A Changing Light Read online

“She later was putting away his clean laundry and saw the gun.” I didn’t need to tell Kevin it was in with his undergarments. He would only be embarrassed.

  “How in the devil’s name did you learn this?” he asked.

  “Thee needn’t bring Lucifer into the matter, Kevin.”

  “I apologize, Miss Rose. You’re right.” He chuckled. “You always keep me on the straight and narrow, as it were. Now, about this information. Who is this mysterious girl?”

  “I have an acquaintance named Mrs. Frannie Eisenman. The girl who helps in her kitchen primarily works for Ned. Frannie told me this morning.” I held up my hand when he began to speak. “I didn’t get the girl’s name. Frannie said she’s a recent immigrant from Greece and is terrified of police.”

  “Eisenman, you say?” He scribbled on a notepad.

  “Yes, with one n at the end. She lives down near the beginning of Maple Street, not far from the Friends Meetinghouse.”

  “Duly noted.”

  “Is thee going to need to talk with the girl?” I asked.

  “If I do, I’ll be gentle, have no fear. But it’s possible going straight to the source will be more effective.”

  “To Ned. Good idea. If this gun was the murder weapon, why would he have it in his possession if he didn’t use it?”

  He nodded slowly. “I suppose he could have come across it the next morning wherever the killer dropped it. But he should have brought it directly to us, not secret it away in his own home. I confess this case continues to confound me. I could use a break in it.”

  “Thee isn’t holding Zeb Weed.”

  “I have no evidence against him. And he won’t tell me a blasted thing, either.”

  “How about the plans that were taken?” I asked. “Has thee learned what they were?”

  “Mr. Bailey the elder said they were for some kind of new model.”

  “Who had the opportunity to steal them?”

  He frowned. “He couldn’t remember where he’d left them. I think he’s going soft in the head, frankly. But I do know Mr. Ned Bailey took both those Canadians to visit his uncle the evening before the murder.”

  “Didn’t I tell thee so?”

  “You quite possibly might have.”

  I cocked my head, thinking. “Kevin, I don’t think I’ve had the chance to tell thee what Ned told me the next day about his own plans. Have I?”

  “No, you have not.” He looked exasperated. “Out with it, Miss Rose.”

  He must be feeling frustrated with the lack of progress. “He said he wants to put a motor in a carriage body and make a vehicle that moves by its own power. He called it a motorcar. The missing plans might be for exactly that.”

  “A motorcar?” He squinted at me. “That’s crazy.”

  “Maybe, or perhaps it’s the future. I just realized I’d never shared that with thee. Although Ned made it sound like he had drawn up the plans, not his uncle.”

  “Be that as it may,” Kevin said. “I also haven’t gotten anywhere with Mr. Parry.”

  “How about with Luthera?” I asked. “Has thee determined her whereabouts the night of the murder?”

  “Mrs. Harrington? Have you lost your senses, Miss Rose?”

  “Not at all. I can think of a number of reasons a wife might have to extinguish her husband’s life.”

  “True enough. The answer is no, I haven’t. Yet.” He stood and clapped his hat on his head. “But first I have to see a man about a gun.”

  I pushed up to standing. Kevin took a second look at me.

  “I say, Miss Rose. I hope this isn’t overly forward of me to say, but I’d venture a guess you are in the blessed way. Am I right?”

  I laughed. “If by that thee means am I pregnant? Yes, I am. David and I have been well blessed and will have a baby of our own this summer.”

  Kevin beamed. “That’s splendid news. I’ll tell my Emmaline tonight, if I may. She’ll be thrilled for you.”

  “Please do tell her.”

  “You’d best not be doing any more assisting in this case. I mean, I thank you for the information you bring me, but you have a wee bun in the oven to protect.”

  “I promise not to do anything to endanger myself or the foetus, Kevin.” This was a promise I intended to keep.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  I trudged to Alma’s house, my steps growing heavier the closer I got. My grief at losing Orpha had been suppressed by Esther’s birth and the investigation. It now flooded back in. I could only imagine how Alma was feeling. Still, my dress became tighter by the hour, it seemed. Alma had telephoned this morning saying my new garments were ready. It would be an enormous relief not to have a constriction around my waist.

