Murder Sweet Murder Read online

  CONTENTS

  Cover

  Also by Eleanor Kuhns

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Author’s Notes

  Also by Eleanor Kuhns

  The Will Rees series

  A SIMPLE MURDER

  DEATH OF A DYER

  CRADLE TO GRAVE

  DEATH IN SALEM

  THE DEVIL’S COLD DISH

  THE SHAKER MURDERS *

  SIMPLY DEAD *

  A CIRCLE OF DEAD GIRLS *

  DEATH IN THE GREAT DISMAL *

  MURDER ON PRINCIPLE *

  * available from Severn House

  MURDER, SWEET MURDER

  Eleanor Kuhns

  This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

  First world edition published in Great Britain in 2021 and the USA in 2022

  by Severn House, an imprint of Canongate Books Ltd,

  14 High Street, Edinburgh EH1 1TE.

  Trade paperback edition first published in Great Britain and the USA in 2022

  by Severn House, an imprint of Canongate Books Ltd.

  This eBook edition first published in 2022 by Severn House,

  an imprint of Canongate Books Ltd.

  severnhouse.com

  Copyright © Eleanor Kuhns, 2021

  All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. The right of Eleanor Kuhns to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs & Patents Act 1988.

  British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data

  A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

  ISBN-13: 978-0-7278-5009-6 (cased)

  ISBN-13: 978-1-4483-0733-3 (trade paper)

  ISBN-13: 978-1-4483-0732-6 (e-book)

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Except where actual historical events and characters are being described for the storyline of this novel, all situations in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is purely coincidental.

  This eBook produced by

  Palimpsest Book Production Limited,

  Falkirk, Stirlingshire, Scotland

  To all the readers who asked me for more about Lydia and her family.

  ONE

  Lydia brought the closely written letter to the window to read it in the bright light. Rees knew it was from his wife’s sister, Cordelia. He had never met her, or any of her family, but he recognized the scent of roses. Cordelia’s letters were permeated with it. He thought she must douse herself with the perfume for the scent to saturate the paper so thoroughly.

  ‘I do wish Cordy would not write both ways,’ Lydia said as she unfolded the paper. Rees nodded. His sister-in-law wrote horizontally as she moved from top to bottom and then turned the paper and wrote side to side, over her previous script. It made reading her news difficult at best. He didn’t know why Lydia bothered. Her sister’s news rarely included anything important, always more of a list of parties and new clothes than anything else. Lydia knew it too. That was why, although Thomas had brought the missive from the tavern the previous day, taking the opportunity to visit Annie at the same time, Lydia had not bothered to read the letter until breakfast today.

  Rees helped himself to another cup of coffee and looked over at his family. The dame school had closed in early December in the hope it would stop the spread of smallpox. The school was still closed, and would be for the rest of January, but Jerusha refused to allow her siblings’ schooling to end. She had taken everyone but the baby to the kitchen table where, one after another, they recited their lessons.

  Rees sighed. The children were all growing up. Jerusha would be the next to fly the nest; she was already testing her wings. He glanced at Lydia. At least Sharon, Rees’s youngest, would soon have a younger brother or sister in late April or early May. He was glad of it.

  ‘Oh no,’ Lydia said involuntarily, the blood draining from her cheeks.

  ‘What now?’ Rees asked in a resigned voice. ‘Did your sister rip her best dress?’

  ‘I wish that were so.’ Lydia looked at Rees over the top of the sheet of paper. ‘My father has been accused of murdering a young man last November.’

  Rees stared at his wife for several horrified seconds. ‘Murder? What happened?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ She shook her head in mingled affection and exasperation. ‘You know how she writes; every sentence is an exclamation. Her letter is even more disjointed than usual. I am having trouble making head or tail of it.’

  ‘Maybe the “murder” is your sister’s usual hyperbole.’

  ‘Perhaps, but she says quite clearly a constable came to the house.’

  ‘Does she tell you why he is accused?’

  ‘Someone was shot.’ Lydia examined the page. ‘She wrote this almost two months ago. Who knows what has happened in the interim?’

  ‘Well, is the accusation a serious one? Was your father jailed?’

  ‘I don’t know. Most of this,’ and she rattled the paper, ‘is assurances he is innocent.’

  ‘No helpful information, then,’ Rees said.

  ‘None. But …’ Lydia paused for so long Rees directed a suspicious look at her.

  ‘What? What else?’

  Lydia raised her eyes to his. She was wearing Rees’s favorite dress, her dark indigo wool, and her eyes looked very blue. ‘She wishes us to come to Boston and prove her father’s innocence.’

  ‘What? Boston? No.’ Rees shook his head. ‘Especially not now. Not in the middle of w
inter.’ They were almost into the final week of January 1801. Congress was still fighting over who, Thomas Jefferson or Aaron Burr, had won the presidency.

