“Father says she’s forbidden him to visit.”
“It’s a bit more complicated than that, I suppose. As you know, he’s a justice of the peace. They’ve dismissed him from his duties for the moment. She’s trying to avoid him having his reputation as an impartial court official being questioned. If he doesn’t see her, there can be no talk of him interfering in the case. Besides, she truly worries about him seeing her in that place.” Ernest nibbled on a potato he’d speared on a fork. He swallowed. “I’m her solicitor, you know.”
“Have you ever practiced?”
“Not really, but Violette specifically requested me. They only allow visitors once a month, but legal counsel can come and go as often as required.” He leveled his gaze at me. “And they often bring young assistants along to carry their papers. Your mother suggested I have you do just that.”
My heart skipped a beat.
“I could visit Mother with you?” Another thought immediately occurred, and I frowned. “Father’s said I can’t see her.”
He dropped the fork onto the plate and reached over to take both my hands. “My dear, dear, boy. Your mother gave me specific instructions to bring you along. She wants to see you straight away.”
“What about Father?”
He screwed his mouth to one side, as if trying to remember something. “I’m afraid she didn’t anticipate your father being opposed to your visiting her. But there are ways around that. In the meantime, you should just let him know you are assisting me. We simply won’t mention with what.”
The plan made perfect sense to me. I often assisted my uncle in his workshop. We both enjoyed tinkering, and I had learned as much about engineering and practical science from him as anything my tutors had presented.
“Besides carrying your valise, how else will I help you?”
“I guess we’ll have to ask your mother. She has something in mind, I’m sure.”
Something in mind.
My uncle’s statement pointed out that my mother already had some design developed. To have her brother be her legal representative and me assist him meant she wanted the two of us to work together, but on what?
“If I’m going to be your aide, perhaps I should know more about the case. Father didn’t provide much information. I do know Mother found Mrs. Brown in our garden.”
He nodded and shifted in his seat. “She’d gone out in the morning to pull some onions for some concoction, and there was the Brown woman, lying face-down in the dirt, the pitchfork in her back. Violette ran back to the house and called for your father. By the time he arrived, she’d removed the pitchfork and was leaning over the woman to see if she could minister to her in any way.”
“Was she”—I took a deep breath before I finished my question—“dead?”
“Your mother said she was both stiff and cold,” he said with a nod. “That she’d been there for a while. Your father sent Mr. Simpson into town for the coroner. He came, studied the garden, and had them take away Mrs. Brown and the pitchfork.”
“She wasn’t arrested right away?”
Another glance away from me. “The constable came later and asked her about an argument she and Mrs. Brown had had the day before. Her husband had reported it and insisted Violette be arrested for the murder.”
“Mr. Brown is behind it all?”
He nodded. With a father who served as a justice of the peace, I had observed the workings of the parish legal system from a young age. While a constable arrested criminals, the decision to do so often depended upon the victim’s or victim’s family’s investigation and persistence to ensure the arrest and prosecution of the accused. I’d heard of victims hiring an itinerate lawyer in some cases, but for the most part, the aggrieved party had to pursue the charges, even to the examination of witnesses in court.
“That’s why your father has pushed for a special coroner’s inquest.”
“There’s to be an inquest now? Shouldn’t that have been held at the beginning?”
He shrugged. “Brown insisted the constable arrest Violette. Said it was obvious who killed his wife and wanted her put in gaol—coroner or no coroner.”
“When’s this special inquest?”
“Shortly. Your father saw this as the most expedient way to get her released. This quarter’s assizes have already passed, and he didn’t want her waiting until the next time a judge can pass through.”
I stilled, considering all the information he’d shared. As a justice of the peace, Father judged less serious crimes quite regularly, but ones involving capital punishment had to wait for a visiting judge during the quarter assizes. And the next one would be months from now. While I contemplated the upcoming inquest, my uncle focused on his food. He speared the last bit of potato, ran it around the plate to pick up any crumbs, and popped it in his mouth.
“When are you going to see her next?” I asked as he chewed.
“I do have a lot to do….” His gaze strayed to the crossbow on the table.
I bit my tongue to squelch the angry retort rising within me. What could be more important than my mother’s arrest? I’d learned long ago, however, forcing my uncle into another direction never ended well. His concentration would still be on whatever endeavor he’d been pulled from, and his distracted nature became a hindrance rather than a help. The only way to prevent this was to return my mother’s case into his main focus by involving his ability to tinker with a problem.
“You do have a sticky problem with the trigger,” I said finally. “Anyway, it’s too dark to see anything in the garden, but tomorrow I do want to see where they found Mrs. Brown. Do you have a magnifying glass by any chance?”
A smile spread across his face. “Of course. What size? I have quite a collection, you know.”
“Can you gather them for me?” Having nudged my uncle’s attention toward the true problem at hand, I allowed myself a smile as well. “They could prove handy.”
Shortly after, I left my uncle at the task of collecting the magnifying glasses scattered about the workshop. He already carried at least five of various sizes in his hands and seemed to be on the hunt for more. I wasn’t sure what I’d find at the site or even that I’d need the glasses, but I felt compelled to visit it. Something inside me told me it would be important—just not how.
A single candle burned on the kitchen table when I entered through the back door. Cook had obviously left it for me. I placed Ernest’s now-empty basket on the table and picked up the candle to light my way. In the hallway I saw a light shining under the door of the library. After a moment’s hesitation, I turned my steps to that room instead of the stairs.
Pushing open the door, I found my father sitting in his favorite armchair, his feet upon an ottoman. The scent of old cigars and lingering smoke of a new one filled my nostrils, and a wave of nostalgia swept over me. How many times had I spent time here with Mother searching for a book stored among the shelves? I shuddered at the memory and turned my focus to my father.
The light I’d seen through the doorway had been a dying fire in the grate. His head lolled to one side and rested on one of the chair’s wings. A book lay opened in his lap. I picked it up and recognized it as one of his favorite illustrated tomes on insects. I marked the place and put it on the table. He rustled slightly in the chair and opened his eyes a crack.