  Alma pulled open the door and welcomed me in.

  “How is thee?” I asked her.

  “I’m sad. Having work to do helps. And you?”

  “The same.” I gazed at Orpha’s rocking chair in the parlor where we stood, and my eyes filled. I looked away, but the doorway beyond led to her bedroom. Her death room. “Is she still . . . ?” I couldn’t finish.

  “No. The Rogers funeral parlor men came yesterday. And speaking of funerals, we’re going to hold the service tomorrow afternoon at the Main Street Congregational Church. We’ll gather here afterward. You’ll come, won’t you?”

  “I wouldn’t miss it. What time?”

  “The funeral will be at two o’clock,” she said. “Dr. Chatigny has been a great help.”

  “I’m glad. Is thy father coming?”

  She cast her eyes upward for a moment. “Yes, my parents will arrive tonight. How someone as good as Nana produced a difficult man like him is beyond me. My husband is hurrying back with the girls, too, which will help. Somehow Mr. Latting gets along better with Father than I do.”

  “Good. May I bring food for the gathering?”

  “No, don’t trouble yourself. The good Congregational ladies are handling refreshments, for which I am grateful.” She gestured toward the stairs. “Shall we?”

  I followed her up to her sewing room and exclaimed at the two loose dresses hanging ready for me. “Thee is a miracle worker.”

  She’d found the lawn in a plain dusky green, and the other was of Quaker gray, as we liked to call it, but in a polished cotton. The fabric was shirred into tiny pleats at the shoulders and flowed down in loose folds from there, front and back.

  “They are identical except for cloth and color,” Alma said. “Try one on, and I’ll see if I have to make any adjustments. They fasten down the front, and I used hooks and eyes instead of buttons. I had a dress like this when I was nursing my girlies. Hooks and eyes made it much easier to open the front one-handed and feed them.”

  “I hadn’t thought of that aspect.” Sewing on hooks and eyes was indeed a brilliant idea. I unfastened the buttons at my waist. “Oh, that’s better. Alma, if there are any alterations, thee will have to do them on the spot. I plan to wear one of these home.” I’d be glad to get out of my wet hems.

  Alma laughed and pointed at the Oriental screen she provided for modesty. I emerged in the gray version a minute later. Its slightly heavier cotton would be warmer. She looked at me, felt the shoulders, and turned me to face away.

  “Yes, I think it’s perfect, and the length is, too. Do you agree?”

  “I do.” It fell to my ankles but didn’t sweep the floor. I turned around again, running my hands down the front and sides. “You added pockets. I like that.”

  “I try to provide all my ladies with pockets if they want them. You, I didn’t ask, knowing what a practical person you are. Believe me, when you’re carrying a baby around, it helps to have somewhere to stash a handkerchief or a teether.”

  “I’m glad.”

  “Let me wrap up the green one and the dress you wore here.” Alma headed to a wide roll of paper in the corner.

  “Can thee possibly wrap them separately? The slush out there drenched my hems as I walked.”

  “Certainly.” As she worked, she shook he
r head. “You know, the lady I told you about, the one I sold the widow’s dress to?”

  “Luthera Harrington.”

  “Yes, her. I’d included a pocket in the black dress, but she was unhappy about it. She claimed she would never have a use for one and instructed me to stitch it closed.”

  “Truly?” I asked.

  “Yes.”

  “She does seem like someone who has always had others to make her life easier.” I pictured her privileged airs. “Maybe she can’t conceive of anything so practical as a pocket.”

  “It might have come in handy if she’d wanted to hide the gun she shot her husband with.”

  I stared at Alma.

  “Well, you know.” She handed me my packages. “In the Pinkerton novel I read, the wife was the first suspect.”

  Chapter Twenty-six

  As Georgia’s home on Powow Street was only two blocks from Alma’s, I decided to stop by in case I could speak to Wilson. I had a little pang because of my promise to Kevin, but what harm could come of a brief conversation with the driver if I were in the company of a friend?

