The Mammoth Book of Historical Whodunnits Volume 3 (The Mammoth Book Series)

by Mike Ashley

  “Hush up.”

  Temple sighed. “Look. I know you’re right. Aunt Matilda knows you’re right.”

  “Don’t you be haulin’ me into this. I ain’t sayin’ nothin’ ’bout no abolition.”

  “Sorry,” Temple said, giving his cousin a hard stare. “Anyway, Zack, you’re right, but it doesn’t matter ’cause you’re leaving tomorrow with me. You’re coming to Texas for a visit.”

  Zack sat up. “What? Ouch!” He pressed his fingers to his temples, but Aunt Matilda knocked them out of her way as she wound a bandage around his head. “I’m not going to Texas.”

  “You’re going because the mayor and a battalion of policemen are coming to see that you leave Richmond by ten o’clock. If you’re still here, they’re going to lock you up. If they put you on trial, you know what kind of verdict you’ll get.”

  Zack shoved back the bed covers. “I’m getting out of here.”

  Aunt Matilda stepped back as he swung his legs around and tried to stand. Temple was on his feet as his cousin started to sway, but Matilda pushed his shoulder, and Zack toppled back into bed.

  “You ain’t goin’ nowhere, Mister Zack. Not tonight. Mister Temple might even have ta carry you out o’ here in the mornin’.”

  “I’m not going,” Zack muttered as Temple threw the covers back over his legs.

  “You is too,” Matilda said. “Now I’m goin’ ta bring you a cup of chamomile tea to help you sleep. You stay in bed and don’t be messin’ with them bandages.” She stalked out of the bedroom without another word.

  Temple was on his way out as well. “Get some rest, Zack. We’re leaving in the morning.” He shut the door before his cousin could protest.

  He went downstairs to tell his aunt and uncle that Zack would be on his way to Texas early the next morning. He was on the threshold of the drawing room when Clemency rushed past him in furious tears. Temple watched her stomp upstairs, then delivered his message and retired for the night before anyone else made a scene. He was lucky, for as he gained the second floor, Hezekiah, Oram and their wives arrived with grim, determined looks on their faces. Temple pitied Henley and Laurietta, but not enough to go back downstairs and listen to more arguing.

  It was only ten o’clock, but he was exhausted from all the scenes and conniption fits. Opening all the windows in his room, Temple got ready for bed. It was too hot for covers, so he lay down on top of them and waited for the night breeze to cool his body. He drifted off to sleep with the sound of waving live oak branches and the scent of azaleas and magnolias.

  It was still dark when Temple awoke to the sound of footsteps rushing back and forth in the hall outside his room. He peeked outside to see Aunt Laurietta in her dressing gown hurrying toward Zack’s room with Aunt Matilda close behind. At the door Henley and Augustus waited, both gazing anxiously inside. Dressing quickly, Temple joined them.

  “Something wrong with Zack?”

  Henley nodded. “I fear that head wound was more severe than we thought. Augustus fetched Doctor Benson.”

  Beyond his uncle Temple glimpsed Zack in his bed groaning. The smell of vomit wafted out of the room as the doctor examined his patient’s pupils.

  “How long has he been like this?” Temple asked

  “Aunt Matilda says he rang for her a little after midnight.” Henley looked at his pocket watch. “It’s near five, and the doctor says he’s getting worse. Says it sometimes happens this way with those who’ve been in a fight. They seem all right, then suddenly take a turn for the worse.”

  Night passed into day with no improvement. Temple and Henley met the mayor’s delegation and let them know that there was no possibility of moving Zack. They went away more irritated than sympathetic, but at least they promised to wait until the doctor said his patient was well enough to travel before they tried to eject Zack from the city.

  Temple saw little of his aunt or Clemency that day. They and Aunt Matilda took turns nursing Zack, but as the hours went by, he got worse. By dinner time the whole family had gathered at the house again, hoping for some improvement. That evening Temple went to the sickroom, having convinced Laurietta to allow him to sit with his cousin while she rested. In spite of the doctor’s care, Zachariah was unconscious. Temple was talking to the physician when his cousin seemed to pass into some kind of fit, then suddenly lay still. The doctor bent over him, listening with his stethoscope.

