A Fragile Design (38 page)
‘‘Thank you, Bella.’’
She closed her eyes momentarily and gave a faint nod. There was no taking back her words. She soon would be returning to Canterbury.
Liam settled himself in a chair by the fireplace in the Flynns’ tidy home and picked up a newspaper. ‘‘I see Mrs. Byrne’s been here to visit,’’ he said, picking up one of the outdated newspapers from the stack placed on a wooden footstool.
Mrs. Flynn’s cheeks were pink from the heat of the fire. Her plump figure jiggled as she laughed at Liam’s remark. ‘‘Mrs. Byrne believes she’s doin’ her good deed by sharin’ the papers, Liam, and stale though the news may be, ’tis better than none at all.’’
‘‘And for sure you speak the truth,’’ he replied, turning the page of last week’s paper and reading announcements of newly arrived dry goods that most likely had already been sold out. ‘‘Now, here’s something interesting,’’ he said. ‘‘There’s a big advertisement askin’ for any information regardin’ the girls who have been listed as missing from Lowell.’’
‘‘Is that a fact?’’ Mrs. Flynn inquired, taking up a position behind his chair and reading over his shoulder. ‘‘Well, would ya look at that,’’ she said, reaching in front of Liam. ‘‘They’ve even listed the lasses who are missin’ from the Acre. Now, that’s a real surprise, isn’t it?’’
‘‘That it is,’’ Liam replied as he scanned down the list. There was something familiar about the names—not the names of the Yankee girls, but certainly those of the Irish lasses. Where had he seen them before?
Mrs. Flynn clucked her tongue and shook her head back and forth. ‘‘ ’Tis a sad day when a mother sees her daughter disappear without a trace. I knew every last one of those Irish lasses, and there wasn’t a bad one among them. Sweet girls—pretty, too,’’ she added. ‘‘And now some Yankee girls are missin’, too. Soon it won’t be safe to go out of the house after sunset,’’ she lamented.
Liam continued staring at the list, irritated that he was unable to jog his memory. ‘‘It appears the Corporation is beginnin’ to take the disappearances seriously.’’
‘‘One has to wonder if they would have ever taken the matter seriously if the Yankee girls hadn’t started vanishin’,’’ Mrs. Flynn commented as she peeled and quartered another potato and placed it in the pot.
‘‘I’d like to think so, but either way, perhaps someone will come forward. It seems they’re offerin’ a reward,’’ Liam said as he continued reading.
‘‘If the promise of a few gold coins doesn’t spawn some interest, I don’t know what will. Folks will be scurryin’ into that police station like mice after a piece of cheese,’’ she said with a hearty laugh. ‘‘I don’t suppose ya saw Mr. Flynn on your way home this evenin’?’’ she ventured.
Liam shook his head. ‘‘No, can’t be sayin’ that I did.’’
‘‘I’m sure he’s busy conductin’ business down at the pub,’’ she retorted. ‘‘If he isn’t home soon, he’ll be eatin’ his supper cold.’’
‘‘Ya say that every night, Mrs. Flynn, and every night Mr. Flynn walks in the door just as ya’re setting his supper on the table.’’
‘‘Rather amazin’, isn’t it?’’ she asked, her lips curving into a bright smile.
‘‘Indeed,’’ he said, continuing with his reading.
Just as Liam had prophesied, Thomas Flynn walked through the front door while his wife was placing supper on the table. Liam and Mrs. Flynn exchanged a look and laughed aloud.
Mr. Flynn glanced back and forth between them. ‘‘I’m pleased to see I’ve been the cause of a bit of cheer for the two of ya,’’ he announced, sitting down at the table.
Mrs. Flynn gave her husband a loving pat. ‘‘Ya’ve given me a bit o’ cheer every day since I married ya,’’ she replied, giving him a quick peck on the cheek.
Supper with the Flynns reminded Liam of his parents’ home in Ireland. His parents had always enjoyed a special relationship, one that he hoped to emulate with a wife of his own someday. Not that he was apt to soon find a wife. Liam wanted a wife, all right. He just didn’t want to spend time finding her, which was a matter that hadn’t gone unnoticed by Mrs. Flynn from the first day of his arrival. She had now taken it upon herself to invite a different young lady for a cup of tea several evenings during the week. When a knock sounded at the door, Mr. Flynn and Liam would exchange a wink as they awaited a view of Mrs. Flynn’s latest candidate.
‘‘Do tell Thomas about that piece in the paper, Liam,’’ Mrs. Flynn urged.
