Wishful Seeing (21 page)

“I think you should go straight home,” Ashby said as the courtroom cleared. “Don't talk to anybody. Don't stop for anybody. I'll be around in a little while.” Which Thaddeus took to mean that Ashby was sorely in need of a drink, but maybe he was being uncharitable.

As they exited the courthouse, their appearance caused a stir among the knots of people lingering on the steps after the day's proceedings. One of the newspaper reporters pushed toward them, notebook in hand.

Thaddeus glared and shook his head to signal that he would answer no questions. The reporter hesitated for only a moment, then pointed at Caroline and shouted, “Is this the daughter of the accused?”

Thaddeus could see Caroline shrinking against Martha's side, her face averted from the crowd of people staring at her.

“What is your interest in this case, Mr. Lewis?” the reporter persisted. “Is the girl staying with you?”

“Will the defence argue that this is a case of mistaken identity?” another man asked.

Thaddeus pushed through them, making a path for Martha, who pulled her cloak up around Caroline to shield her from the gaze of the crowd. Someone tugged at Thaddeus's arm. He whirled to face the man.

“I beg your pardon, sir! I have nothing to say to you and I'd appreciate it if you would unhand me.”

Suddenly Ashby was there, on the other side of Martha, one arm around her while the other pushed at the people blocking their way. Thaddeus took Caroline's hand and increased his pace until they were almost running. He slowed down only when they were well down the street and there appeared to be no one giving chase. Caroline's face was tear-streaked.

“I'm so sorry that happened,” Thaddeus said to her, “but we're all right now, eh?”

“You should be fine,” Ashby said. He still had his arm around Martha, but now she shook it off and moved away from him. “Don't let anybody into the house, and above all, don't talk to anyone. I'll be there shortly.”

Digger wagged his tail and wiggled ecstatically when he saw Caroline.

“You should take him outside,” Martha said. “He's been in the house all day.”

“I'll go, too,” Thaddeus said. He wasn't entirely sure what Ashby was so worried about, but he figured it was best if he didn't let the girl out of his sight.

Digger liberally anointed several bushes, then raced up and down the yard after a stick that Caroline threw for him until he became sidetracked by a chipmunk that went to ground under the elm tree in the back corner of the garden. He dug ferociously at the root of it, his tail wagging happily.

“Mr. Lewis.” It was James Small hanging over the fence that separated the two yards. Thaddeus walked over to him.

Small's manner was abrupt. “Do you have any suggestion as to what I should do with these?” he asked, holding out a handful of stained paper. “I don't know if they have any value anymore, but they certainly aren't mine.”

It was the wad of paper that Thaddeus had jammed into the bleeding wound on Small's head, glued into a lump by congealed blood. Only by looking closely could anyone tell that they were notes issued by the Bank of Montreal.

“I don't want anyone saying I kept money that didn't belong to me,” Small said.

Thaddeus knew they were probably counterfeit, part of George Howell's stock in trade. They should go to Ashby. But, he judged, they should probably be put directly into the barrister's hands.

“I'm not sure who they belong to now,” he said. “Why don't you hang on to them for the time being and I'll ask what you should do with them.”

“Very well.”

Small put them in his pocket and moved on to his next point of contention. “Are you planning to lead the men's meeting in Baltimore this evening?” The young minister's lips were pursed in disapproval.

Thaddeus had already decided that he wasn't. He was worried about Martha and Caroline, and even if he hadn't been, he felt extremely disinclined to go. Sitting in court all day had taken more out of him than he'd expected. “I don't think so,” he said. “I've only just returned from the courthouse, and even if I left right this minute, I would make only the last part of the meeting.”

“I see. And I suppose Precious Corners is out of the question tomorrow, as well?”

Thaddeus agreed. “Yes, I expect so. Are you well enough to see to it?”

“I suppose I'll have to be, won't I?”

“No, you don't have to be. If you can't go, the lay ministers can lead the prayers.”