  “Doc?”

  Benson straightened, his face expressionless. “Temple, would you please fetch the family. Quickly.”

  “Aw, Doc . . .” Temple looked down at his cousin’s pale face in disbelief. Zack couldn’t be dying.

  “At once, please, Temple.”

  Zachariah Jessop died shortly after eight o’clock that evening. Stunned, the family had trouble absorbing the fact that Zack was gone. Laurietta refused to leave her son at all, and Henley wouldn’t leave his wife alone. The rest of the family wandered downstairs, dazed and silent, and Temple followed them. Gathering in the library, they sat quietly while Augustus served brandy. Temple downed his in one gulp and immediately regretted it. As he gasped, a long, frightening scream came from upstairs. Aunt Laurietta had finally come out of her daze. The sound of her grief echoed through the old house. Clemency burst into tears and rushed out of the room. Hezekiah lowered his face to his hands, and his wife pressed a handkerchief to her lips as she patted his arm.

  Oram stood abruptly. “It’s God’s judgment.”

  “Indeed,” his wife said with a sniffle into her lace handkerchief.

  Hez lifted his head, scowling. “Shut up, Oram.”

  “Well, it is!” Oram replied. Laurietta’s screams cut off what he was going to say next.

  Temple jumped in before the two could go at it again. “Say, Oram. Your wife doesn’t look too well. This has been too much for a delicate lady like her.”

  Flattered that Temple had recognized her fragility, Odette nodded and fanned herself with her handkerchief.

  “Come, my dear,” Oram said. “I’ll take you home.”

  On the third morning after his death Zachariah Jessop was burried after a short service in the First Methodist Church. The family held a reception after the burial according to custom, but few of their acquaintance attended. Zack had horrified too many people in his last weeks on earth. Temple was standing next to an open window in the drawing room, having done his duty by visiting with the minister and a couple of distant relatives who’d come into town for the funeral. He looked out into the front garden in hopes of a breeze. The humid heat was making him perspire, and his wet hair was clinging to his scalp.

  He noticed Dr Benson, Henley and the mayor huddled together by a pink oleander bush. Voices rose, but he couldn’t make out what was said. Finally the mayor stalked off to find his carriage. Dr Benson was shaking his head at what Henley was saying, then, after a few rapid sentences from Henley, he nodded slowly.

  Temple closed his eyes, wondering how long he would have to wait before he could leave without causing offense. Zack had been a lively, amusing friend, intelligent and easygoing. At school he’d put on a front of bravado, but he’d been compassionate and shared intensely in the feelings of others. Temple was beginning to feel guilty for not having supported his cousin’s efforts, but logic said that Zack’s methods had done more harm than good. But Temple could have persuaded him to use more caution. He should have given him better ideas, clandestine ways to help Negroes escape slavery. Yet something in Zack had insisted on confrontation with his white peers. Sighing, Temple turned from the window to find Henley Jessop approaching.

  “A private word, if you would, Temple.”

  They went outside and stood under an ancient magnolia in the front garden. Henley glanced around as if afraid someone might be near enough to overhear.

  “My boy, your aunt is convinced that Zachariah’s death wasn’t natural.”

  Furrowing his brow, Temple said, “The doctor said it was his head, an injury to the brain.”

  �
��Well, as to that, Dr Benson admits that the symptoms were ambiguous. Many things can cause nausea, fits and a coma. But since Zack had an head injury, he felt that was the most likely cause. Mrs Jessop refuses to accept his decision, however. She says the wound wasn’t deep enough. Dr Benson says that without cutting open Zack’s skull . . .” Henley wiped damp palms on his pants. “The very thought makes me ill. My poor boy. And you know how hard it is to get Mrs Jessop to leave Zachariah’s room. She won’t let Aunt Matilda and the maids clean it. She insists it must remain as it was when he died, as a memorial, which would be fitting if she’d allow it to be cleaned, but . . .”

  Temple put his hand on Henley’s shoulder while the man fought back tears. “Look, Uncle Henley. There’s no need for you and Aunt Laurietta to suffer like this. If you want, I’ll look into things, just to satisfy her that nothing else went wrong. Once she sees that every possibility has been taken into account, Aunt Laurietta will be able to accept Zack’s death.”

