Judge Thee Not

by Edith Maxwell

  I was about to mount my own steed when I noticed the handlebars had become twisted. I managed to straighten them so they were again at right angles to the front wheel. I rode along until I reached Hayes and turned left. I coasted with the slope of the road down toward the river and picked up quite a bit of speed. I’d passed the two houses and was nearly to the narrow bridge when a fox darted out in front of me. I slammed the pedals backward to brake so I didn’t hit it. But nothing happened. The pedals spun in reverse. I cried out, trying to swerve, trying to stop.

  The fox dashed away. My front wheel hit a rock. My hands lost their grip. The bike crashed into the metalwork of the bridge. I flew off, sliding down the bank. I grabbed at a sapling, praying it would hold. If I fell into the river I would be swept away by its roiling spring current.

  The young tree held fast. I worked my hands farther down the sapling’s trunk to where it didn’t bend. I dug my toes into the dirt and hauled myself up until I sat on flat ground. My breath came fast and noisy. My heart beat like the hooves of a galloping horse.

  “Miss, you all right there?” A man with his dinner napkin still tucked into the neck of his shirt towered above me. He extended a meaty hand. “Let me help you up.”

  I blinked, then took his hand. “I thank thee.” I stood but my legs shook. I reached out and took hold of the edge of the bridge.

  “I heard your shout and ran out to see what happened.” His gaze traveled to the bridge where my bike lay on its side. “That your bicycle?”

  I nodded. “The braking mechanism failed and I couldn’t stop. Then my wheel hit a stone and I went flying.”

  He whistled. “Give me a trusty horse any day. These new-fangled contraptions aren’t to be trusted and there’s no two ways about it.”

  “It’s been quite reliable up to now.” But I thought I knew exactly who was responsible for it failing. I dusted off my hands, my fear at drowning turning to anger at Merton and Adoniram, scoundrels both. “Return to thy dinner, kind sir. I’ll be walking this machine home.”

  “You take care of yourself, now. You look like a nice young lady.” He returned to the back door of the nearest house.

  I glanced down at my skirt and groaned. Nice, maybe, but my new garment had a tear at the shin and a smear of mud up and down the side where I’d slid. There was nothing to be done about it now. I peered at the bicycle but couldn’t see an obvious reason for its failure. I brushed off my hands but did so gently, as the skin was tender from the brush scraping it. I picked up my metal steed and began my trudge home, with a hip that felt bruised and a sore knee, to boot. A member of Friends Meeting was well-known for his tinkering abilities. I’d take the bike to him tomorrow and see if he could put it to rights. Or maybe I’d show it to Kevin first.

  I supposed it was possible that the mechanism had come with a flaw that caused the braking not to function. But it had functioned fine up until it was purloined, and I thought it much more likely that two murder suspects had deliberately tampered with the brakes before they’d abandoned the bicycle in the copse. They’d want to ensure that if I found it, I would still be slowed in my investigation. That, or removed from the investigation permanently. And they’d very nearly been successful.

  Fifty-five

  The air in Saint Paul’s was scented with incense by the end of Mayme’s funeral service the next morning. The church bell outside had finished ringing eleven times and the sanctuary was full of the rustling of silks, the quiet clearing of throats, and murmurs but not weeping. An organist played somber music while the pallbearers, including Merton and Adoniram, took their positions around the white-covered coffin at the front. Adoniram had cleaned up for the occasion, wearing a threadbare but respectable black suit and a sparkling white collar. I’d never seen him without dirt on his knees.

  My anger at their tampering with my bicycle had risen up again. I’d tried to wash it away by immersing myself in the service. It had, however, been tedious and noisy. The priest had led the mourners in various responsive readings interspersed with an overly long sermon. For someone like me accustomed to silent worship, it seemed the church wanted to keep people so busy they didn’t have a chance to connect directly with God. The singing of hymns had been nice, though, with some excellent voices in the congregation joining in.

