“He ran off to th’ fightin’ after she died,” Lakey sourly went on. “I prayed he’d stop a musket ball. Wished him bad cess, as the Irish say, an’ hoped his corpse would stay north o’ here, but… like all bad pennies, he turned back up, a hero, for God’s sake! Th’ Devil looks after his own … gives ’em th’ devil’s luck. Hah! At least, I thought th’ Good Lord’d get him poxed, an’ his plow would rot off him … all those camp followers an’ Army whores I heard of? No luck there, either, an’ more’s th’ pity. Then, he up an’ marries Georgina!”
“And you had hopes yourself with her, is that what you say?” Livesey softly intruded. “Didn’t you call upon her before—”
“That was near th’ last robbery, Livesey,” Lakey snapped, “But faction came before. Christ, you want a confession? Shut up an’ give heed t’me!”
“The faction?” Livesey interrupted, too surprised to be daunted. “I thought… Harry always told me he’dbegun the faction, because of how we were treated by the British up north.”
“It was my doin’, my corresponding never Harry’s!” Lakey sneered. “Even if I would alienate myself from lifelong friends an’ neighbors who held t’ th’ King, an’ their power … th’ old Goose Creek an’ first-come settlers. Never was in their graces, no matter how much I made o’ myself, nor how wealthy I got. Have t’be circumspect if you want t’preach great changes in old ways o’ doin’ things, don’t you know. Harry was ruttin’ like a bull with th’ militia, it was me who wrote to th’ leadin’ men I read about in ev’ry colony who thought we could run our own affairs better than London, or any Royal governor-general they send us. Start our own Parliament, each colony sovereign, like a small country … mark my words, gentlemen, it’s comin’, ye’ll see it in yer own lifetimes.”
“Never heard th7 like!” Captain Buckles grumbled. “What rot!”
Lakey withered Buckles with the sort of smile one bestows upon a blithering idiot child.
“Brought Osgoode an’ a few younger men in ‘bout ’57 or ’58, an’ let their enthusiasm run free,” Lakey chuckled. “Less t’lose, those. Th’ young’re supposed t’kick at th’ traces. Well-connected young men. Long before Harry. Oh, he dabbled, ‘round th’ edges. Came back from th’ fightin’ an even grander figure than before … a hero! I thought he’d be useful. Useful! Thought t’use him, an’ he sparkles so bright like he always does, next thing I know I’m scribblin’ his words, doin’ his errands. Just th’ secretary,” Lakey gloomed.
“So Harry had to go, if you wished to reclaim the leadership?” Livesey muttered. “But you wished to keep arm’s distance of upsetting the barons. You didn’t wish to be ostracized by your fellow—”
“‘Fore I saw how widespread was th’ sentiment for change,” Mr Lakey allowed with a shrug and a wry cock of his head in Livesey’s direction. “Expandin th’ franchise to small holders, shopkeepers an’ th’ sober laborin’ folk. An’ more’n a few rich men catchin’ th’ fever, as well. Harnetts, Howes, even Ashes an’ Waddells? Osgoode, at least he had his heart an’ soul in it … not like that… that sportin’ bastard!”
Lakey turned in his wide chair, leaning on the arm closest between them to put his face closer to Livesey’s. “’twasjust a game for Harry. Reason t’be th’ center of attention. Cause t’give him a crowd t’lead. He’da led a pack o’ chipmunks if they chattered loud enough …an’ fed him th’ best o’ their nuts!”
“Still, Osgoode and the other younger men, they’d take over if Harry was gone,” Livesey grumbled, his blood chilling to be seated by the man who’d murdered his longtime friend, and was now crowing about it! “How would you think to regain control, if… :oh! The ribbons and lace. You could have carried the bouquet home to dispose of it, with no one ever the wiser, but you didn’t. You threw them away where they must be found, sooner or later! So people would learn that Anne was sporting with Harry, and Osgoode did it! With Osgoode gone, with the faction disrupted, you’d be the one to put it back together again! How very clever of you!”
Thomas Lakey bestowed upon him a sly grin, almost the sort that a clever schoolboy would evince when relishing a witty exploit against a rival.
“Why notjust leave them on Harry’s doorstoop?” Livesey asked.
“An’ be taken for a mourning offering? No,” Lakey pooh-poohed. “For a bit, I thought I’d have t’move ’em somewhere more easily found, or pretend to’ve discovered ’em myself. By his body would’ve been th’ best, an’ I did think o’ goin’ back out there an’ movin’ em, but after his corpse was found, it was too late. Thank you, though, Livesey … for takin’ that damned Jemmy Bowlegs out there. I knew Swann was too hen-headed t’even bother t’look. So you did me a favor …fora time. Too bad yer girl an’ you got so nosy.”