“I have to tell you, Mr. Lewis, the congregation is most unhappy at this turn of events. They expect their minister to attend them, not spend all his time at the gaol.”

“No, they don't,” Thaddeus said. “When I first took this circuit, Bishop Smith suggested that I take as many rest days as I need, and that was made clear to everyone. What they're really upset about is my involvement with the Sherman case.”

“Yes, they are. And I think someone should inform the Bishop of the impropriety of your involvement.”

“If you feel you really must, James, then by all means, go ahead.”

This evidently was not the answer Small had been expecting. He gave Thaddeus a sour look but seemed unable to think of anything to say in response.

“If you decide to go to Precious Corners, you can take my horse.” Thaddeus knew that this would only aggravate his young assistant, but truth be told, he was a little nettled by Small's words. Nettled, and not a little guilty. He had made such an auspicious start on this circuit, and now he was letting the advantage slide away.

“And here comes your barrister,” Small sneered, as Ashby came down the street with a parcel in hand.

“There you go,” Thaddeus said. “That's who you should give the banknotes to.”

“Everyone's talking about him as well, you know. I wonder you'll admit him to your house. You should look to your granddaughter, Mr. Lewis. Whatever you choose to do is your business, but you're leading Martha down a perilous path.”

Thaddeus had had enough of being lectured by his junior assistant. “That is quite enough, James. In one thing, you're correct. This is my business. Not yours. And neither is Martha.” And then he turned and walked back into the house, followed closely by Caroline and Digger, who delivered a parting yap at Small. Just as they stepped inside, Caroline said in a small voice, “Are you in trouble?”

“Yes, probably. But don't worry about it. I've been in trouble before and I dare say I will be again.”

“I don't like that man. He shouts. Like the dead man did.”

Thaddeus asked, as matter-of-factly as he could, “Did the dead man shout at you?”

“No. Not me. At Mama. And he hurt her. He grabbed her arm.”

“I know. I saw the bruises. You must have been frightened.”

She nodded, but didn't say anything else. Thaddeus desperately wanted to ask her more, but he knew that it would be all too easy to alarm her. Better to let her tell it when she was ready.

Martha was starving, but as she had been in court all day, supper would be a hasty affair. There was a little side bacon in the cold room and a half-dozen eggs, a sack of potatoes in the woodshed, plenty of pickles, a loaf of bread, and not much else. She'd have to go to the market as soon as she could the next day, especially if her grandfather was going to be home. He expected more substantial fare than she bothered with when she was alone. Potato soup would do for tonight, she decided, with fried bacon and hard-boiled eggs.

As soon as Caroline and Thaddeus came in from the backyard, she put them both to work setting the table. To Martha's surprise, Caroline had no difficulty with which side of the plates the knives and forks went on, and voluntarily folded the napkins into a triangular shape before she placed them at the head of each setting. She may have grown up in a dilapidated cabin, but her mother had obviously schooled her in the finer points of civilized dining.

Ashby smiled charmingly when she let him in the front door a few minutes later.

“I hope you're recovered from that melee outside the courthouse,” he said.

“I'm fine. It wasn't me they wanted to talk to so it was just a question of making my way through it. I did manage to land a couple of good kicks on a shin or two, though.”

He laughed and handed her the parcel he was carrying.

“A cake,” he said, “for dessert. I've taken so many meals here I thought I should contribute for once.”

Martha hadn't really been expecting him to come for supper. He would just have to lump in and make do along with everyone else, she decided. She could scarcely tell him to go away. And, she supposed, the cake was a peace offering of sorts.

“I thought you did well today,” Thaddeus remarked as Ashby shrugged off his coat and walked through to the kitchen. “You made an impression with the jury, I think.”

“I did indeed. And I hope to make a bigger one tomorrow. Don't forget, all we have to establish is reasonable doubt, and I think we're well on the way to that.”

“You're right. I keep losing sight of that fact. You don't have to prove who killed Paul Sherman, just that it probably wasn't George Howell. There's a part of me, though, that wants to bring the culprit to justice.”