‘‘Seems the Corporation is finally concerned about those missing girls. They’ve run an ad listin’ their names and asked for anyone with information to talk to the police. They’re even offerin’ a reward.’’
‘‘Well, I’m pleased to hear someone’s finally takin’ this seriously,’’ Thomas replied. ‘‘I hope the reward will loosen a few tongues. Doesn’t seem possible that all these girls could disappear without somebody seeing or hearing somethin’,’’ he said, pushing away from the table and picking up his pipe.
Liam joined Mr. Flynn in front of the fire, retrieving the paper and once again reading over the names of the girls. Leaning his head back against the chair, he closed his eyes and gave thought to where he might have read those names before. Without warning, he jumped up from his chair.
‘‘What’s the matter, boy? Ya ’bout scared the life out of me,’’ Mr. Flynn exclaimed.
‘‘I’m sorry. I happened to think of somethin’. Excuse me, would ya?’’
Liam didn’t wait for an answer before taking the few steps to the cordoned-off area where he slept. He opened the small trunk and pulled out the sheaf of papers he’d salvaged from J. P. Green’s fireplace months ago, the ones containing names he’d been unable to make sense of. Slowly, he ran his finger down the column of names, comparing them to the list in the newspaper. They matched—at least the names of the girls who’d been missing since before he’d snatched the papers from the fireplace. Beside each name was a column listing an amount of money. What could it mean? He sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the page and permitting his memory to carry him back to the home of J. P. Green.
Liam remembered the opulent house with its serpentine-shaped tables of mahogany, intricately carved mirrors, elaborate tapestries, and highly wrought wool carpets. And then he remembered something else. He’d been working late one evening while Mr. Green’s family was away visiting relatives. There had been a noisy upheaval in the foyer when two coarsesounding men had come seeking Mr. Green. Before Green finally got them out of the house, there’d been a terrible commotion.
Immediately after hearing the front door close, Mr. Green had come into the library where Liam was working and questioned him, asking if the ruckus had disturbed him. Liam lied and said he’d disregarded the matter and assumed it was some of Green’s associates who were in their cups. Green appeared satisfied by Liam’s response and said nothing further. But Liam had heard a portion of the argument. He’d heard Green threaten to horsewhip the men if they ever brought another girl to his home. And he’d heard one of the men repeating over and over that he was afraid they’d been followed. Green had finally screamed at the man to shut up, and when the men were finally quiet, he’d instructed them to take the girl down to the warehouse at the wharf.
The conversation Liam had overheard was now taking on a frightening new meaning. In spite of the chill in the house, beads of sweat formed across Liam’s forehead and upper lip. Could J. P. Green possibly be involved in abducting young women and selling them? Surely not! And yet, like a complex puzzle, the pieces were now coming together to form a picture, a horrifying mosaic of unspeakable crimes.
He must talk to someone, Liam decided—someone he could trust. Perhaps Hugh Cummiskey. But what could Cummiskey do about the likes of J. P. Green? This matter needed the attention of someone who wielded power in the community. Kirk Boott or . . . perhaps Matthew Cheever. Yes, that was it! He’d talk to Matthew Cheever—after all, he had talked to him several times since that day at the bridge. Each time had given him more reason to believe that Matthew was sincere and honest when he said that all men were equal in the eyes of God and that because of this, Matthew worked to make sure they were equal in his sight, as well. Perhaps Matthew had even been responsible for the advertisement in the paper. Yes, Liam felt he could trust Matthew with this information. He didn’t seem the type to hide the details of a crime simply because one of his own social class was responsible.
Liam gathered the remainder of the papers from his trunk and grabbed his coat from the peg near his chest. ‘‘I’ll be goin’ out for a while,’’ he announced to the Flynns as he shoved the papers inside his jacket.
‘‘Tomorrow’s a workday—don’t tip too many or ya’ll be havin’ a big head come mornin’,’’ Mr. Flynn replied with a laugh.
‘‘Right you are,’’ Liam called over his shoulder as he hurried out of the house with purpose in his step, his collar pulled high around his neck to ward off the damp chill in the fall evening air. He approached the Cheever house with uncertainty. What would Matthew Cheever think of a lowly Irish stonemason calling at his home?
‘‘I’ll soon find out,’’ he murmured, running up the front steps and knocking on the door.
Matthew Cheever answered the door, a smile on his face as he greeted Liam. ‘‘What a surprise. Come in, Liam,’’ he offered, leading the way into the parlor. ‘‘Let me take your coat.’’