“And last night,” Livesey asked, getting angry again. “Why did you stay in town? Visit Anne? Try to murder me and mine?”
“Bess an’Jemmy Bowlegs, whisperin’ an’ schemin’ together, an’ Andrew in a pet over not bein’ th’ center of her attention. Once we’d said our goodbyes, I strolled past that alley an’ saw Bowlegs at the trash, an’ that Cuffy an’ his cart out front, not sellin’ much, no matter how he cried his wares,” Lakey related, almost casually serene, even going so far as to wave the wine bottle in Livesey’s direction with a quizzical lift of his brows as if to tempt him to partake. “No? Oh, well… More for me, then.”
“Eachan and Biddy. Were they your first choice?” Livesey spat.
“Well, they’da served main-well, wouldn’t they have?” Mr Lakey chuckled. “She who made th’ gown, Eachan an’ his bad repute, rest o’ th’ ribbon an’ gray lace still out at her place … That surprise you, sirs? And doesn’t a man have a right t’new shirts an’ waistcoats for himself? Saw her in town one Saturday, knew she’d be taken for just th’ sort o’ bait for Harry. Rode out there, once—comin’ back from Brunswick an’ th’ cape, th’ back way to MacDougall when he was workin’th’ ferry—an’ ordered some things. Suggested gray lace an’ royal blue ribbon for a hat, an’ got t’see her supplies, since I’d already known where Anne got her gown made an’ how she was usin’ it.
“I even praised her to Harry, don’t you know,” Thomas Lakey said with a pleased little sniff. “Damme, that would a been toppin’-fine if he’d risked it … an’ Eachan MacDougall’d done for him. Can’t fathom why Harry didn’t try her on, but he didn’t, more’s th’ pity, ‘cause I was set t’tip MacDougall th’ news soon as Harry’d bit. Saved us all a power o’ fuss, that. Either way, slap-dash as justice is done here abouts, ya almost thought he did it, for a time, hey?” Lakey laughed.
“But for Osgoode’s own affair,” Marsden pointed out.
“Aye, an’ damned if I thought he had it in him!” Lakey hooted. “Osgoode’s a dry stick, prim as a parson, an’ too educated for his own good, he is. Nice-enough fella, but I can’t imagine him attractin’ a bed-some young chit like Biddy MacDougall… impressionable though she be. Too, ah … conventional when it comes to amour. Too honest, an’ upright t’fall off th’ wagon, d’you get my meanin’.”
“What d’ye mean, Thom? Ye sayin’ his wife, Anne, told tales to ye ‘bout their …?” Marsden asked, goggling in disbelief.
“Well, Anne an’ I did come from a better set,” Lakey lazily informed them, even daring to wink at the magistrate, to Marsden’s utter revulsion. “A faster, sportin’ set.”
“Ye always were an arrogant, simperin’ bastard, Thomas!” Mr Marsden accused. “Amusin’, in yer own way, but… You an’ Anne, are ye sayin’? Did Harry steal her from ye, too?”
“We, ah …” Lakey reddened in anger. “A time or two, before Harry came back from th’ militia,” he confessed, actually looking out of sorts for a change. “Only as sport!” he suddenly insisted, as if that excused it, or salved his reputation. “Up in New Bern, when she met Osgoode … after. Never could trust that sort o’ baggage out o’ sight, but she was pleasurable. Anne found out there’s poor Moores an’ rich, powerful Moore
s, an’ she’d saddled th’ wrong color o’ horse. Well… call it consolation. Mutual consolation.”
“‘Cause you’d had hopes of marrying Georgina,” Livesey quickly inferred. “Hah! You told Bess you’d once tried to court her. With your lands and hers so close together, and combined, you’d have been a real power.”
“Aye … Georgina, too, damn Harry’s blood,” Lakey admitted as he squirmed on his chair, crossing his legs and pouring more wine, the last of the bottle.
“Georgina … a woman so sensible and charming,” Livesey said in the appalled silence that Lakey had made. “Younger than Harry … closer to your age. How could a woman so bright not see the sense of a match with you?” Each statement drew a faint nod of agreement from Lakey, as if they were discussing the weather, not this bizarre insanity. “But she chose Harry. By God, sir… did you mean to cause her grief for her … mistake?”
“I did nothin’ o’ th’ sort, Livesey, an’ I resent you characterizin’ it so!” Lakey growled, as if he would, given different circumstances, leap to his feet and challenge him to a duel with a slap on Livesey’s face. As if he had time to face him over a pistol, in the shade of a dueling oak!
