them the old woman was dead, Dudley had hurried to say the second death could in no way be related to the first. Reed seemed not entirely to agree, but he'd said no more. Perhaps the lawyer thought otherwise? If so, what did he know that he wasn't saying?
After he'd simmered for another minute, Longfellow forced himself to ask fairly if he might not be imagining things. Yet it did appear that everyone kept him in the dark about certain events. Perhaps even Charlotte had done so. Above all, it hurt him to suspect that this might be true. But she was a villager by birth, something which carried a level of acceptance here that he'd not been granted—and probably never would be.
At any rate, before much longer he would confront them all with what he'd discovered on his own. As a selectman, it had been his duty to investigate. As a man ignored, it had been his pleasure. Now, he was reasonably sure he knew what at least some in the village had been up to. And at the proper moment, he was certain he'd find a few eager to turn about and give more evidence, by which the others might be discomfited, at the very least!
Returning to the problem at hand, Longfellow began to sift through what Lem had told them of his trip to Boar Island, while Catherine Knowles lay dying. He'd first informed the two women of Alex's death. Both were surprised, but beyond looking long at one another they'd shown no regret, at least in front of their visitor. Catherine had instructed Lem that he would find a woodpile on the western side of the house. There he'd discovered a great many sawn logs made from windfalls. He'd taken up an ax and set to work splitting some of the dry stuff for kindling and cooking. Meanwhile, he had a clear view of the path that led from the front door, and he'd soon seen Magdalene go out walking.
For half an hour, he continued to work alone. Startled when the old woman screamed, he ran back into the house. He recalled his own ringing footsteps, but no others. When he found her, Catherine was on her hands and knees by the hearth, her lower clothing aflame. Keeping his wits, the boy had rolled her back and forth across the hearth rug, then poured a pot of tea on a few parts that continued to smoke. After that—
Moses Reed cleared his throat to attract the attention of the others, and picked up their earlier conversation. “What do you think the village will say, Dudley, of two recent deaths here?”
“The village?” the constable asked blankly. Like Longfellow, he'd been gathering his own wool.
“We have one man obviously murdered, but not enough proof to lead us to arrest anyone. Unsettling, yet these things take time. What I fear is this: matters can quickly get out of hand when people take it upon themselves to decide the truth, without the weight of oath, judge, or jury. What do you think will be said about Lem Wainwright's involvement in Godwin's death? He is, as you know, my client, and my responsibility.”
“Yes, yes,” John Dudley said, somewhat nervously. “I think they'll agree with me there's no sense in blaming Lem—even though he did leave the hatchet where someone else could pick it up and do this filthy deed. But he has told me he did not do it, and I believe him.”
“Then you think Lem is in no danger?”
“Danger? No. Of course, someone murdered Godwin— we're certain of that But there's no reason to suspect anyone from Bracebridge. No, more likely whoever it was came down the road and saw the rest of us by the ice. The worst sort of man is drawn to such gatherings—pickpockets, especially. It could be this stranger first took up the hatchet to steal it. Once taken, though—if Godwin insulted him in any way, as he often did—then, matters might have gone another way. That, I think, is what the village will say, sir. I've little doubt it's the truth.”
“Do you suppose,” asked Reed slowly, “any might wonder if someone here made it appear Lem was responsible for Godwin's death?”
“Would it be in the interest of young Wainwright, if such a suggestion was to be thrown about?” Dudley returned. “Better, I'd say, to ask around Worcester, where Godwin spent most of his years. To see if someone there might have had revenge in mind.”
“Perhaps we