  ‘The weather is not terrible now—’ Lydia began.

  ‘We’ve already experienced several snowstorms,’ Rees pointed out. Lydia bit her lip and looked down at the paper in her hand. With a guilty pang, Rees put his hand on his wife’s arm. ‘Of course, this is about your father. He is your father too, isn’t he? Not just your sister’s.’

  ‘I would not be doing this for my father,’ she said shortly. ‘It is my sister’s comfort and well-being I care about. As you know, the relationship between my father and myself has never been …’ She paused abruptly as she searched for the right word. ‘Affectionate? Respectful? He feels I am too outspoken and unfeminine. I feel he …’ She stopped again. Rees waited. Finally, speaking very quickly, she admitted, ‘I would not be surprised to hear he did murder someone.’

  Rees stared at her, aghast. ‘You can’t believe that,’ he said although he knew Lydia would not say it if she didn’t believe it. Lydia’s estrangement from her father was long standing. Rees himself had had contempt for his father, a cruel drunken bully. But suspecting someone of murder? That was an entirely different level of dislike.

  Lydia regarded her husband for several seconds. Then she turned around and paced a few steps before turning back. ‘I know you think I am speaking simply from some rancor toward my father. But he has not only been cruel – and is not – to me. I could tell you stories.’

  ‘That does not mean he murdered someone,’ Rees said. Lydia met his shocked gaze and sighed.

  ‘I suppose not,’ she said. ‘I am only surprised that he is not the victim. I know there are many who wish to see him dead.’

  Rees, only slightly less shocked by that statement, nodded to acknowledge he heard her. He did not trust himself to speak. Lydia was usually the most even-tempered of women. This detestation for her father stunned him. She turned and looked at him, eyeing his expression for several seconds.

  ‘I perceive you find my lack of family feeling appalling,’ she said at last. ‘But you don’t know him. And, without knowing him, you cannot possibly understand.’ Her lips were trembling. Rees put his arms around her.

  ‘I know you,’ he said. ‘And so, I must believe you.’

  With a sob, Lydia leaned against his chest. He held her close while she struggled to compose herself.

  This time, Rees thought, he had managed to express the most consoling words he could have found.

  ‘What do you think we should do?’ he asked. He hated to see her so unhappy. When Lydia did not speak, he continued. ‘It is January, and the weather could turn at any second.’ Lydia nodded and stepped away from him.

  ‘And you are busy here,’ she agreed, wiping her eyes.

  ‘Not very,’ Rees said. He could easily suspend his weaving for a week. ‘If we don’t go, you’ll wonder for the rest of your life if your father was guilty.’

  Lydia sniffed and took her handkerchief from her sleeve to wipe her eyes.

  ‘I know,’ she admitted. ‘We parted on poor terms …’

  Rees realized that for all her animus toward her father, a part of her still yearned for his approval. He understood. He had hated his father most of his life – but he had never suspected the old man of murder. And he had made some amends. Before he’d died, he’d told Rees he loved him. That had almost made up for the expectation a boy could work like a man, for the beatings, and for all the years that had come before.

  Rees inspected his wife, noticing the violet shadows under her eyes. Maybe they should go to Boston, despite the threat of bad weather. She needed to resolve her feelings for her father. Besides, after the smallpox epidemic last fall and her falling out with her friend Ruth and then the murder at the Shaker community nearby, and her pregnancy, his wife had been unusually emotional. On a knife’s edge. Visiting her family might serve to restore her.

  Rees understood. His emotions were still raw after last fall’s events.

  ‘I think we should go,’ he said now. ‘We might be fortunate with the weather.’

  ‘But there are the children,’ Lydia said, meeting his gaze with anxious eyes.

  ‘Annie and Jerusha will be staying here at the farm,’ Rees said, understanding his wife needed to be persuaded. Lydia was nothing if not responsible. ‘Annie is almost eighteen and Jerusha is fifteen. They can watch the younger children.’ He stepped back so he could look into her face. ‘You trust them, don’t you?’ Annie had recently left the Shaker community and was staying with them at the farm until she married. Jerusha, adopted with her siblings several years ago, had been caring for her brothers and sister alone since the age of nine. Rees felt they were capable.

  When Lydia did not respond, Rees continued. ‘Thomas will visit regularly to see Annie and we can ask Rouge to look in on them.’

  Lydia hesitated for several seconds and when she spoke again it sounded as if she had changed topics.

  ‘We should take Jerusha with us,’ she said. ‘I’d planned to visit Boston in the spring, after the birth of the new baby, so we could bring him as well as register Jerusha for Bingham’s school. If she thought she would enjoy it, that is.’

