Daughter of the Loom (Bells of Lowell Book #1) (39 page)

Lewis winced. “I’ll tell that you were the one who plotted and hired me,” Lewis feebly countered.

“
You
have no one who can tie me to the incident, Lewis, nor do you have the funds to buy testimony or silence. In other words, you have no reliable contacts. Now sit down. I believe I’ve already developed a simple plan.”

William wet his lips and leaned across the table, speaking in hushed tones. Lewis listened, his stomach churning as he stared at the puffy lips spewing forth his ruthless plot. “If you follow my instructions, you’ll have no difficulty,” Thurston said as he finished speaking and leaned back in the chair.

Lewis lowered his head, his chin nearly resting upon his chest. “Is there nothing I can say that would cause you to reconsider?”

“Nothing.” William said, pressing payment into Lewis’s hand. “Half now and half when the deed is accomplished.”

Lewis hated himself for accepting the money. He walked down the street with his mind reeling. Shooting Boott had been one thing—he had shot merely to injure. Killing an innocent woman, not to mention the child, was an entirely different matter. He needed time to think. More than that, he needed something to drink. Bowing his head against the cold, Lewis turned and set off toward Nichol’s Tavern, anxious for a tankard of ale.

The remainder of the afternoon was a blur. People came and went while Lewis remained at a corner table attempting to blot out the memory of a dark-haired toddler and his strong-willed Irish mother. By nightfall the ale had done its work—the faces of Kathryn and the little boy were but a fuzzy blur. What he must do, however, had not completely vanished from his mind.

Lewis glanced toward the doorway. A boisterous group of Englishmen entered and seated themselves at a nearby table. Their camaraderie captured his attention as they joked and laughed together. He watched as they were served bowls of steaming fish chowder and hunks of hearty rye bread, and in his inebriated state, he found himself longing for friendship. Only one of the men looked familiar. Lewis recognized John Farnsworth, who was now pushing aside his bowl and unfurling papers on the table.

Lewis’s natural curiosity about the business of others caused him to straighten in his chair and strain to catch a glimpse of what the four men were so intently reviewing. It appeared to be a drawing or diagram, but the picture was hazy, his vision impaired. One of the men spoke of the recent mishaps at the Merrimack and Appleton mills. “These latest mishaps were obviously intentional. Any fool could have seen they weren’t accidents but purposefully caused.”

“Are you saying they lacked a level of professional talent?” another man said with a laugh.

Intoxicated or not, Lewis’s interest was immediately piqued by the comment, and he wondered if John Farnsworth and his English cohorts were numbered among William Thurston’s hirelings. He wanted to see what it was these men were studying so intently. Pushing aside his schooner of ale, Lewis leaned heavily on the table and then stumbled from his chair toward the men.

“Hullo, Farnsworth,” he slurred, leaning down until he was practically nose-to-nose with Farnsworth. His arm smacked against the papers strewn across the table, sending several fluttering to the floor. Lewis grabbed at one of the pages and swept it upward until it was well within his view. It appeared to be detailed drawings of the power system at the Appleton mills.

“I’ll take that,” Farnsworth said, pulling the crumpled drawing from Lewis’s grasp and handing it to one of the other men. “Appears you may have had one tankard too many, Mr. Armbruster.”

“Or not quite enough,” Lewis replied, his voice garbled as he staggered out of the tavern, wondering why Farnsworth and his friends were so absorbed in drawings of an already operational power system.

Lewis continued onward, his thoughts shifting from the fine-lined drawing of waterwheels and pulleys to the friendship and harmony exhibited by Farnsworth and the other men. He needed someone in whom to confide, someone who could help him make sense of his unruly life.
Lilly!
Without warning, her name flashed into his mind. Surely she could help him.

His hand balled into a tight fist, Lewis pounded on the door of number 5 Jackson Street. It was nearly ten o’clock, quite late for someone to be calling at the boardinghouse, but he didn’t care. He pounded again. The door opened just a crack, and Miss Addie peeked through the narrow opening. Pressing his face near the gap in the doorway, Lewis said, “It’s Lewis Armbruster. I must see my sister.” The heavy odor of spirits wafted through the night air as he spoke.

Miss Addie sniffed several times, her nose in the air like a bloodhound following its scent. “There’s no doubt where you’ve spent your evening,” the older woman admonished. “The girls have retired for the night, but if you care to wait outside, I’ll go and see if Lilly is asleep. I won’t permit you entry in your condition.”

