A Dream of Daring Page 21

  The sheriff studied his subject without expression.

  “But I never got that far. As I began to gather the soil, I saw a man looking at me in the distance. I didn’t know then that it was Tom, but I ran away. I went to the other side of the hill where the big house was, fixing to reach the invention from that route and perform my deed, but I saw lanterns on and people outside. I knew something strange had happened, so I cleared out and went home. I didn’t learn what had occurred till you came to my home the next day, Sheriff.”

  “That can’t be!” said Tom.

  “It can be, and it was,” said Nash. “That was all there was to it. I went to the Crossroads that night fixing to damage your invention, but I ended up leaving without doing anything.”

  “But it wouldn’t make sense for you to sabotage the invention. It makes more sense for you to have stolen it to profit from it yourself. That would’ve brought you financial stability and made you look good to Rachel and the senator.”

  Rachel looked flustered when the conversation turned to her personal affairs. “Hush up, Tom!”

  But Tom was undeterred. “Look, somebody stole the device. If it wasn’t Cooper, then who? You were there. You could’ve taken the prototype to investors and made an arrangement with them to develop it further. You could’ve done it secretly, and profited, then made up a story about coming into some money. You would’ve been able to pay off your debts and appeal to Rachel and her family as a serious suitor. It makes more sense that you went to the Crossroads that night to steal a new device that could make you wealthy.”

  “What ravings! It’s clear modesty isn’t one of your virtues,” quipped Nash.

  “You would’ve put the cover back on the motor to protect the invention. It was vital for you to keep everything intact as you hauled it off, so you could sell it to investors for a good profit.”

  “Well, Tom, since you’re so smart, tell me: Why would I still be there at the Crossroads after the crime was committed? The senator was already murdered when you saw me by the slaves’ garden. Isn’t that so?”

  Tom stroked his chin in concentration, then offered a theory.

  “Maybe you first hid the tractor somewhere in the brush, then you came back to bury the knife, which you put in your saddlebag. Maybe you were trying to plant the weapon near the slaves’ quarters, so the murder would be pinned on one of them, on someone you deemed your inferior, so you’d feel no compunction when a poor bondsman was executed for your crime. A slave would provide a decoy that would be very easy to prosecute and convict, and thereby end the investigation, so no one would ever suspect you. Everyone would believe that a slave who was fearful of new master, someone much stricter than his old mistress, could be driven to a desperate act. And everyone would believe that a slave could also steal property out of sheer rebelliousness, or steal it to redirect suspicion to a white man.”

  As Tom spoke, Nash shook his head.

  The sheriff seemed content to let Tom continue with his theory and to study the exchange between him and Nash.

  “But when I spotted you, I would’ve thwarted your plan to hide the weapon by the slaves’ quarters and pin the crime on one of them. So later, you disposed of the weapon in the woods where I found it.”

  Nash bristled. “Pure poppycock!”

  “Then when Cooper was accused instead of a slave, you would’ve had a sudden pang of conscience at the last minute and written the note to reveal the weapon’s location and exonerate an innocent man of your crime.”

  “You’re mad!”

  “The night of the crime, when you tried to slip the cover back on, you made noise, which the senator heard from his open window. He came out and caught you, and you were disgraced in his eyes. You would have had no chance ever for the wealth and marriage you envisioned. So you killed the senator and went on with your scheme. Isn’t that what happened?” offered Tom.

  “I hated that invention. I went there to destroy it, but I never got near it,” Nash bellowed. “Besides, why would I carry a murder weapon clear to Manning Creek? Why not just toss it in the bayou?”

  “Well,” said Tom, thinking aloud, “when you couldn’t bury the weapon at the Crossroads and pin the crime on a slave, maybe you decided on another plan. If you planted the knife a great distance away, then you could reveal its location later, if necessary, to make me believe that the invention also could be hidden over so large an area that a search was futile. I might’ve given up searching. Then you could’ve waited a while, and when interest in the case died down, you could have secretly gotten the device out of the South.”

  “Sheriff, there’s no evidence whatsoever for Tom’s wild accusations.”

