Nobody's Secret Page 7

  “Miss Lavinia!”

  “Vinnie, what are you doing here?”

  Vinnie hurried over to Emily and embraced her. “It’s all right now, dear sister. I’m here to bring you home.” She turned to Mr. Ripley and spoke in a confidential voice, as though Emily were not in the room at all. “She has these turns.”

  Emily stiffened, but her sister squeezed her shoulders in warning.

  “Turns?” Mr. Ripley repeated.

  “She gets obsessed. Last year it was my mother’s recipes. Emily could be found at all hours sorting through them—to no purpose, mind you—just for the sake of touching each one, over and over again. Tonight she began talking about Father’s papers in just the same way.”

  Mortified, Emily stared down at Mr. Ripley’s desk. Her attention was distracted from Vinnie’s nonsense by the blotting pad. She could make out the word Wentworth, reversed on the blotting paper, but legible nonetheless. What had Mr. Ripley been writing recently that involved the Wentworths?

  Vinnie was still prattling. “When I saw that she had Father’s keys, I suspected she might come here—so I followed her.” She gestured to her cloth shoes, so much less suitable for walking than Emily’s sensible boots. “But she walks much faster than I.”

  “I had no idea,” Mr. Ripley said. “Although now that I think on it, she often says very odd things.”

  Emily straightened and was about to speak her mind when she was forestalled by Vinnie.

  “I’m sure you can appreciate that we like to keep Emily’s little problem within the family circle. Can I depend on you not to mention this? Not even to Father—he worries so.”

  “Of course, of course,” Mr. Ripley said. “You may count on my discretion.”

  “Thank you!” Vinnie beamed.

  “Would you like me to help you bring her home?” Mr. Ripley asked.

  Vinnie shook her head. “Now that the mania has left her, I’ll have no trouble with her.”

  Emily glared at her sister, but Vinnie ignored her.

  “I’ll lock up for you,” Mr. Ripley said.

  “And I’ll return Father’s key to its rightful place. Mr. Ripley, I can’t thank you enough.” While Vinnie was talking, Emily stealthily stuffed the blotting paper in her pocket.

  “Good night, Misses Dickinson.”

  Emily let Vinnie lead her quickly out of the office, down the stairs, and past the Common. “Vinnie!” she panted, trying to catch her breath. “I can’t believe you said those things. Next you’ll have me committed to an asylum.”

  Vinnie stopped in the middle of North Pleasant Street, now illuminated by a thin crescent of moon and brilliant stars. “Emily, what did you want me to say? He caught you snooping in Father’s papers.” She lifted her thick braid of hair to cool her face and neck. “I thought I was quite clever. He feels as though we’ve confided in him—and you know how virtuous he is. He’ll never tell anyone.”

  “He might tell his fiancée,” Emily pointed out, unwilling to give Vinnie the satisfaction of having rescued her.

  “Fiancée?” Vinnie was easily diverted. “How can Mr. Ripley afford to get married? Father always said he was poor as a church mouse.”

  “Perhaps he came into money recently?” Emily dangled the question in front of Vinnie like an apple in front of their horse, Jasper.

  Vinnie shook her head violently. “Emily, you are doing it again. Trying to distract me. What does it matter if Mr. Ripley is getting married? What were you really doing in Father’s office?

  “I take these turns . . . sometimes I can’t help myself,” Emily replied in an arch voice.

  “This is the final straw, Emily Elizabeth Dickinson.” Vinnie stamped her foot on the dirt road. “I’ve put up with your morbid fascination with that dead man. I covered for your truancy when you should be sharing our chores, and I rescued you from your own foolishness just now. It was all fine and well when I thought you were in love, but that doesn’t seem to be the case.” A disappointed expression flitted across her face. “If you don’t tell me everything, and I mean everything, I’m informing Mother about where I found you tonight.”

  “But she’ll tell Father.”

  Vinnie nodded with a sly smile.

  There was a silence between the sisters. Finally Vinnie said, “So? Will you tell me or not?”