  Nursing my sore hip, I sat at the back between Bertie and Jeanette. We’d arrived at rather the last minute and I hadn’t had a chance to ask Jeanette if she’d translated for Kevin yet, nor to share the exciting news about the new house with both of them. I spied Irvin Barclay a few rows up, which surprised me. He hadn’t liked Mayme. Maybe he wanted the satisfaction of seeing she was good and gone. I couldn’t see if Nalia was with him due to a lady’s large hat blocking my view.

  As I observed the ornate decor of the church, I finally listened to the small voice inside that had been nagging at me since David had showed me our new house yesterday. This sanctuary presented a stark contrast to the light-filled simple Friends Meetinghouse where I was so completely at peace during worship. Was our home-to-be also overly ornate? The design was not a simple one, with all those gables and rooflines. With four bedrooms it was also much larger than we would need, at least at first. And even when children came along, one bedroom for the girls and one for the boys would be sufficient. Wouldn’t it? I supposed my husband might want to use one room as a study, and as the Bailey boys and Betsy grew into adulthood, there might come a time when one of them would want to reside with us.

  I resolved to speak with David. At the very least we could keep the design of the interior simple. I did not want to slide into luxury simply because we could afford it. I certainly wouldn’t spend extravagant amounts on furnishings like Sissy had done. So many among us in modern society were in far greater need of such monies.

  I wrenched myself back to the present, in which the priest was leading the pallbearers toward the back of the church. As he swung a small globe from a chain, the smell of incense increased. Behind the coffin followed Helen, the only person in the church with wet eyes.

  I confess to sliding behind Jeanette when I saw Irvin approaching down the aisle. I didn’t need any more of his ire, especially in public like this. We three were among the last to file out, with Jeanette tucking her hand through my elbow. Outside all the black-clad mourners gathered in the street behind the funeral wagon, which now held the coffin.

  “Are you going to the burial?” Bertie asked me from where we stood on the second step.

  “I can’t. I have a prenatal client coming at noon.”

  “I must return to the workplace, too,” Bertie agreed. “The post office calls.”

  “And I have to get to the court,” Jeanette said.

  “Jeanette, remind me to tell thee about a little friend of my niece’s. She’s blind and has a thirst to learn but isn’t attending any school. Betsy reads to her when she can and they play together.”

  “I’d be happy to pay her and her parents a visit. The Perkins School offers scholarships for needy children, and my dear friend is the head of that department.”

  “That would be most helpful. I thank thee.” I wouldn’t mention the word that had sparked the conversation about Betsy’s friend. Jeanette didn’t need a reminder of society’s attitudes about her incapacity.

  “Oh, and I met with Charlie’s father. He said the baby’s mother was indisposed, but I helped him out quite a bit, I believe.” Jeanette turned her face toward the crowd in front as if listening to something I couldn’t hear. “Rose, your detective transported me to the hospital this morning to translate for the man who was attacked by the carriage,” Jeanette said. “The poor fellow’s pretty bad off.”

  “I’m glad thee could help.” I was about to ask what he’d said when Kevin approached the funeral wagon. Two officers were with him.

  “Ooh, something’s up,” Bertie said.

  The crowd grew quiet, with only the sounds of one of the harnessed horses stomping and whuffing. “Kevin and two policemen have w
alked up to Merton,” I whispered to Jeanette.

  She nodded as if she’d been expecting it.

  We had a great vantage point to watch what transpired from the steps here. Was Merton about to be arrested for murder?

  Kevin reached out his hand. Instead of touching Merton, though, he touched Adoniram’s arm. “Mr. Adoniram Riley. I arrest you for assault with intent to commit murder on Vladislaw Szczepanski.”

  “Mr. Settle told me to do it, but I swerved!” Adoniram yelled. “I didn’t murder nobody.”

  “I also arrest you for the murder of Mayme Settle.” Kevin’s voice rang out strong and satisfied.

  A great gasp went up among the gathered mourners. Kevin had forgotten to mention bicycle thievery. I didn’t care. These charges were much more important.

  “I didn’t do it!” Adoniram protested. “I didn’t do none of it.”

  “Quiet, now,” Kevin said.

  “Mr. Riley!” Merton stared at the gardener in horror. “How could you?”