  “Rose, good afternoon,” Georgia Clarke said as her driver helped her down from the carriage in the covered porte cochere attached to her house.

  This was a stroke of luck.

  “Do you have any news?” she whispered.

  “Hello, Georgia. No, I don’t, but I actually wondered if I could have a word with Wilson.”

  Wilson, his back to us, seemed to freeze at hearing me say his name.

  “Whatever you need,” Georgia said. “Wilson?”

  He clicked shut the door of the carriage, then turned slowly. His neat black suit and driving cap had the look of a uniform. He was clean-shaven, and intelligent gray eyes regarded me from under bushy eyebrows already going white. His build was trim, his spine straight, his expression wary.

  I wondered what he thought he had to fear from me.

  “Yes, Mrs. Clarke?” he asked.

  “This is my friend Mrs. Dodge. She’d like to speak with you for a moment.”

  “Very well, ma’am. Shall I put up Silver first?” He gestured toward the horse.

  Georgia gave me an inquiring glance.

  “This shouldn’t take long,” I said.

  “I need to move to the front, Mrs. Dodge,” Wilson said.

  “Please,” I replied.

  Wilson stepped toward the aptly named steed.

  “Is Luthera around?” I asked Georgia.

  “No, she’s out with the carriage doings. I don’t expect her back until this evening.”

  Good.

  A white-clad nursemaid stepped into the doorway of the home holding a red-faced Rosie, who extended her arms toward Georgia and wailed for her mother.

  Georgia laughed. “Excuse me, Rose. Your namesake wants her mama.” She patted her bosom and leaned toward me, murmuring, “She still wants her milkie a few times a day. I know she’s almost two, but I don’t mind. She’s my last baby.”

  “Go then,” I said, smiling.

  “Are you headed home from here?” she asked me.

  “Yes.”

  “Wilson, please drive Mrs. Dodge to her house when you’re done talking. She’ll direct you.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Wilson touched the brim of his cap.

  “I thank thee, Georgia.” My feet were chilled from getting wet earlier, and a cold breeze had blown up, too. A ride would be lovely. I moved closer to Wilson. “I’m pleased to make thy acquaintance, Wilson. Has thee worked for Georgia long?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I’ve been with Mr. Clarke’s family since I was a lad.” He smoothed the neck of the horse, whose light gray coat was indeed nearly silver.

  “I see. I wondered if thee might be able to tell me what time thee drove Luthera Harrington home on Second Day evening this week. What thee calls Monday,” I hastened to add.

  He gazed directly at me for the first time. His lips rounded, as if he was about to ask “Why?” Instead, he closed his mouth and nodded. “Yes, ma’am. It was nearly midnight.”

  “That’s late. Does thee live here on the property?”

  “I have quarters in the carriage house, ma’am.” He glanced toward the back, where a sizeable two-story carriage house stood, with trim and paint to match the main house.

  “Where did thee pick up Luthera, if I may ask?”

  “Why, in front of the opera house, ma’am. It’s where the evening’s festivities were held.”

  “Was she alone?”

  He blinked, and the corners of his mouth turned down. “Of course not, ma’am. That would be unseemly for a lady. Mr. Clarke escorted her.”

  “I see. Did she seem flustered or . . . ?” I let my voice trail off. I couldn’t very well ask if she’d had blood on her.

  “I’m sure I wouldn’t know, ma’am.”

  Or didn’t want to say, more likely. “Well, I thank thee for this information.”

  “Would you like to return home now, Mrs. Dodge?” His tone sounded like he would like to be rid of me, even if I wasn’t ready to go.

  But I was out of questions for now. And I had new things to ponder.

  “Yes, please.”

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  David and I sat at a table next to a window that evening in the Grand Hotel, which perched atop Whittier Hill, one of the highest points in Amesbury. The lights of the town twinkled in the distance below. The clink of silver on china and a room full of murmured conversations surrounded us.

  I gazed at what remained of my chicken cutlet, which had been delicately flavored with herbs and lemon. A final morsel of mashed potatoes and one last asparagus spear, imported from somewhere south of here, still awaited me. Around here the tasty shoots didn’t come up until mid-May. Across from me, my husband popped in the last bite of his roast beef, which had been served with a mushroom sauce and potato croquettes. We’d managed not to discuss the murder once during dinner.