  Until now, Emily’s investigation had been hers alone, a private thing between her and the shade of Mr. Nobody. But now she suspected fraud, and possibly murder. And the corruption might have spread to her own father’s office. Maybe it was no coincidence that Mr. Nobody had been found in their pond. Might Vinnie have the right to know? Perhaps she could help.

  “It’s a long story,” Emily warned.

  “We have all night.”

  Emily couldn’t help feeling relieved. It would be a burden shared. “All right,” she said. “I’ll tell you.”

  “Everything?”

  “Everything.”

  One Sister have I in our house.

  CHAPTER 10

  Emily poked the fire banked in the stove until she had enough flame to light a candle. Taking a pitcher from the icebox, she poured two glasses of milk, partnering them with generous slices of gingerbread. She thought for a few moments, trying to arrange her story.

  Vinnie suddenly interrupted her musing. “When Austin is home, you and he are down here talking after we’re all in bed, aren’t you?” Vinnie’s normally cheerful voice held a touch of bitterness.

  Emily raised her eyebrows. “Sometimes. We began the habit years ago—you were too young to join us.”

  “I’m not too young now.”

  “No, you aren’t.” Emily placed her palm over Vinnie’s hand. “And I’m talking to you now.”

  Vinnie folded her arms and waited.

  “It started four—no, now it’s five days ago.” She told Vinnie everything. How she had met Mr. Nobody in the meadow with the bees, and again at the smithy. She confided how attractive she thought Mr. Nobody was, and how much she had liked him.

  After the body was found in the pond, Emily described the start of her investigation, her discovery that a carriage with an unusual wheel had been at the pond, and her suspicion that Mr. Nobody had been dragged into the water.

  Vinnie gasped when she heard about Sam Wentworth’s threats. Finally, Emily described the will that left a fortune to a dead son.

  Emily stared at the table as she related her story. So much had happened in just a few days, and the investigation of it was so unsuitable for a young lady, particularly one with a tendency toward consumption.

  When she was done, Emily looked up and saw that her sister was crying. “Vinnie, what’s wrong?” she cried.

  “That poor boy!” she sobbed. “To die alone and unremembered. Emily, everything you’ve done has been foolish and inappropriate—yet so right. He deserves justice.”

  Emily blinked back her own tears. How comforting her sister was. She was accustomed to undervaluing Vinnie but tonight she had proved her worth. Emily was no longer mourning alone.

  “But this isn’t something a proper young lady can undertake.” Vinnie blew her nose into a scrap of cloth. “This is a job for the constable. Or Reverend Colton. Anybody else but you!”

  Emily thought for a moment. “Well, we both know that I’m not a proper young lady. Besides, the constable has closed his case, and the reverend’s only concern is Mr. Nobody’s proper name. I’m the only one who cares about him. It has to be me.” She stared at her sister until Vinnie nodded.

  “I’m worried about you.”

  “I can take care of myself,” Emily assured her, pushing away the memory of the muzzle of Mr. Ripley’s shotgun. It had been an eventful day. “Vinnie, why did you come after me tonight?”

  “A letter came today. Fortunately, I picked it up at the post office and not Mother.” Vinnie went to t
he pantry and pulled a folded letter from behind a glass jar of dried currants. She handed it to Emily. “It’s addressed to Miss Dickinson,” she said, looking slightly embarrassed.

  “Miss E. Dickinson,” Emily pointed out. “And it’s been opened.”

  “Is it an E?” Vinnie asked disingenuously. “I thought it might be an L. These mistakes happen.”

  “When you live with an inquisitive sister, they happen with great frequency.” Emily glared at her sister as she unfolded the letter.

  Dear Miss Dickinson.

  Unfortunately, I have been called away to a prolonged confinement in Hadley, else I would deliver my information to your father in person.

  I reexamined the unfortunate young man. There was no water in his lungs, which indicates that he was dead before he entered the pond. The cause of death is a stopped heart, a rare condition in a young, healthy man. The blueness under his fingernails is unaccountable, unless—and I hesitate to suggest this—poison was involved. Without knowing which poison, I cannot confirm this diagnosis.