  “It would be a blessing. Thank you, my boy.”

  After most of the guests left, Temple went upstairs and found Aunt Laurietta in Zack’s room. She was sitting in an armchair holding the torn coat his cousin had been wearing at the slave markets. Making no sign that she’d noticed Temple, she put a sleeve to her cheek and rocked back and forth.

  “Aunt, I’ve come to look into what happened to Zack.”

  Without looking at him she said, “Oh, that’s good. Please go on.”

  Temple thought about offering to send for coffee or tea, but decided Laurietta would refuse. He might as well look around. The main thing was to be seen examining the room thoroughly so that she would be satisfied. Zack’s bedroom remained as it had been after the mortuary assistants had removed the body. The bedclothes were disarranged, chamber pots remained beneath the bed, some still full. A bedside table bore medicine bottles, papers once filled with powders, and several glasses and cups. Used bandages had been dropped on the carpet. A small tray bearing a teapot, cup and saucer sat on a bureau, and another had been put on the floor beside the door, ready for removal. The room was growing warm, and Temple went to the window. It was unlocked, and he raised it easily to let in cooler air.

  Returning to the bedside table, he picked up a powder packet and sniffed it. It was a harmless mixture used to settle the stomach. One of the bottles contained rosewater, while the other held liniment. The glasses had once contained water, the cups bore the dregs of coffee. Temple was careful to examine and sniff each container so that Laurietta would be satisfied. He glanced around the disordered room, his heart heavy with the knowledge that Zack was never coming back to it. He picked up the empty medicine packets and the bottle of liniment. She didn’t seem to notice what he was doing until he went to the tray on the floor, placed the items beside the teapot and lifted the whole thing.

  “Please don’t remove anything,” she snapped.

  “Now, Aunt Laurietta, these things don’t belong here, and you know Zack liked his room neat. He wouldn’t like to see it in this state.”

  Hugging the coat closer, Laurietta regarded him for a moment, then nodded her consent. Temple left with the tray, leaving the door open to facilitate a breeze through the stuffy room. Immediately a gentle wind came up the stairs and wafted past him. An acrid odour reached him, and he sniffed. It was coming from the porcelain cup on the tray. The dregs of some concoction had thickened in the cup. The smell was strange, bitter and more like someone had steeped tree leaves. There was a hint of black tea to the scent as well. Ordinarily Temple would have thought nothing of a home remedy, for every family had a collection of them, old tried concoctions that had gotten its members through generations of illness. But this stuff was different. It didn’t smell like any remedy his mother had ever employed. Still, he could have missed some seldom-used mixture.

  On an impulse, Temple set the tray down on a table that stood beside Zack’s door and returned for the one on the bureau. As he passed his aunt, he stopped.

  “Aunt Laurietta, may I have your key to the medicine cabinet?”

  Giving him a dazed look, Laurietta pulled a ring of keys from her pocket and removed one. Handing it to him, she resumed her silent rocking.

  He picked up the second tray and left. Outside, he sniffed the contents of the second cup, which was almost full, and smelled of chamomile and spices. Leaving this tray on the floor in the hall, Temple retrieved the first tray and went down the back stairs to the warming kitchen.

  The main kitchen was across the back garden, separate from the house to guard against fires, but the smaller one in the house served as a preparation area. In it were various warmers, large tables, and storage areas for kitchen linens, china and serving pieces. The servants were busy cleaning up and putting away food in pantries, and Temple found Aunt Matilda directing two maids who were washing the Jessop china.

  “Aunt Matilda, do you know what this stuff is?” Temple set the tray down on a table and held out the cup.

  Matilda looked at it, then sniffed. “Pheew! No, sir. What you put in there?”

  “I didn’t put anything in it. I got it from Zack’s room.”

  “Must be some medicine the doctor gave that poor boy,” Matilda said sadly. “Just leave it be, Mister Temple. The gals will wash it up real good.”

  Temple had plucked the lid from the teapot and was eyeing the sludge inside. “There’s more in here. No, Aunt Matilda. I’ll take the pot and the cup. I’m curious about what this is.”

  “Don’t you go breaking Miz Jessop’s fine pot there.” Matilda reached for the vessel, but Temple held it away from her.