“The thrill of the chase?” Ashby laughed. “Your son told me that you're a human bloodhound.”

No sooner had Martha set the soup on the table than another knock came at the front door, setting Digger off and startling them all. Thaddeus rose to answer it. “If that's James Small I'm going to be really annoyed,” he grumbled.

It wasn't. It was someone asking to speak with Caroline Howell.

Thaddeus returned to the kitchen. “I believe you should handle this,” he said to Ashby. “It's Constable Spencer. He wants to question the girl.”

“Yes, I was expecting this. Stay here, if you would.”

Martha glanced at Caroline. The girl's eyes were very wide.

They could hear the conversation clearly from where they sat.

“I would like to ask Miss Caroline Howell a few questions in connection with the Sherman murder,” the constable said. “I've been told she's staying here.”

“Miss Howell has nothing to say,” Ashby returned.

“I believe she may have some information that could shed light on the investigation. All I want to do is ask her a few questions.”

“Is she being charged with an offence?”

“No, of course not.”

“Then as her barrister, I am advising her to remain silent.”

“You're her barrister?” the constable asked.

“Yes. Mr. Lewis has retained me to represent both Ellen and Caroline Howell.”

“Oh, come on. It's just a few questions.”

“Sorry.” And then Ashby firmly closed the door. “I was afraid that might happen,” he said when he returned to his seat. “This is a slippery game we're playing.” Then he turned to Caroline, as if she had been unable to hear the conversation at the front door. “That was a policeman. He was looking for you.”

Her face crumpled. “Am I going to gaol?”

Martha was outraged when Ashby replied, “Maybe. Maybe not. But I can protect you only so far.” His voice was harsh.

The silence spun out for several minutes while Caroline sat with her head bowed and everyone else picked at their suppers. Suddenly Martha wasn't so hungry anymore.

She waited until everyone appeared finished with the poor supper she had provided, then brought out the cake. It was a beautiful cake, a bakeshop cake, with fancy rosettes of icing on the top. She served them each a piece and sat down again. Ashby was the only one who attacked it with any enthusiasm. Caroline picked at one of the rosettes, then asked to be excused.

It took Martha a long time to get to sleep that night. It was the first time she had ever seen a trial. She was intimidated by the gravity of Justice Stephens, who held the power of life and death in his hands. She had been a little confused at times by some of the terms used in court, but soon found that she could ignore these and still follow the ins and outs of the evidence presented. And she had been impressed and a little awed by Ashby, who floated through the proceedings with an air of sublime confidence. Brilliant, charming Ashby, who could be counted on to frustrate and annoy just when you thought you might like him.

She didn't know why she let him bother her so. She had no difficulty ignoring James Small, except when he severely provoked her, of course. But James didn't have any charm to temper his shortcomings, she realized. It would never occur to James Small to bow over her hand or buy her a bakery cake.

Oh well, she thought, the trial will be over within a few days and then Ashby will leave Cobourg and that will be that. She would probably never see him again and she wasn't even sure why that would be a disappointment. And at that, she drifted off to sleep.

Frantic barking woke Martha some time later. She sat upright in bed, disoriented and befuddled. She heard her grandfather groan, and then his feet hitting the floor. Digger seemed only to bark when he thought something was threatening Caroline, but she didn't know this for sure. Maybe a squirrel or a cat had caught his attention and that was what upset him.

She scrambled out of bed and ran to the hallway. Caroline stood wild-eyed at her bedroom door. Digger shot past her and down the stairs to the back door. Martha hurried to catch up with him. He was scratching frantically to be let out.

“I've got it.” Thaddeus was right behind her. “Get a lantern.” He opened the door. The moon was nearly full, but it cast inky shadows over the yard. The dog disappeared into them and Thaddeus followed. Martha ran back into the kitchen, lit a lamp, and returned to the yard just in time for the arc of her light to silhouette two figures struggling by the fence. She heard Thaddeus grunt, then one of the figures broke away, only to be felled by a flying tackle from the other.