  I noticed a bruise has come up on his left cheek. If I had to guess, I would speculate that he was struck by a fist. I also noted cuts on the knuckles of his right hand, which indicate our unknown friend defended himself.

  I will inform the authorities of my findings on my return, which should be Sunday at the latest. I am sure that your father does not want you to be involved any further in these dark matters, and I add my admonitions to his.

  With regards,

  Dr. Gridley

  Emily leaned back against the stone hearth and let it bear the burden of her investigation, if only for a moment.

  “What will you do?” Vinnie asked.

  Straightening up, Emily said, “After Sunday, I shall be a prisoner in our comfortable house. I have until then.” She stood up and began pacing around the kitchen table. “You’ll help me?”

  “Yes,” Vinnie said without hesitation. “I wish I had met this Mr. Nobody. He sounds charming.”

  Emily scowled. “Why do you think I didn’t mention him? Young men always prefer laughing with you to talking with me. If you were older, they wouldn’t notice me at all.”

  “Unless they are very intelligent,” Vinnie corrected. “Then they find me rather foolish and they admire you tremendously.”

  “I think Mr. Nobody might have admired me.” Emily smiled sadly. “But we’ll never know now.”

  “First things first,” Vinnie said. “You must discover his name. It’s ridiculous to keep calling him Mr. Nobody.”

  Swallowing hard, Emily nodded. “He might be a relation of Sam Wentworth’s. Sam’s nephew mentioned a cousin who arrived unexpectedly and who was supposed to be dead.”

  “Would that be the heir who was taken out of the will?” Vinnie asked.

  “Possibly.”

  “That would put some noses out of joint,” Vinnie said. “Wouldn’t Mr. Wentworth lose a fortune?

  “Indeed. Some might say it’s enough to drive a man to murder.”

  The word hung between them. Murder.

  “But Mr. Nobody could just as easily be someone who has no connection at all to the Wentworths,” Emily reminded her sister.

  “What shall we do next?” Vinnie looked at her sister expectantly.

  “I’m not sure. All the odd facts I’ve accumulated seem like a tangled skein of wool—how on earth am I to unsnarl them?”

  “Let us tackle each one in turn,” Vinnie suggested simply.

  Emily hugged her sister. “I have a list in my notebook.”

  “So that’s what you’ve been writing!” Vinnie grabbed it from Emily’s hand and opened it to the first page. The eagerness faded from her face.

  “What is this, Emily? ‘Clothes alien to himself’? ‘Proportions distorted’? ‘Blued flesh’? What does it all mean?

  Emily sighed. Why had she thought Vinnie would under-stand her jottings? She gave herself a shake; she would just have to explain in a way her sister could grasp. “Why was Mr. Nobody dressed so differently in death than in life?”

  “Oh! Why didn’t you just say so?” Vinnie asked. “You said he was very well-dressed. A dandy, in fact.”

  Emily nodded. “But in the pond, he wore pants that were too short, and the sleeves of the shirt were abnormally long.”

  “That means the clothes were borrowed, doesn’t it? If they were purchased for him, they would have fit better.”

  Emily looked at her sister fondly. Trust Vinnie to have special insight about clothing. “I asked Mr. Cutler if he knew who had bought the clothes, but he gave my questions short shrift.”

  “Did you describe them?”

  “I didn’t have to—there were stacks of them on the table at the store.”

  “But Emily, don’t you see? We need to find a farmhand or a laborer with the dimensions you describe.”

  Emily thought about what her sister had said. “It’s a good idea.”

  Vinnie was pleased. “What’s next?”

  Emily turned the page. “A wagon wheel with an unusual square pattern on its rim.”

  Vinnie grimaced. “Don’t expect me to look at every wheel in town.”

  “Mr. Wentworth said he had just bought a new carriage. I wonder what the wheel is like?” Emily made a note.

  She turned another page. “I found this odd flower.” She held out the dried flower so her sister could see. “It was on the body.”

