Judge Thee Not

by Edith Maxwell

  “Precisely,” I agreed.

  The curious crowd was dispersing in front of us as the church bell tolled once, signaling eleven thirty.

  Bertie clapped me on the arm. “Well done, lady detective. I’ll be seeing you, Mrs. Papka.” She grinned and hurried toward the post office.

  “Walk me to the courthouse, Rose?” Jeanette asked.

  “Certainly.” I extended my elbow for her to tuck her arm through, and off we went through a town safe again after a week of uncertainty and danger.

  Fifty-eight

  I sat with Emmaline and baby Rosalie late that afternoon in the garden behind the Donovan home. Kevin had called. He’d said they were home and asked me to stop by for a visit. At the edge of the yard Sean pushed a toy tin wagon hitched to a wooden horse along an elaborate structure made of pieces of discarded wood, which Emmaline said was a city he’d built himself.

  “What a blessing Rosalie is well again,” I said, watching a cool baby sleep on her mother’s lap, shaded by a tall elm tree.

  “Thanks to God, you, and your wonderful husband-to-be.”

  “David is wonderful, isn’t he?” My cheeks warmed.

  “He told us the fever might have returned because her little body hadn’t yet rid itself of the germ causing the illness.” Emmaline gazed down at Rosalie. “I hope she’s not to have a life of being frail and poorly, Rose.”

  I batted away the suggestion. “She’s going to be fine. Little babies are learning to live in our world of germs, and every time she falls sick and recovers it strengthens her for the next time.”

  She smiled. “May it be so. Now, my husband tells me the murder is solved—with four people under arrest!”

  “Yes. I’ve never seen such a thing.”

  “I hadn’t either,” Kevin said, appearing behind his wife. He carried a tray filled with glasses of lemonade and a plate of ginger cookies. He set it on a small table and plopped into the chair next to Emmaline’s. “It’s thanks to you, Miss Rose, I was aware of Nalia Bowerman and the tin of poison in Barclay’s drawer. It was you who told me Barclay sent candies to the victim and about Riley’s past with the victim. You also alerted me to the Polish brother. I am greatly in your debt.”

  “We all are.” Emmaline nodded.

  I ignored the praise.

  “Please, Miss Rose, have a refreshing drink, and you, too, my Em. Here, give me the baby. You have to drink a lot while you’re feeding our daughter. Your midwife told me so.” He grinned at me as he lifted Rosalie off Emmaline’s lap. An experienced father, he was careful to support her head. He gazed down with pure love as he cradled her in his arms.

  “Have any of the four confessed?” I asked him.

  “Riley did,” Kevin said. “Said it was an eye for an eye. He claimed Mrs. Settle had killed his daughter and, with the cook away, he finally had a chance to return the favor. He’d put some kind of poison in her tea but it hadn’t killed her.”

  Emmaline frowned. “Wasn’t Mr. Settle as responsible for the girl’s death as his wife?”

  “I asked Riley,” Kevin replied. “He said Settle was so browbeaten by his wife, he just went along with whatever she said.”

  “And it’s true that household matters like a maid taking leave would have been in Mrs. Settle’s purview.” Emmaline sipped her lemonade.

  “It was stupid to leave the teacup with dregs in it,” I said. “Perhaps he didn’t have a chance to retrieve it before Merton came in to finish off the deed.”

  “Mr. Settle, however, says we can’t prove he used a pillow on her.” Kevin shook his head.

  “Mr. Riley’s word won’t be enough?” Emmaline asked.

  “Perhaps. We’re checking Settle’s wardrobe for feathers, rips, any signs there might have been a struggle. Say, Miss Rose. You saw Settle earlier the night his wife was killed, when you said he hurled a hateful look at his wife after she spoke down to him. Do you recall what he was wearing?”

  I thought back. “A silk smoking jacket. Blue, I think.”

  He nodded. “Thank you. I’ll get one of my men on it.”

  “The candies Irvin sent over must have been poisoned, too.” I sipped my drink.

  “They were.” Kevin nibbled a ginger snap. “The chemist suspects the lily of the valley powder, thanks to you.”

  “Poor Mrs. Settle must have been quite sick that night if she drank poison in her tea and ate poisoned candy, too,” Emmaline remarked.

  “Adoniram was watching,” I said. “I wonder if it was not to catch Merton at anything but to observe Mayme die.” The thought sent a shudder through me.

  “It’s possible. Barclay, the rat, claims it was Miss Bowerman who put him up to the deed, though. He insisted she was the one who injected the toxin into the chocolates. Being accused of homicide really brings out the worst in people.”

  “How does thee know she did? Thee arrested her, too.”

  “She happens to have a much larger tin of the same poison in her home, which her maid kindly relinquished to us.” Kevin’s smile was a satisfied one. “And I heard back from Harvard today. You were right—she’s no longer employed there and must have been feeling quite the financial pinch.” He wagged his head.