“I’ll wait,” Lewis said, sliding down onto the front step. “I saw your friend, Farnsworth, at Nichol’s,” he added.

“John? At Nichol’s? Was he by himself?” Addie asked before quickly placing an open palm over her mouth.

Lewis gave her a lopsided grin. The woman was obviously embarrassed by the inquiry. “He was with three other men, all of them engrossed in drawings of the waterwheels and power supply at the Appleton mills. No need to worry, Miss Beecher,” he said with as much reassurance as he could muster in his drunken condition. The door closed and he leaned his head against the hard, cold wood. He doubted his sister would appear, but he closed his eyes and waited.

He was unsure how long he had been there when the door jerked open. Lewis fell backward, his upper body sprawling across the threshold. “Good evening, Lilly,” he said, staring upward.

“What brings you here at this time of night, Lewis?”

Lewis managed to pull himself into an upright position and meet his sister’s gaze. “I need to talk to someone who can help me understand why I’ve made so many wrong choices in my life.” He hesitated a moment. “I thought of you, Lilly. You’re the only one who truly knows me. I need help,” he whispered.

Lilly glanced toward Miss Addie, who nodded her head. “You may come in, Lewis, but we can talk for only a short time. Boardinghouse rules state I am to be in bed by ten o’clock.”

Lewis turned to Miss Addie. She beckoned him in. “I’ll wait in my room with the door open, Lilly. No more than ten minutes,” she cautioned.

Lilly nodded and then led Lewis into the parlor. “We haven’t much time, Lewis. What choices were you alluding to? The boardinghouse girls, your gambling, your drinking, selling the farm . . .”

“You’ve kept quite a list, haven’t you? It would take more time than either of us has to address even those items,” Lewis said as he leaned forward on his chair. “And they’re not even what I came to discuss. I should leave.”

Lilly grasped his arm. “Wait, Lewis. I’m sorry; I know I’ve been harsh. Tell me why you’ve come. I’ll do my best to help.”

He looked at her oddly, wondering why she was so compassionate when he’d been nothing but mean-spirited toward her. Perhaps it was all that religious nonsense she adhered to. Perhaps he looked as bad as he felt. Either way, it didn’t matter.

“I’ve become involved in some matters that are terrible, unforgivable—matters so heinous I dare not speak of them.”

“Lewis, you must confide in me if I’m to be of any assistance.
Please!
Tell me what you’ve done.”

Now that the influence of his ale was beginning to wear off, Lewis realized that coming here had been a mistake. What could he do? Tell his sister he was William Thurston’s henchman, hired to murder a helpless woman and child? The thought of making such a statement to his sister was ludicrous. Besides, how could Lilly help?

“There’s nothing you can do, Lilly, and telling you could place your life in danger. Forget that I ever came here. I don’t want to cause you further trouble.”

Lilly gently touched his face. “I could pray for you, Lewis. In that regard, I fear I have failed you.”

There was an overpowering sadness in his sister’s voice that caused Lewis to regret the very essence of who he was and what he had become. “I doubt it will help, Lilly, but I’ll not reject your offer of prayer.”

Lilly stared at Lewis as he left the room. There was little doubt something sinister was occurring. She knew she must intercede for her brother, pray for his protection and strength to overcome whatever evil had permeated his life. The thought surprised her, yet the urgency to pray was unmistakable—unwavering, overwhelming. A palpable fear for Lewis’s eternal salvation consumed her every thought. Falling to her knees, Lilly translated her fear into supplication as she lovingly whispered her words into the ear of God.

Chapter 29

A rapping at the front door brought Addie scurrying from the kitchen. “Mintie!” She hesitated momentarily. “I’m surprised to see you.”

There were dark circles under Mintie’s eyes, and her face was etched in a weariness that gave proof to sleepless nights. “May I come in?” she haltingly asked.

“So long as you understand that I remain steadfast in my admonition regarding John Farnsworth.”

Mintie nodded and stepped inside the door. Removing her woolen coat and bonnet, she turned toward her sister. “I’ve missed your companionship, Adelaide.”

Addie gave her sister a guarded smile, still somewhat fearful of Mintie’s motivation. “Would you like a cup of tea?”

