Thaddeus Lewis Mysteries 5-Book Bundle. Janet Kellough
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had been in Niagara Falls. Reluctantly, she handed over what she owed. The few coins she had left were barely enough to cover the steamship fare, with nothing extra for private quarters. So she and the boy spent the entire journey sitting up on the benches provided in the public cabin. As a result, she was sore and exhausted and the boy had begun to whine again. She looked at her son anxiously; he was pale at the best of times, but now his face had an ashen tinge to it that matched the slate-coloured sky that stretched away to the horizon.
As soon as the captain had signalled their approach, she had risen and gone to the cabin window. She could see that Wellington was no bigger or better than any of the other towns they had called at along the way, and she felt a twinge of homesickness for the chaotic bustle of city streets. There were several men waiting with carts at the wharf, and as soon as the gangplank was lowered she directed the porter to load their luggage into one of these. It was little more than a hay wagon, with a board laid across to serve as a seat, but it was no worse than any of the others, and the carter looked friendly.
“Where to ma’am?” he asked as he helped her up onto the seat.
She hesitated. Should she go straight to the farm or find a quiet inn where she could stay until she found out what had happened? But the village was too small for that. She could scarcely pass as a stranger. Best to talk to Reuben first. Besides, her husband could well be waiting there, delayed by some unforeseen event and his message to that effect gone astray.
“Ma’am?” The carter sat, reins in hand, waiting for her instruction.
She made her decision. “Do you know the Reuben Elliott place? I’m told it’s not far from here.”
The carter nodded and set his team in motion with a flick of the reins. He seemed uncurious about who she was or what her business might be with the Elliotts. She blessed the man’s stolidity as they rumbled down Wellington’s main street.
An hour later they were rumbling back again. Reuben had seemed annoyed when he realized who it was at his door. He had admitted her only as far as the front hall while the carter waited with the wagon. Reuben had imparted little information other than the bare facts that her husband had disappeared nearly a week previously, and that he had no idea what had happened to him after that. He had not offered accommodation, or any sort of assistance. Reluctantly, she had climbed back into the wagon and directed the carter to return her to Wellington.
Her mind was in a whirl. Something had gone wrong, that much seemed clear. But what? Until she knew what had happened, she decided, she would stay the course.
As they drove along the main street, she realized that the village was even smaller than it had appeared from the water.
The carter took her to a tavern. As he halted his team, the tavern door swung open and two men staggered outside. It was still only early afternoon, but it was apparent that they were already drunk.
“Is there anywhere else?” she asked her driver. “A respectable inn, if such a thing exists. Somewhere a lady might stay with her son without fear of interference?”
The carter wrinkled his brow and seemed to think deeply for a moment. Then his face brightened. “Well now, there’s the new place. The Temperance House. It doesn’t serve liquor. It seems very respectable, although I don’t know of anyone who’s stayed there. It’s new, you see.”
“Perfect. Please take me there.” No drunks to chase the women away, she thought, for she would have to work while she waited. Easy pickings. But I’ll have to be careful.
After days of searching, it was evident to all that although Nate Elliott’s body might yet be found, there was little hope that it would still be breathing. After the second day, the number of volunteers had dwindled. Many had either been called away by their own business or had become discouraged by the lack of progress. Lewis was among the stubborn few who continued to rendezvous at Murphy’s Tavern each morning, but as the constable could do little but direct them to go over the ground that had already been covered, it seemed a futile exercise, and after the fifth day the search was officially called off.
Lewis had found the long hours of tramping across fields exhausting, and, relieved of this duty, he settled in that afternoon to the pleasant pastime of looking through the papers that were provided for the convenience of the guests at the Temperance House Hotel. The dining room was deserted by two in the afternoon, as the hotel currently hosted only a single guest, who by that time had long since finished his dinner and departed. The morning chores were done, the evening chores not yet pressing, and Lewis spread the pages out on one of the tables and read while sipping his cup of tea. With this indulgence, his aches and pains began to subside. He felt only mildly guilty. In a way, he felt that he had earned this luxurious diversion. Prior to his recent exertions, he had spent four years tracking a killer, and when the chase had finally ended, he had continued to ride the circuits saving souls for the Methodist Episcopal Church. During it all, he had been aware of a profound sense of weariness. Part of it was physical; he had gone back to the travelling life too soon, he now knew, after a plunge into the icy waters between Kingston and Wolfe Island had nearly killed him. Every winter since, he had developed a hacking cough that plagued him until spring, and long hours on horseback through wind and rain and snow sapped his strength and made his bones ache.
He also knew that part of his fatigue was emotional. He had caught a murderer and watched him die, and although the crimes had been stopped, he was still trying to make sense of them. He had come to realize how much he treasured his family and how transient life could be, for five women, including his own daughter, had been killed, and his granddaughter had almost been taken too, all because of the twisted passions of the Simms family. He had been deeply shaken by the evil he had uncovered.
As a result, Lewis had been mulling over his options as he attended to the constant round of prayer meetings and sermons, study classes and Sunday schools. For a long time he had persisted in what he had always considered his true calling, but it had been a struggle. And then his wife, Betsy, precipitated a crisis that put an end to his travelling days.
Nearly a year ago, just before Christmas, she had taken an alarming turn that had rattled him to the core. She had been fighting mysterious fevers and agues for several years, but he had been sure that she was on the mend. Then one terrible day, he had arrived home to find she had fallen, insensible. She had stayed that way for five days. At the time he thought he would lose her, and he tried to steel himself for what appeared inevitable. But just as mysteriously as it had arrived, the pall of unconsciousness had lifted. An apoplexy, the doctor said — a small one, but a warning of what was to come.
As with the fevers, her recovery was erratic. Some days she could barely move from her bed, and when she did she walked with a pronounced limp and had difficulty speaking or using her left arm. On other days her infirmity seemed slight, and as long as she didn’t overdo it, she could tidy up her own kitchen and direct both Thaddeus and their granddaughter Martha in the household tasks that they both performed clumsily. Lewis thought that eight-year-old Martha was actually more help than he was, but he tried to do Betsy’s bidding without complaint, for he knew that the next day could find her once again unable to stir from her bed.
Even so, he wasn’t sure how they could have managed without the help of their landlords, Seth and Minta Jessup, who lived in the other half of the house behind Seth’s smithy in the town of Demorestville. Minta had helped to nurse Betsy through the initial stages of her illness, but Minta had a young family who quite rightly claimed a great deal of her attention. Seth had not pressed Lewis for the small amount of rent he charged them, but it was clear that they could not continue to rely on the Jessups’ charity, as much as the couple appeared willing to help.
And then he had received a letter from his sister, Susannah. She wrote that she and her husband Daniel had leased a hotel in the village of Wellington, a small village some fifteen miles or so southwest of Demorestville. Although his father had left him a farm, Daniel was tired of farming and had fastened on the idea of entering the hotel business. Lewis wasn’t sure that it was a wise move; Daniel had never done anything but plough fields and milk cows. But the pair seemed determined. Furthermore, Susannah had written that there was a small house — nothing more than a cabin, really