Liam reached inside his jacket and pulled out the folded papers before removing his coat. ‘‘I hope I’m not interruptin’ ya.’’
‘‘Not at all. In fact, my wife has gone to visit my mother this evening, and I had planned to do a bit of reading. The opportunity to visit with you will be much more enjoyable, I’m sure.’’
Liam gave him a tired smile. ‘‘I’m not certain it will be enjoyable, but I didn’t know who else to come to.’’
‘‘This sounds intriguing. I thought you’d come to discuss religious beliefs. Am I wrong?’’
Liam unfolded the sheaf of papers and pressed them flat with his hand. ‘‘I’m afraid so. I’ve come to talk to you about these.’’
‘‘Perhaps we should sit at the table. It may be easier if we can spread out your papers,’’ Matthew suggested.
Liam separated and stacked the papers on the ornately carved mahogany table. ‘‘What I’ve got here are papers that I retrieved from J. P. Green’s fireplace when I was workin’ at his home,’’ Liam stated. ‘‘Coming from a people who can’t afford to waste anythin’, I noticed only one side of the paper had been used. I decided I could use the other side for writin’ letters home, so I removed the papers and put them in me satchel.’’
Matthew’s eyebrows knit together in obvious confusion.
‘‘I’m tellin’ you this only so ya’ll understand that I didn’t steal the papers—they were in the fireplace, obviously discarded.’’
‘‘Go on,’’ Matthew encouraged.
‘‘I never looked at the papers until the day I moved in with the Flynns—ya may recall that’s the day after you visited the church with Hugh Cummiskey.’’
‘‘Yes, I remember,’’ Matthew replied.
‘‘In goin’ over the papers and the figures listed there, I discovered that Mr. Green has been keeping two sets of books. This set,’’ he said, pointing to one stack of papers, ‘‘that shows the actual amount of money received by Appleton & Green and this one,’’ he continued, while pointing to another stack of papers, ‘‘that shows the company makin’ much less money. The differ- ence between the two is what he’s deposited in this account, which appears to be in his name only. It appears as if he’s falsifyin’ the records and stealin’ money from the shippin’ business.’’
Liam glanced at Matthew, hoping to gauge his reaction to the revelation. He didn’t want to proceed if Mr. Cheever appeared in any way affronted by the information. Matthew didn’t appear upset. In fact, he was carefully studying the papers and nodding his head.
Finally he looked at Liam. ‘‘Several months ago Nathan Appleton talked to Kirk and me when we were in Boston. He expressed some concern that J. P. might be stealing from the company. He was certain it had to be making more money than J. P. was depositing into the business account. I fear his suspicions are not only correct but that the thievery has been going on much longer than even he suspected. Having these papers gives me pause to wonder about something else, however,’’ Matthew said, a thoughtful look etched upon his face.
‘‘What’s that?’’ Liam inquired.
‘‘J. P. told us about a robbery at his home. He appeared unduly upset and spoke of missing papers of great importance. He went so far as to say it would be disastrous for him if the papers fell into the wrong hands. I’d wager these are the papers that concerned him.’’
Liam felt as though he’d taken a strong blow to the stomach. ‘‘Ya think I robbed Mr. Green? Is that what ya’re sayin’?’’
Matthew appeared startled by Liam’s words. ‘‘No, of course not. If you had stolen from Mr. Green, you wouldn’t have come here tonight. Besides, Liam, I think too highly of you to immediately assume you would ever consider doing such a thing. I’d guess that the thief pulled the valuables from the safe, considered the papers of no value, and tossed them in the fireplace. You went to work the next morning and, seeing the papers, assumed Mr. Green had discarded them and placed them in your satchel.’’
‘‘What ya’ve said makes sense. However, I’m guessin’ that Mr. Green is even more concerned about these papers than the ones I’ve already shown you,’’ Liam said, picking up the remaining sheets. ‘‘I happened upon an old newspaper this evenin’ and noticed an ad for the missing girls. I was pleased to see someone was finally taking their disappearance seriously.’’
Matthew nodded. ‘‘The Corporation agreed to pay for the ad. I had hoped it would yield some information. Unfortunately, it’s done us no good thus far.’’
‘‘Until now,’’ Liam replied, handing the papers to Matthew. He watched while Matthew read one column and then another until at last he finished.
Matthew gave Liam a steely gaze. ‘‘So much for my trip to New Hampshire. Who else have you told about this?’’ he demanded.
‘‘Have you decided?’’ Bella asked as she plopped down on the bed beside Daughtie. ‘‘We leave in the morning, and you’ll need to pack if you’re going to return.’’