“Yes, that would be most welcome. I can come into the kitchen if you’re busy with meal preparations.”

Addie’s eyebrows danced upward. Her sister was certainly compliant this morning. “That would be most helpful. I was in the midst of peeling turnips. I’m preparing lamb stew for the noonday meal.”

“I’ll be glad to finish paring the turnips if it will help,” Mintie offered as she followed along behind.

Addie’s mouth fell open at the suggestion. Mintie offering to assist her? Something was amiss, but for the life of her, she couldn’t figure out what Mintie wanted. Handing her sister an apron and a knife, Addie began chopping hunks of carrot and dropping them into a kettle. “Was there something in particular you wanted to discuss?” she ventured.

Mintie nodded, her eyes cast downward as she continued to peel the vegetables. “I’ve been giving thought to Mr. Farnsworth and his possible predisposition of loyalty to the Crown ever since you told me I was unwelcome in your home.”

Addie gave her sister a sidelong glance but didn’t interrupt. Instead she silently waited, permitting her sister an opportunity to complete her explanation.

Mintie cleared her throat and continued. “I’ll admit I may have jumped to some unwarranted conclusions. However, there were things—still are, for that matter—that give me cause to wonder about Mr. Farnsworth. There’s no denying the items I’ve seen in his room or the men who come to the house—without calling cards,” she hastened to add.

“I’ve spent a good deal of time pondering this situation and seeking the best way to mend our relationship. I don’t want an outsider to come between us, Adelaide. After all, we’re blood, and we shouldn’t permit anyone to cause a breach in our family.”

Addie wiped her hands on her stained apron and met her sister’s gaze. “Does this mean you no longer suspect he is a traitor?”

Before Mintie had opportunity to reply, Addie’s boarders came clattering into the house with their shrill voices filling the air. “Miss Addie, Miss Addie, there’s been another accident at the mills,” Lilly called, her voice muffled until it finally reached the kitchen.

“Come join me, Lilly,” Addie called in return, anxious to hear the details. “What happened?” she asked as Lilly entered the room.

“It’s terrible, Miss Addie. Something was jammed in the waterwheel. Several men were attempting to get it loose. When they finally succeeded and the wheel began turning, one of the men lost his footing and dropped into the rushing water below. He was crushed by the wheel,” she said in a hushed voice. “The man has a wife and three children. We were told to return home until someone sends for us. Mr. Arnold said it wouldn’t be until after lunch for certain and perhaps not until tomorrow.”

Lilly’s words pierced Addie’s heart, each utterance a tiny dart of suspicion. The clattering of Mintie’s knife upon the floor caused Addie to startle and whirl around.

“John Farnsworth had diagrams of the Appleton Mill in his room. I saw drawings—large, intricate drawings of the waterwheel and machinery. They were atop his trunk,” Mintie hastily added, placing her open palm against her chest. “And to think that only moments ago I was prepared to retract my accusations against John Farnsworth. What folly! I trust you’ll now heed my advice and keep your distance from that traitorous man who nearly destroyed our family ties.”

Addie stared down at the knife lying on the floor. Her throat constricted. She could not speak, but her mind was racing back to the sight of Lewis Armbruster standing at her front door several nights ago. What was it Lewis had said?
“I saw Farnsworth at Nichol’s. He was with three other men, all of them engrossed in drawings of the waterwheels and power supply at the Appleton mills.”
Why would John have been discussing those diagrams at Nichol’s Tavern? Most likely the men who were with him were some of those secretive gentlemen who came calling upon him at Mintie’s boardinghouse. A sensation of nausea swept over her. Could the man she had grown to care for be a party to this frightful incident? Surely not. And yet she was filled with apprehension—and questions.

“Did you hear me, Adelaide? Promise me you’ll stay away from that treacherous man.”

Addie gave her sister a dazed stare. “After listening to any explanation he cares to offer, I’ll make my decision. Condemning Mr. Farnsworth without giving him an opportunity to defend himself is contrary to my beliefs, Mintie. I wouldn’t want others to treat me in such a manner.”

Mintie momentarily perched on the edge of her chair and then rose, her back straight and her neck reaching toward the heavens, as she gave her sister a look of haughty disdain. “You were always a willful child, and it appears you’ve not changed an iota. What is it going to take for you to realize you are a wretched judge of character?”