“Ye’re as big a rogue as Harry, damn yer eyes,” Marsden growled. “As big a whoremonger, if Anne an’ ye were knockin’ knees t’gether even after she an’ Osgoode wed. Were yejealous o’ her, too?”
“That cow!” Lakey scoffed. “Good for tuppin’, that’s all she’s worth. Th’ mornin’ I rode down t’that turfed-out tenant’s cabin, an’ saw ’em goin’ at it… I coulda been miffed, but it s’prised even me I wasn’t. That gown, right there. What she wore, th’ first time. Oh, in weak moments I’d considered takin’ her on, but … Anne’s th’ sort who’d cheat on Jesus, an’ I didn’t really need th’ grief. No, it was Harry I despised, that moment. Even more than I thought I could! An’ I do thank God there’s no more Tresmaynes t’do away with. Harry’s kind vastly outnumber my sort, you know, an’ oh! but th’ ladies do love ’em!”
Thomas Lakey drained his wineglass and regarded the empty bottle—perhaps even thought of ringing for another—with a petulant expression on his face. “Thank God, too, he cornered th’ lambskin cundum market. Prob’ly kept it profitable all by himself! I doubt Harry even wanted children … his kind can’t stand t’be outshone. Couldn’t take th’ competition, hah!”
“He couldn’t,” Livesey blurted out without thinking. “He was barren. Couldn’t sire. Anne Moore told us that. It must explain why he strayed so far afield, as it were. Hah!” Livesey cried as well, as he saw the startled look spring up on Lakey’s face. “D’ye mean, sir, she never confided that to you? That’s why she preferred him, ‘cause there was no need for clumsy appliances, no risk!”
Lakey looked appalled, seeing the reason why Anne Moore hadn’t taken him too seriously, perhaps had used him, for entree into Wilmington Society. Then he, inexplicably, began to laugh.
“Mean t’say he was only firin’ blank charges? Oh, how grand!” Lakey guffawed. “Th’ big, bad, swaggerin’ lout! A sham at ev’rythin’ in life, an’ nothin’ but a facade in th’ end! Oh, thankee, Mr Livesey, for such a marvelous revelation. God is, indeed,just!”
“Sorry I pleased you … sir!” Livesey growled back.
“So ye killed him, Thomas,” Marsden demanded, having heard more than he could stomach. “Fancied up a match of Anne’s nosegays, then sent ’em to him? Left ’em where he could find ’em, or what?”
“Yes, tied t’his townhouse gate-post, where he was sure t’see ’em,” Lakey confessed.
“Waited for him out there in th’ woods, knew he’d come ridin’ in on that trail, an’ shot him down like a dog,” Marsden prompted.
“Pretty-much like that, aye,” Lakey muttered, looking outwards on his acres, again, gaze almost unfocused, as if weary of his guests and their questions.
“Set my fire … wrote that threatening note,” Livesey added. “Called us ‘Newcomes.’”
“You woke up when I broke th’ window with th’ stone. You didn’t die. Only meant t’warn ya off,” Lakey said with a shrug. “I saw that Bowlegs creature take it to you. Told you I’m a good watcher, an’ him never suspec-tin’ he’d been followed. Not as good as he thinks he is, Bowlegs.”
“Christ!” Marsden exclaimed. “That does it! Good enough for y’all, Constable …? Captain Buckles … Mr Livesey? Do yer duty, Swann.”
“Mr Thomas Lakey,” the constable formally cried, hitching up his stomach and tugging down his waistcoat as he lumbered up from leaning on the veranda railings. “I arrest ya for th’ murder of—”
“You’ll surely give a gentleman time t’dress for th’ occasion,” Lakey brusquely interrupted, looking at Swann’s official demeanor like he was watching a trained bear dance. He rang his little bell to summon a servant. “Mr Marsden? I’ll not go in my shirtsleeves. Hmm?”
“Don’t be too long, Thom,” the magistrate said after a moment, nodding gravely in the affirmative. “Don’t make us come up for ye.”
“No need. Ah, Lijah!” Lakey brightly said, rising to his feet. “Took your own sweet time, you slow-coach. I’ll be goin’ into town with these gentlemen. Please lay out my new burgundy suit, with th’ white silk stockin’s an’ th’ sprigged waistcoat. Fresh shirt an’ stock an’ all. You know my wants.”
“Yassuh,” the old servant replied, looking concerned.
Lakey pursed his lips in a moue and stretched his arms, going to the edge of his veranda to sniff the wind and peer eastwards. “I do b’lieve it’s gonna come a good rain ‘fore sundown. Don’t want to get you gentlemen soaked on my account. You will excuse me, sirs? I won’t be but a few minutes.”