  Vinnie recoiled. “How did you find this?” she asked suspiciously. “You didn’t search his body . . . did you?”

  “Never mind.” Emily hurried on. Perhaps Vinnie didn’t need to know everything. “It’s a clue, but I don’t know how it fits in yet. I’ve never seen it before.”

  “Neither have I,” Vinnie said.

  Emily took a deep breath. “And most urgently, we need to identify the body. It may be James Wentworth—but what if it’s someone else entirely?”

  “Why don’t we just ask Sam Wentworth?”

  “Someone went to great lengths to disguise the body. If Sam had anything to do with this man’s death, he’ll just lie to me,” Emily said. “Remember, he gets to keep a fortune if James is dead.”

  “What about the nephew, Henry? He seemed to be at odds with his uncle.”

  “What do you suggest I do? Confront him with the body? What an awkward conversation that would be!”

  The girls pondered the question. Finally Vinnie said, “Emily, do you remember that time you said you had something to show me and you handed me a box? When I opened it up, it was a dead bird.”

  Emily shifted uncomfortably. “I said I was sorry, but the cat was killing birds and you didn’t want to admit it. . . . Oh, I understand. If I confront Henry with Mr. Nobody’s body, his face can’t help but reveal the truth.” She began scribbling in her notebook.

  Vinnie watched for a while and then yawned. Twice. “Emily, I’m sleepy. I’m going to bed. Tell me your plan tomorrow.”

  Chewing on the end of her pencil, Emily didn’t look up. “Good night, Vinnie.”

  Vinnie kissed the top of Emily’s head and headed for the back stairs.

  “Vinnie?

  She paused, her hand on the wooden railing. “Yes?”

  “Thank you for saving me tonight. It was brave of you. I’m an ungrateful wretch not to have said so immediately.”

  “You’re the one who’s brave, Emily,” Vinnie said softly. “But you are very welcome.”

  Superiority to fate

  Is difficult to learn.

  ‘T is not conferred by any,

  But possible to earn.

  CHAPTER 11

  The next morning Emily paid for her sins by washing a mountain of laundry. She looked down at her red, chapped hands. With a sigh, she went back to rubbing her skirt on the ridged washing board. At least this was the last dress. Now sh
e had only to wring the heavy, wet clothes and put them on the line to dry. She glanced toward the house and met her mother’s watchful gaze from the kitchen window.

  Vinnie came out of the chicken coop, wiping her dusty hands on her apron. She watched Emily for a few moments. She dipped her hands in the rinse water and picked up one of the dresses her sister had already washed. “I’ll start wringing these,” she said.

  Her hands pushing hard against the fabric, Emily said, “No, Vinnie. Mother said I have to do this myself. I’ve taken advantage of you long enough.”

  From the kitchen door, their mother’s voice was an uncanny echo of Emily’s. “Vinnie, let Emily do the laundry. She’s been far too lax lately, and you’ve done more than your share.”

  “Mother, I don’t mind,” Vinnie called. “And I want to go for a walk with Emily later, so the quicker she finishes, the sooner we can go.”

  Mrs. Dickinson shrugged and closed the door.

  After checking that their mother was out of earshot, Vinnie asked eagerly, “Emily, have you thought of anything else we should investigate?”

  The aching in Emily’s shoulder seemed to ease. Vinnie’s help with both the laundry and her quest for justice was like a tonic. “The will. Mr. Wentworth has a sister, Violet Langston, from Boston.”

  “That doesn’t do us much good,” Vinnie complained.

  “The file showed a new address for the Langstons in Amherst.” Emily smiled slyly. “On College Street.”

  Vinnie looked alert, like one of her cats spying a bird. “Ursula Langston’s mother?” Ursula had recently become a classmate of theirs at Amherst Academy.

  “It must be!” Emily said. “I think it’s time for an intimate conversation with Ursula.”

  “But you can’t stand her,” Vinnie pointed out as she wrung the water out of the last dress.

  “That’s not true,” Emily protested.

  “Didn’t you say all she thought about was fashion and society?”