  The white-robed priest, who stood nearby, hung his head. In sorrow at the shocking disturbance to his ceremony? Or at one of his congregants being involved in a murder, perhaps.

  All focus was on the arrest, but I noticed another uniform moving to Irvin’s side. Nalia stood with the banker. Kevin left Adoniram with his officer and pushed through the crowd. This time he rested his hand on Irvin’s arm.

  Irvin’s eyes went wide. “Take your hand off me, man,” he snarled, trying to twist away.

  “Mr. Irvin Barclay, I arrest you for the murder of Mayme Settle.”

  Both of them? I couldn’t wait to ask Kevin what he’d uncovered. Maybe the chocolates had been poisoned, after all.

  “I never did,” Irvin proclaimed, chin in the air. “You can’t prove it.”

  “We’ll see about that.” Kevin nodded to his man. “Cuff him.”

  The big banker struggled, but the policeman managed to secure his hands behind his back.

  “You’ll pay for this, Detective.” Irvin glared at Kevin.

  “Not another word out of you.”

  “I tell you, I didn’t do it,” Adoniram shouted above the buzz of shocked words passing through the onlookers. He gestured with his chin to Merton. “He did. I saw him!”

  Fifty-six

  “I was watching. I’d just brought Mrs. Settle her tea,” the gardener shouted. “The lady was sick that night but she was quite alive. Her husband pressed a pillow to her face until she stopped moving.”

  White stuff. Kevin had mentioned a white substance under Mayme’s fingernails. She must have struggled, trying to rip off the pillow. And tea. Kevin wouldn’t have arrested Adoniram if he didn’t have evidence. They had to have found traces of poison in her teacup. Why hadn’t he washed it out?

  “This is getting interesting,” Bertie said with a delighted look on her face.

  Merton’s face drained of color. He shook his head, hard. “He’s lying. I would never kill my dear wife.”

  Helen stared at her father, her face equally pale on an expression of disbelief. Her head wagged back and forth.

  Kevin hurried back to the wagon. “Why didn’t you say anything earlier, Riley?”

  He held up a hand. “I got my loyalties to my employer.”

  “Until your own life is threatened,” Jeanette remarked to us. “Then loyalty has a funny way of disappearing in a trice.”

  “You can’t believe him,” Merton protested. “He’s only a gardener, a simpleton.”

  Merton certainly wasn’t returning the loyalty. Adoniram narrowed his eyes and tried to lunge for Merton, but the policeman held him back. Another one took Merton firmly by the arm.

  I saw a movement of green at the edge of the crowd, which had doubled from passersby wanting to witness the excitement. Nalia strode up the sidewalk away from everyone. She was heading for the intersection where the new statue of Josiah Bartlett presided.

  “Stop that woman,” I called out. I pointed. Some cousin, she was. She wouldn’t be trying to escape if she weren’t also guilty.

  Kevin glanced at me, nodded, and blew his police whistle. “Police! Stop!”

  Nalia ignored them. She wasn’t running, but she was moving fast, as if she was late to an appointment. Perhaps she was, or maybe she was trying to make her escape.

  I unhooked myself from Jeanette “I’ll be right back.” I lifted my skirts and sprinted after Nalia. My legs were strong from bicycling and I ignored my bruised hip for the moment. I reached her side before she turned left toward Patten’s Hollow.

  “Nalia,” I said, stepping in front of her. I suddenly didn’t have a plan other than stalling her until Kevin could catch up. I launched into a greeting, trying to keep my voice casual. “How good to see thee again.” I tried to slow my breathing. She didn’t need to know I’d had to run to catch up with her.

  She blinked. “Good morning, Miss Carroll.”

  “Quite the excitement back there, wasn’t it?” I glanced over her shoulder. Kevin was hurrying toward us. “It’s unfortunate about your cousin being arrested.”

  “It’s a mistake, of course.” She gave a little shake of her head. “Damn fool policemen. Filthy Irish, no doubt. They don’t know a thing. Make false arrests all the time.”

  Judge thee not, lest thee be judged, I thought.

  “He’ll be out before the sun sets, I’m quite certain,” she went on, but she didn’t meet my gaze when she said it.