He bowed from the waist, made the slightest “leg” in departure, then turned and went into the house, and they could hear him trotting up the handsome staircase to the upper floor, as if they had invited him to a horse race or a cockfight, not a set of chains.
Swann sat down and fanned himself with his hat, looking miserable and cutty-eyed. Captain Buckles placed his hands in the small of his back and paced about, mostly looking at the glossy toes of his new top-boots. Mr Marsden screwed his mouth into a lopsided grimace and stumped to the edge of the veranda, taking off his hat and wiping its leather band with a handkerchief; he spat out his old quid, and took the tobacco plug from his pocket, thought of cutting himself fresh but decided not to. He drew out his watch and looked at it, instead.
“Uhm … shouldn’t we post Captain Buckles’s soldiers out back?” Livesey at last proposed. “I know he’s a gentleman, but…” He had a horrid picture in his mind of Lakey fleeing for the western wildernesses with a handy traveling bag of coin. “Might he be tempted …?”
“No need,” Mr Marsden somberly told him, putting his pocket watch away. “Thomas’ll do th’ right thing.”
“He’s an arsonist and a murderer, sir,” Livesey objected. “If he can do those things, perhaps …”
“Be easy, Mr Livesey,” Marsden soothingly said, studying on the coming weather for himself, rocking on the balls of his feet, both hands clasped behind him, one flexing upon the other. “Bide but a bit, an’ we’ll be on our way.”
Matthew Livesey felt a rising unease, as if suspecting they’d all agreed, these Carolinians whose nature and inflexible sense of honor sometimes seemed so alien to him, to allow Lakey to flee, sparing everyone involved and both factions the embarrassment.
“I don’t see …” he began.
Buh-Blam!
Muffled. Above them. Lightning-stark and sudden!
“What?” Livesey yelped, ready to bolt inside the house, before languid, old Mr Marsden almost sprinted to his side to block his way.
“Thomas knew his goose was cooked, soon as he saw us coachin’ up his drive, Mr Livesey,” Marsden carefully, patiently, explained, waving one arm to steer Livesey back onto the veranda.
“You knew he’d shoot himself? Ifh.t did, and it isn’t a sham.”
“No sham, Mr Livese
y,” Marsden almost sorrowfully assured him, “an’ aye, I did. Captain Buckles, ye’re experienced with wounds. I’d much admire did ye go above-stairs an’ see t’things?”
“Of course, sir,” the Army officer replied, sounding more relieved than shocked, as if he’d known what action Thom Lakey would take, as well. He doffed his hat and began to walk inside.
“I’d imagine ye’ll discover a double-barreled coachin’ gun,” Mr Marsden added. “We’ll need that fer evidence in town. Did ye fetch it down, I’d be more’n grateful.”
“You let it happen, sir?” Livesey gasped, awestruck.
“Well o’ course I did, Mr Livesey,” Marsden confessed. “We had him dead t’rights, an’ Thomas knew it. God above, man! There’s no way he’d ever stood th’ shame of a trial! He could go t’town in irons did he resist, under close escort an’ paraded fer all t’see did he go at all… or he could go a gentleman with bottom. He won’t be church-buried … couldn’t o’ been as a murderer or a suicide, but dyin’, he can be put under th’ ground on his own acres ‘stead of unmarked in a crossroad.”
“Dressed in his best finery,” Livesey dazedly realized aloud.
“All of it his choice,” Marsden intoned. “The crimes, his way o’ goin’, an’ his newest suitin’, yes. Recall what I said this mornin’, sir?”
“Uhm … concerning what, sir?” Livesey had to ask, too shaken to think clearly, or recall much of anything. The magistrate, sensing his shock, gently led him to the edge of the veranda, where a puff or two of much cooler air could revive him from his pallor.
“About crimes o’ passion, Mr Livesey.” Marsden came near to chuckling. “That, long after th’ foul deed’s done, th’ hot blood that caused it—th’ passions—are never completely spent? Thom, though … once we got t’pressin’ him close—for yer fine assistance in such regard I truly thankee, Livesey, for ye’re a knacky sort!—I saw that pore ol’ Thomas wasn’t just quenched for a spell, he was utterly cooled off. Cold an’ empty as that spent bottle o’ wine yonder. He saw that he was finished. Onliest reason he answered all our queries, an’ told us so much, wasn’t boastin on his part. He just wanted things explained, laid out an’ done for good, so there’d be no need for him t’be shamed an’ cussed in a court o’ law like a piney-woods no-tooth! It’d have hurt his pride, d’ye see,” Marsden said, almost attaining to a soft laugh. “Clever feller like Thomas Lakey, humiliated that he’d been caught-out so easy after layin’ such a grand scheme? Pshaw!”
What Lies Buried: A Novel of Old Cape Fear Page 31