  “That’s quite true, Mr. Nottingham,” the sheriff agreed. “But we do have you spotted at the Crossroads that night, and we have your animosity toward Mr. Edmunton, and the senator’s animosity toward you.”

  “Maybe you would’ve welcomed Senator Barnwell coming in to spoil your burglary as an excuse to do away with him,” said Tom.

  The sheriff raised his eyebrows.

  “Now, this has gone too far—” Nash snarled.

  “You knew the senator was staying at the Crossroads that night. You knew he might be closing a deal with Cooper the next day to sell the place, foiling another one of your schemes”—Tom laughed contemptuously—“to have him give you Rachel’s hand and Polly’s plantation as a wedding present.”

  “What? Merciful Lord! How could you, Nash Nottingham?” Rachel scolded. “I take great offense, I’ll have you know!”

  “Maybe you intentionally made noise by the senator’s room to draw him out,” Tom continued. “Not only did you have a motive to steal the invention and use it to get out of your financial difficulties and into Rachel’s good graces but you also had a motive to do away with Senator Barnwell. You were angry with him. You were continually frustrated in your attempts to court Rachel. The senator didn’t like you. He saw through your pretensions. He saw nothing in you for his daughter. Indeed, he and I were both in your way.”

  “You’re crazy!” cried Nash. “You’re obsessed with that invention. It’s deranged your mind.”

  “Maybe you saw a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to enrich yourself, to defeat me, and to do away with the senator all at once. That one night you had your chance to accomplish all that.” Tom’s voice was hard.

  “That’s rubbish! Besides, I was on fine terms with the senator. We had a little misunderstanding that day, that’s all.”

  “A misunderstanding you neglected to mention until Mr. Markham told us that he saw the senator throw you out of the kitchen after the funeral,” interjected the sheriff. He turned to the overseer. “Isn’t that so, Mr. Markham?”

  “Like I said, Sheriff, I seen the senator throw him out o’ Miss Polly’s kitchen that afternoon.”

  Nash swept a handkerchief across his damp forehead.

  “And the kitchen is where you would’ve found the carving knife,” the sheriff added.

  “I didn’t touch any knife!” Nash waved his hands in protest.

  “Why were you in that kitchen?” asked the sheriff. “And why did you argue with the senator on the day of his death?”

  “My words with the senator had nothing to do with the invention, nothing at all.”

  “You lied when you testified that you weren’t at the Crossroads that night. You held animosity for Mr. Edmunton and his invention. You argued with the deceased. And you wanted Miss Barnwell’s hand, but the senator wouldn’t permit it,” pressed the sheriff. “All of that we know. Now tell us the rest.”

  “I didn’t take any knife or harm anybody.”

  “Why did the senator throw you out of the kitchen?” repeated the sheriff.

  “I told you. He misunderstood me. I was in the kitchen looking for my coachman, but he thought I was chasing a female servant.”

  “You wouldn’t be giving even a hint of pursuing a slave girl while Miss Barnwell’s father was around,” said the sheriff, his voice
harder.

  “And you’d never get your clothes dirty in a greasy kitchen to look for your coachman,” added Tom.

  “Why were you in the kitchen?” the sheriff repeated, his voice harder.

  A silent agony played out on Nash’s colorless face. The sheriff waited, but the suspect remained silent.

  “All right,” said the sheriff, “maybe you’ll talk after spending the night in jail.”

  He gestured to the guards. “Arrest him.”

  The two guards moved toward Nash.

  “Wait!” Like a child afraid of the dark, Nash seemed gripped by terror. “Don’t put me in that disgusting rat-hole! I couldn’t stand that!”

  “Then talk,” said the sheriff.

  Nash sighed in resignation.

  “Okay, I was chasing a slave girl.”

  “Good gracious!” exclaimed Charlotte.

  “How could you!” cried Rachel.

  “Now, now, it’s not was you think, ladies! Not at all.” Nash said.

  “And Senator Barnwell, no doubt, didn’t like you chasing the girl,” said the sheriff.

  “He didn’t like it at all, but it had nothing to do with the invention.”