  Rees, who had heard nothing of these plans, blinked. But he rallied. ‘We will take her now,’ he said. ‘The dame school is not open. And if Miss Francine does open, she can manage without Jerusha for a few days.’ The smallpox that had swept through town had died down and the school was supposed to open in a week. ‘But do you think the children will be too much for Annie?’

  ‘We’ll bring Sharon too.’ Lydia smiled. ‘That will leave only the three older kids. And Cordy has been pressing me to bring her to Boston so they could meet her.’

  ‘How does your sister even know we’ve successfully investigated other murders?’ Rees asked, already sure he knew the answer.

  ‘I may have mentioned it a few times,’ Lydia admitted, ducking her head self-consciously.

  Rees nodded without speaking. He knew the sisters had corresponded but now realized it had been more often than he’d guessed. ‘We should make our arrangements quickly and leave while the weather is fair. For now, although it is cold, it is clear. With any luck, this weather will continue.’

  ‘I will write back immediately,’ Lydia said, her voice lifting. ‘You can deliver the letter to the tavern and Constable Rouge can put it on the coach for Boston.’

  ‘Very well,’ Rees agreed. The sooner, the better.

  TWO

  Rees spent some time pondering their mode of travel. Since the roads were snow-covered, a sleigh might be the most practical. But that conveyance would not be useful on Boston’s cobbled streets. He had decided to use his own wagon, with Hannibal pulling it, when Lydia threw his plans into disorder.

  ‘Instead of tiring our own horse, we should book seats in the coach,’ she said. ‘That way, we will travel inside. And the coach, with its team, will be faster than our own wagon and a single horse.’

  ‘But we will be gone for a week or more,’ Rees objected.

  Lydia smiled. ‘Probably for longer than that,’ she said.

  Rees shook his head, stiff with reluctance. He hated the thought of losing the freedom to leave at a moment’s notice. Especially considering his wife’s feelings about her father.

  ‘I am certain Thomas will gladly return Hannibal and the wagon to the farm,’ Lydia continued. ‘He will take the opportunity to visit Annie, your wagon will be safe, and Hannibal will be back in his accustomed stall.’

  ‘That is fine,’ Rees said. ‘But …’ His voice trailed away. How could he explain he did not want to be trapped in her father’s house?

  Lydia regarded him for several seconds and then reached out and put a hand on his.

  ‘I know you prefer the comfort of your own transportation,’ she said. ‘But remember, Boston is a city. We will be able to walk everywhere.’ She paused for a moment. When he said nothing and
she could see his worried expression did not change, she added, ‘Boston is also a city of taverns and inns. If we elect to remove ourselves from my father’s house, we will have other options. And I still have friends who might be willing to put us up.’

  ‘I will consider it,’ Rees said at last. Every time he thought of staying in Boston without his wagon and his own horse, he broke out in a cold sweat. Finally, he went to town and met with Simon Rouge, inn-keeper and constable. To Rees’s surprise, the other man agreed with Lydia. Taking the coach was the most practical solution.

  ‘After all,’ Rouge said, ‘if the visit is as terrible as you fear, you can always take the coach home from Boston to Maine.’ And when Rees still hesitated, the constable said briskly, ‘Make the sensible decision for once. Taking your own vehicle will ensure the journey is uncomfortable and exhausting – for you and your horse.’

  Somewhat reassured, Rees booked four seats for Tuesday next. Now his primary concern was the weather. He prayed the clear skies would hold.

  Three days later, Rees, preparations made, drove to town at first light. Snow had fallen during the night, leaving a thin coating over the dirty older accumulation. But the gilding of the treetops by the rising sun predicted a sunny, although cold, day. Rees had packed the wagon with their luggage the previous evening and covered it with a sheet of canvas. Both Sharon and Jerusha were clad in their Sunday best and the older girl wore a new redingote of blue wool. Lydia wore her second-best dress, woolen with a high waist and an embroidered ribbon under the bust. Even Rees, who eschewed fancy clothing, wore his second-best breeches, and an embroidered waistcoat – something he saved for formal dress. He had put aside his favorite tricorn, a hat he had worn for more than twenty years, for a wide-brimmed black wool hat trimmed with beaver. He knew he did not cut a fashionable figure, but he did not care. In his opinion, a focus on fashion was a form of vanity.

  They arrived at the tavern early, before the coach had even arrived. Since of the four, only Sharon had eaten breakfast (Jerusha had been too excited and both Lydia and Rees too anxious), they decided to eat something while they waited. But Rees, although he drank the coffee, found eating difficult. Now that the flurry of preparation was done, he had begun to fret about the upcoming meeting with his in-laws. Lydia watched him move the eggs around on his plate.