  “I am nearly full to the brim,” I said. “But not quite.” I cut a piece of asparagus and savored it.

  “This is a nice break, isn’t it?” David sipped from his red wine.

  “It certainly is. Thank thee for suggesting it.”

  “And you look lovely in your new frock, my dear.”

  “Thank thee.” I smiled at him. For our outing, I’d changed into the green dress, which was plain and pretty at the same time. I felt vain liking that it complemented my coloring, but even Friends want to look nice for their dearly beloved. What with the bloom of pregnancy on my cheeks, I hadn’t needed to use any “Quaker rouge,” the rub of a mullein leaf that pinkened skin in a pleasant way. “This style is ever so much more comfortable.”

  “And if you are at ease, the baby will be as well, isn’t that right?”

  “I believe so.” I thought of what Esther had said about Akwasi being overjoyed at having a baby boy. “David, does thee hope very much for a son?” I resettled my spectacles, which had a habit of slipping down my nose.

  “Rose, don’t you know me by now? A son would make me happy, but so will a daughter. All I care about is you and the baby making it through in good health. I’m not the archaic type of man like the new father you told me about last year, who wouldn’t even acknowledge his newborn daughter after her twin brother died.”

  “Because all he wanted was a son,” I said, remembering.

  “Our child will be perfect, regardless of its sex.”

  “We are in agreement.” I smiled at him.

  “I have some news. I agreed to let offices on Market Street today.”

  I clapped my hands. “That’s wonderful. I’m so glad, dear David.”

  “As am I. It’s near the square, and in the same building as Dr. Norton, the homeopathist. I’ll switch my attending privileges to the Methodist Hospital a little farther out on Market next month.”

  “Bravo.” I gazed out at the darkness. Despite the beauty of the evening, it brought to mind the night of Justice’s murder. Luthera hadn’t left the opera hou
se until midnight, but she’d been with Robert Clarke. Being escorted home did not clear her of the murder, though. She could have left the festivities earlier, shot her husband, and returned. For that matter, so could have Ned or William. Were Kevin and his men asking all who had been present their whereabouts and what they’d seen? I hoped so.

  “A penny for your thoughts, my dear?” David asked gently. “Or maybe I needn’t pay. I wager you’re thinking about”—he glanced around and lowered his voice to a murmur—“this week’s events.”

  “Thee knows me too well. I spoke with Kevin this afternoon. He doesn’t seem to be making much progress.” I glanced up as a couple approached us. When I saw it was Jonathan Sherwood with a pleasant-looking woman, I smiled.

  “Good evening, Jonathan,” I said. “Has thee met my husband, David Dodge? David, this is Jonathan Sherwood of Lowell’s Boat Shop. He also sits on the Board of Trade.”

  David rose and the men shook hands.

  “This is my wife, Amy,” Jonathan said. “Amy, midwife Rose Dodge.”

  We exchanged pleasantries. “Did thee enjoy thy meal?” I asked her.

  “Very much,” Amy said.

  Jonathan nodded his agreement.

  “I had an excellent older midwife here in town for our son’s birth ten years ago,” she said. “Do you know Mrs. Perkins, Mrs. Dodge?”

  I nodded once even as my smile slipped away and grief flooded me again. “Orpha was my teacher, and I took over her practice. I’m sad to say she passed away this week.”

  “I’m very sorry to hear this,” Amy said.

  “As am I,” Jonathan added. “She provided superb care for Amy and our baby.”

  “Her funeral is tomorrow afternoon at two, at Main Street Congregational,” I told them.

  “Thank you.” He glanced at his wife, who bobbed her head. “I expect we’ll see you there.”

  Here in front of me was someone who doubtless was at the opera house Second Day night. I didn’t want to waste this opportunity. “Jonathan, did thee attend the Spring Opening festivities Monday evening?”

  He looked over the top of his spectacles at me. He knew I had been involved in an investigation last year after I’d had to inform a victim’s husband—someone Jonathan supervised—of his wife’s death.