  “What did it have to do with?”

  “She was a young mulatto woman. I had seen her earlier that day when I arrived. I had approached her that morning. I suppose I frightened her, because she ran into the kitchen. The senator first noticed my interest in her that morning. That’s why he frowned at me when I had just arrived, as Markham told you at our meeting after the crime, Sheriff.”

  The sheriff nodded, remembering the matter. Markham also nodded, frowning at everyone.

  “After the reception, I looked around for the girl, and I entered the kitchen to inquire about her whereabouts. The senator, I realized, was observing me and followed me in. He knew that I had stumbled on something. He got angry and threw me out.”

  “What did you stumble on?” prodded the sheriff. His ruthless eyes locked on Nash’s pleading ones.

  “A secret.”

  “What secret?”

  “Something I wasn’t supposed to know.”

  “What?”

  “It has nothing to do with the invention.”

  “Come on, Mr. Nottingham,” the sheriff said tiredly. “What did it have to do with?”

  “I had discovered something about the girl, and I wanted to see her close up to be sure.”

  “What did you discover?”

  Nash hesitated.

  “Mr. Nottingham. You’re trying our patience. It’s time to come clean.” The coroner interjected his older, respected voice to help the sheriff. “What did you discover about the slave that caused you to look for her in the kitchen and that caused the senator to throw you out?”

  Nash glanced anxiously at Charlotte and Rachel.

  “Answer, Mr. Nottingham, or face arrest.” Duran threatened. “What did you learn about the mulatto girl?”

  Nash dropped his eyes to the floor, avoiding the women’s glances. When he spoke, his voice was barely a whisper. “I learned that she . . . was a . . . Barnwell.”

  The women gasped. Rachel’s hands covered her face in disbelief. Charlotte’s head dropped in a swoon. The coroner reached into his pocket for smelling salts.

  CHAPTER 18

  Charlotte’s eyes opened after she inhaled a whiff of spirits from the coroner’s small flask. She and her daughter were given cups of water. Sweat glistened on Rachel’s bare shoulders, and her shawl lay in limp folds in the crooks of her arms. Charlotte’s face was pale from her light-headedness.

  “Ladies, I’m deeply sorry . . .” Nash began, his head down.

  “If you’re sorry, then shut up!” said Rachel, channeling her anger into vigorous waving of her fan.

  “. . . but necessity compels me to speak as an honest man must to defend his honor.”

  “To defend your honor, you’ll take away ours!” cried Charlotte.

  Nash sighed helplessly.

  Charlotte glared at him, then turned to Duran. “Isn’t it clear that this pathetic man will stoop to anything to get himself out of a fix?”

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Barnwell,” replied the sheriff, “but I intend to hear him out.”

  “It’s lies you’ll hear. All lies!” The widow’s cries filled the courtroom.

  “Now, now, Mrs. Barnwell. You must try to calm down,” Dr. Clark instructed.

  “I’m very sorry, ma’am,” said the sheriff. His eyes paused on Charlotte briefly, then moved on. “Now, Mr. Nottingham, let’s hear your story.”

  Avoiding the women’s stares, Nash spoke. “As you know, I arrived earlier than the other guests. My coachman let me off at the house, but there was no one there to greet me. The slaves seemed at a loss with the death of their mistress. I felt a touch of mal de mer from the ride, so I was impatient standing there, looking for someone to escort me in and get me a claret to settle my nerves, Sheriff.”

  Duran nodded. “Then what?”

  “I noticed a young mulatto. She was dressed like a house servant. She looked weak and disheveled, as though she had just been beaten. A ribbon that tied the front of her dress at the neckline was undone, as if she had loosened her garment for a few lashes to her back. She was leaning against a marble statue near the entrance, in pain, unable to stand. I called to her to show me in and fetch me a claret.”

  “You mean you asked a beaten woman who could barely stand to fetch you a drink?” blurted out the sheriff.

  “She was a slave, after all,” Nash replied. “The girl seemed unable to comply. That was when I noticed something. With her garment slipped off her shoulder, I saw . . .”

  Nash hesitated.

