One by a blow from a paving stone, one by a knife. Why? Why would somebody have wanted to kill two orphans, and penniless ones at that? Before you—or the sheriff and Prickett, for that matter—can start to answer the who, you need a good hypothesis as to the why.”
“Have you any guess at the why?” I asked.
Lincoln chewed and shook his head.
“Maybe there is no why,” said Martha.
“What are you saying?”
“Maybe there’s a madman on the loose. No sane, rational person could possibly want to murder two innocent souls.” She turned to Lincoln and said, “Madmen are often confined in the poorhouse here, isn’t that right? We know Lilly and Jesse were lodged inside one for several years. Perhaps they encountered some raver there and now he’s gotten away and come after them.”
“That’s brilliant,” I said.
“It’s certainly worth investigating,” agreed Lincoln. “How is it, Miss Speed, you’ve become an expert on poorhouses in addition to nutgall ink?”
Martha blushed.
“Patterson mentioned them to us at dinner the other night,” I said.
“Were you talking about his legal action?” asked Lincoln. I nodded. “Figures. The good doctor’s been fixated on the issue from the start, this idea that the major’s insane. He thinks it’s the key to prevailing.”
“Isn’t it?” I asked. “If Major Richmond’s mad, surely he can’t get an order from the judge enforcing their agreement.”
“If the court adjudges him insane or a lunatic, you’re correct.”
“But what makes someone insane?” asked Martha.
“It’s a person who’s deranged, who doesn’t speak or act with any sense,” I said. “I’m not at all sure it applies to Richmond, though Patterson certainly thinks so.”
“I’ve known lots of men, and women too, who don’t make any rational sense when you talk to them,” Martha persisted. “Not to me, anyway.” She turned toward Lincoln. “Does that make them insane? It could be nearly the whole population of the country, more or less, depending on how you look at it.”
Lincoln laughed. A bell sounded in the distance. “I’m going to be late again,” he muttered. He took a final bite of sausage and stood up as he chewed, straightening his frockcoat and then reaching to the floor for his stovepipe hat.
Lincoln had taken two steps away from the table when he looked over his shoulder at Martha. “I’m not ignoring your question, Miss Speed, about what makes someone insane in the eyes of the law. It’s a good one. I’ll see if I can give you a satisfactory answer the next time we’re together.”
After Lincoln had departed, Saunders put plates of food in front of us and we began to eat in silence. I found my thoughts fixated on Rebecca. I saw again in my mind’s eye her weary, heartbroken face as she drove out of town after Jesse’s funeral with the boy’s small coffin at her side.
“How do people end up in the poorhouse?” asked Martha suddenly. “I don’t mean the insane but normal people, like Lilly and Jesse. How do they end up there?”
“The county decided it was spending too much supporting paupers,” I said. “It figured it would be cheaper to house all of them together. The idea is they can contribute to their own maintenance by being hired out or working in the fields. There’s a master who has the contract to operate the place. He gets to sell for his own account the crops the residents produce, so the county doesn’t even have to provide him much in the way of a salary. It works out well for everyone.”
“Except the wretched families who are confined inside,” Martha cried. She paused, then asked, “Can we visit one?”
“I was thinking the same thing,” I said. “Your idea that a madman might be the villain is a good one. I need to mind the counter today, but I’ll ride out tomorrow morning. The nearest one, the one where Lilly and Jesse lived, is near Decatur. That’s several hours ride to the east.”
“I’m coming with you,” said Martha. “I cannot bear to contemplate what happened to those children, to imagine their final moments, their fear . . .”
“I’m not sure a poorhouse is a proper place for a young lady like yourself.”
My sister punched me in the shoulder, hard enough to sting. “I’m coming too,” she insisted. “That phrase, ‘not proper for a young lady,’ that’s an excuse men use when they don’t want women to know something important.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. Looking at Martha’s face, creased with determination, I knew further argument was futile. So I