeus thought the lack of positive identification was a point in Mrs. Howell’s favour, but then he realized that all the testimony did was confirm that both the Howells were present when the skiff was hired.
It was Chief Constable Spencer who finally gave the spectators what they had come for.
“I personally interviewed a number of the witnesses called today,” he reported, “and there was ample evidence to warrant a visit to the Howell farm, just south of Sully. My intention was to interview both Mr. and Mrs. Howell.”
“And what did they have to say for themselves, Mr. Spencer?”
“Mr. Howell said nothing. He was not present, being away, according to his wife, on business. Mrs. Howell claimed not to know Paul Sherman, and denied ever having set foot on Spook Island. We commenced a search of the premises and discovered a blue dress soaking in a washtub in the summer kitchen.”
The prosecutor was on sure ground now. “And did