  “Come on, you saw what?” the sheriff prodded.

  Nash glanced out the window, where he could see the top of the jail behind the sheriff’s office, and a shot of panic flashed on his face. When he spoke, he seemed oblivious to the people in the room, speaking only to the barred windows across the street.

  “I saw on the girl, just below her shoulder and above her heart, a little birthmark, just like that one right there.” He pointed to the tiny heart-shaped mark on Rachel’s body.

  “What in tarnation!” shrieked Charlotte. “Liar!”

  She quickly lifted her daughter’s shawl to cover her bare shoulders, but it was too late. Everyone’s eyes had already darted to Rachel and seen the birthmark.

  “It was the very same mark in the very same place as Rachel’s. It was so distinctive, a fetching little heart! What could explain that? I immediately concluded it must run in the family,” Nash said.

  “Lies!” Charlotte shook her head in vigorous denial. “All lies!”

  She shot up and hurled her cup so its contents splashed in Nash’s face. He took the attack quietly, wiping his face.

  “Mrs. Barnwell, now calm down!” directed the coroner, pushing her by the shoulders back to her seat.

  “I declare to goodness!” Rachel said, scowling and pulling the shawl up to her neck. “How could you suggest this girl has anything to do with us, Nash Nottingham? It could have been a piece of dirt you saw, and for that, you disgrace us. Why, I’ll never speak to you again!”

  “Ladies, please, quiet down,” said the coroner.

  “I saw what I saw.” Nash shrugged his shoulders helplessly. “I walked toward the girl to examine the birthmark more closely. I asked her what that little thing was below her shoulder. But she was frightened of me. She quickly tied her frock to cover the little reddish mark. Then she mustered her strength and ran. She disappeared into the kitchen.”

  Charlotte and Rachel fumed.

  “During this interlude, the senator appeared. He was walking with Markham. The senator seemed to notice my interest in the girl and my attempt to see the birthmark. He looked displeased. Just what did I think I was doing, he asked. I told him that I had come early in the hope of speaking to him. About what, he asked me brusquely. I told him it was about acquiring the Crossroads Plantation. This pa
rt of the story I told you previously, Sheriff.”

  Duran nodded.

  “The senator said he thought my funds were strained, and I replied that I had a plan. He said that Cooper might purchase the place, but he supposed it was good to have more than one buyer interested.”

  “That’s when you didn’t tell the senator that you wanted him to give you Rachel, along with the Crossroads as a wedding present?” Tom asked sharply, knowing the answer.

  “Nash, you scoundrel!” cried Rachel.

  Nash squirmed guiltily in his seat, then continued. “That’s when Senator Barnwell said he had to go to town, and he asked Markham to show me around the place.”

  The sheriff looked at Markham, who nodded his head in agreement with Nash’s story.

  “Then after the reception that afternoon, I looked for the girl again. I wanted to examine the birthmark. I went into the kitchen and asked about her. The senator, I soon realized, was suspicious of me. He followed me in, and then, well, encouraged me to leave.”

  “He threw you out. I seen that part,” said Markham.

  “So that’s what I was doing in the kitchen, Sheriff. I was looking for the girl with the curious birthmark, the identical marking to Rachel’s. It had nothing at all to do with Tom’s confounded invention or plotting to murder anybody or stealing any knife.”

  The sheriff pulled out a chair and sat across from the coroner. “Dr. Clark, what do you think about this business of the birthmarks?”

  The coroner stroked his face thoughtfully. He leaned back in his chair, reflecting on the matter. The others watched him and waited.

  “It’s rare, but it does happen,” said the man who was also the town doctor. “Here in Louisiana, we have a strange mix of people. We find things here that you don’t often see elsewhere. With the English settlements in these parts, and the isolation of the plantations and the intermarriages of cousins and the like, I’ve seen cases of rare traits running through families.”

  “Like what?” asked the sheriff.

  “I know of a family with an extra bone that juts out of the side of one foot, between the ankle and toe joint. Several family members have it. Another family has a parent and several children with extra teeth impacted in their lower jaws behind their molars.”