  “Never mind. Give me a jar.” Temple quickly transferred the contents into the jam jar Matilda fetched, and screwed the lid on. By now, everyone in the warming kitchen was watching. Temple glanced around at the silent, black faces. “Nothing is wrong. I’m just curious about this medicine.”

  The servants resumed their work, and Temple strolled over to a tall cabinet set against one of the walls. In an unlocked lower shelf were homemade headache remedies, smelling salts, and other mild remedies. Opening the top door with a key, he carefully examined his aunt’s store of more potent medicines. He found the usual belladonna, tincture of opium, calomel, arsenic, some turpentine and aconite. He sniffed each, even though he was sure he wasn’t looking for something that would be found in the cabinet. He was right.

  Ignoring the curious glances of the slaves, Temple locked the cabinet and left the warming kitchen by the door to the garden. Before him lay beds of roses, late columbines, lavender and rosemary. There must have been abundant rain this season, for the azalea bushes and the old crape myrtle trees that surrounded the kitchen were heavy with flowers. Inside, Temple asked Cook what the mysterious concoction was, but neither she nor her assistants could identify it.

  Temple thanked Cook and wandered outside to lean against the crape myrtle. He raised the jar and stared at the mysterious brown mess. Maybe he was being overly suspicious. Aunt Laurietta’s worries were making him imagine things. Dr Benson probably had given this stuff to Zack. Perhaps the doctor was still here.

  He was in luck. He caught the physician as he was getting into his carriage out front, and submitted the jar for inspection.

  “Good Lord, what is that stuff?”

  “Don’t know. Nobody does.”

  The doctor sniffed again and frowned. “There’s some kind of plant mixture in here, but it’s nothing I’ve ever come across.” Benson handed the jar back slowly, and the two men exchanged brooding looks. “Say, Temple, I don’t like this . . .”

  “Uh-huh. I know.”

  “Perhaps I should –”

  “No, Doc. I’ll look into it. Nobody in this town is going to want to deal with any suspicions about Zachariah’s death. Not the mayor or the police, or anyone in authority. Don’t you be getting on the wrong side of folks by stirring things up. You do that and you could ruin yourself. Let me handle it. If there’s something wrong, I’ll find it. Then we can figu
re out what to do.”

  “Very well. Please let me know if I can be of help.”

  “Thanks, Doc.”

  Since there wouldn’t be a reason to worry if the mixture wasn’t harmful, Temple’s next move was to feed it to a rat. He performed his experiment alone, behind the stable where he’d found the rat. The rat went into violent spasms and died immediately.

  Temple crouched beside the carcass under a magnolia tree. “Aw, Zack.” His eyes smarted with tears, but he started cussing to prevent them from falling. The cussing released anger he’d hidden from himself and that had been building since he found the poison. He remained under the magnolia tree for a long time before he went back to the house.

  Summoning his nerve, Temple took the poison to Henley and explained what he’d done. Looking grim, Mr Jessop gave him permission to search for the source of the poison. It took Temple the rest of the day to go through the house and service buildings. The only person to object was Clemency, but Temple was in no mood for ladylike modesty, and he went through her room anyway. He found nothing suspicious.

  He also pestered Clemency until she gave him a tour of the herb garden behind the kitchen and explained the uses for each plant.

  “You’re wasting your time,” Clemency said. “We don’t grow nightshade or monkshood or hemlock, Temple. These are cooking herbs.”

  “What about the plants in the large garden?”

  “Really, Temple, don’t you think someone would notice if you tried to feed them mashed rose leaves?”

  “Not if you’d already had a lot of medicine to begin with. Aunt Matilda gave Zack chamomile tea.”

  Clemency snorted and left him in the herb garden. The sun was casting long shadows and golden light by the time he finished looking at all the bedding plants. The heat of the day was just fading, and Temple sought refuge on a bench under the magnolia tree. He’d left the jar of poison in Henley’s keeping. It was locked in a deep drawer in his uncle’s desk in the library. Temple propped his forearms on his knees and watched a blue jay sweep across the garden. The scent of roses reached him. Mashed roses indeed. The poison could have come from anywhere, not necessarily the plants around the Jessop house.