  “I can understand Adoniram and Merton’s motivations, not that I think they were justified,” I said. “Thee can add bicycle thievery and vandalism to their charges if thee wishes. I reclaimed the bike yesterday. Luke saw it abandoned near the Lake Gardner dam.”

  “You don’t say.” Kevin’s eyebrows went up.

  “We went to fetch it, but as I rode home, I found the brakes not functioning and I nearly was washed away down the Powow.” I rubbed my sore hip.

  “Oh, Rose,” Emmaline exclaimed.

  “I managed to rescue myself, but I believe those brakes had been deliberately tampered with. They had functioned perfectly prior to the theft.”

  “Duly noted,” Kevin said. “I’ll stop by and take a look later.”

  I shook my head, remembering my close call with death. “Kevin, I have one remaining question. Why would Irvin want to kill Mayme?” It struck me that poor Sissy would be alone with her infant daughter now. I hoped she would move back to Portland and live with her mother and her sisters. Perhaps she could take Aoife with her if she decamped. “And why did Nalia help him?”

  “We did some digging into that very matter. It turns out Barclay had borrowed a considerable sum from Mrs. Settle to make an investment in a property. The land turned out to be swampy and malaria-ridden and couldn’t be built on. All the debt landed on his head. That’s why Mrs. Settle refused to rightly share the inheritance with her cousin. I think Miss Bowerman put him up to the deed of murder in order to claim the full inheritance. Not much future with a man who doesn’t have any money.”

  “A married man, no less.” Emmaline pressed her lips together.

  I gazed at Kevin. “And after Nalia lost her position at Harvard, she thought Irvin’s potential to secure Mayme’s share of their inheritance would benefit her, too.”

  “Yes.”

  “Orpha told me yesterday she witnessed Irvin telling Mayme four years ago that she needed to pay up or he would tell everyone. We thought it must have been about the fact that the Settle son had impregnated Adoniram’s daughter and then abandoned her. The girl died after giving birth. I would imagine Mayme would go to some lengths to protect what she regarded as her reputation.”

  “Blackmail, eh?” Kevin raised an eyebrow. “We’ll see. For now, we’ve done our job. It’ll be up to the lawyers and the courts from here on out. But the streets of Amesbury are safe once again, and for this I thank you, Rose.”

  “And I thee, Kevin.”

  Sean ran up and took a swig from his father’s glass. “Papa, I’ve thought of a new way to locomote. Instead of trains and horse-drawn carriages, why don’t they put electricity into carriage bodies? Just think, one could motor around free of having to take care of big animals!” His eyes were bright. “I’m going inside to draw up some plans.
”

  “That’s my boy.” Kevin watched his son disappear into the house, shaking his head, fond vying for proud on his face. “Maybe next he’ll invent a way to prevent crime.”

  Acknowledgments

  Many heartfelt thanks are due to the following:

  My fellow Amesbury Quaker (and Scorpio sister) Jeanne Papka Smith for inspiring me to create Jeanette Papka, who is equally as comfortable in the sighted world as Jeanne. She gave the manuscript a close read and set me straight on a couple of points about living as a blind person.

  Barbara Ross for her great-great-grandfather’s name of Adoniram. As far as I know her Adoniram was never suspected of murder.

  The West Falmouth Quaker Retreat House, where I wrote a draft of the first half of this book in a week.

  Dear friend, author, and crack editor Ramona DeFelice Long for another expert developmental edit.

  Midwife Risa Rispoli for once again reviewing my birth scenes.

  Jessie Crockett for advising me to let the boy twin die—sadly, such deaths were not only a fact of the time, but this one helped the story, too, in ways I didn’t expect.

  Many friends who shared details of their own unmedicated twin birthing experiences.

  Artist and neighbor Margery Jennings for updating my bookmarks every year in a barter deal—and for letting me use her, her house, and her husband in a scene.

  My fellow Wicked Authors—blogmates, dear friends, and lifeboat. Readers, please join us over at WickedAuthors.com. Meet these fabulous writers—Jessie Crockett, Sherry Harris, Julie Hennrikus, Liz Mugavero, and Barbara Ross—including all their alter egos, and read their books.

  My family, my Hugh, my friends and fellow Friends, my Sisters (and Brothers) in Crime—I couldn’t do it without you.

  Finally, Bill Harris and the expert team at Beyond the Page Publishing, for picking up this series midstream and offering it a new home. I’m grateful for the warm welcome Rose Carroll and I have received and the professional product Beyond the Page produces. Long live the midwife!

  About the Author

  Agatha- and Macavity-nominated author Edith Maxwell writes the Amesbury-based Quaker Midwife historical mysteries, the Local Foods Mysteries, and award-winning short crime fiction. As Maddie Day she writes the Country Store Mysteries and the Cozy Capers Book Group Mysteries. A longtime Quaker and former doula, Maxwell lives north of Boston with her beau, two elderly cats, and an impressive array of garden statuary. She blogs at WickedAuthors.com and KillerCharacters.com. Read about all her personalities and her work at edithmaxwell.com.