  “Was thee off to arrange a lawyer for him?” I asked sweetly.

  She paused. “Ah, yes. Yes, that’s exactly where I was off to. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

  Kevin appeared behind her and I moved back to allow him room. “Not so fast.” He stepped between us and touched her arm. “Miss Nalia Bowerman, you are under arrest as an accessory to the murder of Mayme Settle.”

  Fifty-seven

  “I never did! That’s a ludicrous suggestion.” Nalia’s eyes narrowed at me and the corners of her mouth pulled down in a look of loathing. “You and your meddling. You’ll pay for this, Rose Carroll.” She lunged toward me, her long fingernails extended like talons.

  I ducked back as Kevin grabbed her arms.

  “That’s enough out of you,” he said.

  Nalia fought against the detective, hurling a string of shocking invectives at him, but he managed to cuff her wrists.

  “Nice work, Miss Rose. She was next on my list.” He gave me a wink before hustling her off to the police wagon.

  I stared. Four people involved in murdering one matron. If it was true, this was unprecedented, at least in my experience. I was dying to learn what evidence Kevin had against the astronomer, but I was going to have to wait for that. I made my way back to the church, where Bertie and Jeanette still stood on the second step. The police wagon’s rear compartment was now crowded with three accused killers and an officer.

  Merton was ushered into the front seat.

  “Father,” Helen cried.

  The priest took her elbow, restraining her from approaching the police wagon. Merton stared straight ahead, not acknowledging her. An officer shut the front door and went around to the driver’s seat.

  I watched as the wagon clattered away toward the station. Only poor Helen and a few stalwart mourners were left to accompany the priest, following the funeral wagon as it made its way down Main Street on the way toward Mount Prospect Cemetery.

  “Rose to the rescue,” Bertie exclaimed, clapping her hands.

  “You caught her, I assume,” Jeanette said.

  “I did, and I engaged her in polite conversation until Kevin caught up.”

  “Why did you pursue her?” Jeanette asked.

  “It seemed like the act of a guilty person to flee the scene the minute her cousin, with whom she is intimately involved, is arrested. Kevin gave me the nod, so off I went.”

  “She could have attacked you, though,” Bertie said.

  “I suppose, although it’s a very public corner up there, and she didn’t. He arrested Na
lia as an accessory to the murder. I can barely believe it. It appears four people were involved in killing one unpleasant woman.” I kept my voice low.

  “I assume Miss Bowerman worked with Mr. Barclay to achieve the evil end,” Bertie said, also in a soft tone. “But it sounds like Mr. Settle and his gardener had independent plans.”

  I told them my theory about the pillow. “So Merton’s might have been a crime of opportunity, as they say. He saw a chance to get rid of her and acted in the moment. Poison, though? That’s a planned killing.”

  “You know, I caught a snippet of conversation between Mr. Barclay and a lady inside the church,” Jeanette offered. “I listen rather more acutely than most people, and I knew his voice from the bank. He was telling her something had disappeared and she seemed furious with him.”

  “That must have been Nalia. The something was a tin of poison his wife discovered in his drawer,” I said. “I secreted it away from the house, with the cook’s help, and gave it to Kevin.”

  “That would explain Miss Bowerman’s anger.” Jeanette nodded.

  “What did the Polish man say in the hospital?” I asked.

  “He insisted he is Merton Settle’s brother. He said Mr. Settle’s carriage purposely ran him off the road, with Mr. Riley driving. He also thought it passing strange the cook was mysteriously gone from the house and no maid was about, either. Which left only the gardener doing for Mr. Settle.”

  “As Adoniram told me.” I thought. “Did Kevin ask him about pushing Merton in the front hall?”

  “Yes. Mr. Szczepanski claims his brother tripped in his rage to get rid of him, and Mr. Settle fell and hit his head.”

  “One man’s word against another’s,” Bertie observed.

  “Yes,” I said. “We might never know the truth about what really happened, but at least Merton was not seriously hurt in the fall.”

  “So he’ll be able to stand trial for murder,” Jeanette said.