“Somebody jealous as fury. Somebody wantin’ her all for hisself, when she wanted nothin’ to do with him. Somebody who misstook what Miss Sarah and Abram were doin’, there in that barn, over many nights.”
“You have an opinion as to who this somebody might be?”
“Cain’t prove it. That’s the trick.”
Before Matthew could respond to this, the chapel’s door opened and a man and woman entered. The woman came in first, was obviously startled by the presence of others than Granny Pegg in the room, and she drew herself up short. “Mr. Muldoon?” she said, and then with a wary look at Matthew through swollen and red-rimmed eyes, “And who are you, sir?”
Matthew introduced himself. The woman would have been very lovely if not for the suffering in her face. She was perhaps in her mid-thirties and had the same dimpled cheeks and light blond hair as her daughter, for this was surely Madam Kincannon. Her eyes had been tortured by tears and were as black as a tropical storm. She wore a dark blue gown with a ruffle of white lace at the throat, and she was trying very hard to comport herself with dignity and stand tall in this blood-scented chamber, yet her shoulders kept wanting to bend forward under the heavy weight of tragedy.
“I met your daughter today,” Matthew explained. “I was passing by on my way to see Mr. Muldoon. I also met your husband, in Jubilee. May I ask what his condition is?”
“He is abed,” the woman answered. “He lies still with his eyes open and is unable to speak. A rider has gone to fetch Dr. Stevenson. May I ask what you’re doing in this chapel? This is private property.”
“My apologies, but I wished to see the body.”
“Private property,” Madam Kincannon repeated. “Pegg, why did you let them in here? I told you…no one was to enter. I had my doubts about asking you to watch over her…since it was your blood who did this. But I thought you could be trusted as a good friend to Sarah!”
“I’se sorry, ma’am,” the slave answered with her head lowered. “I think they was just leavin’.”
“Get out, the both of you!” growled the man, who was maybe forty or so, was thick-waisted and corpulent and sported the red flush of anger in his heavy jowls. He had curly blond hair receding from a broad forehead and a small blond beard designed to hide the roll of fleshy dough beneath his chin. His eyes were dark blue and dangerous below wild blond brows that aimed sprouts of hair in every direction, and he carried at his side an equally dangerous-looking musket. He wore a plain white shirt, tan trousers, white stockings and brown boots.
“This is Joel Gunn,” said Magnus casually, as if Matthew hadn’t already guessed.
“Get out!” Gunn repeated, harsher still. He took a step forward and made a motion as if to raise the musket to a firing position. “This minute!”
“Surely,” Matthew said to Madam Kincannon, “you wouldn’t have Mr. Gunn defile this chapel and your time of sorrow with another killing, would you?” He kept his voice calm and his expression tranquil. “I did enjoy meeting your daughter today. She seemed a delightful young woman. It is a terrible shock to see her lying like this. But do you mind if I ask a few questions…if just to salve my own curiosity?”
“What are these questions?” Now some red was creeping into the woman’s cheeks. “How dare you come in here and invade our time of mourning!”
“I will tell you that I am from New York, that I am an associate of a company called the Herrald Agency, based in London, and I am a…” Matthew paused for a few seconds, and then he went on. “I have experience in investigating crimes, madam. Including the crime of murder. I am possibly the closest representative of the law that you’re going to find tonight. If you’ll allow me, I’ll offer my help to you in whatever way I can.”
“We need no help!” Gunn said, with another step forward. “And you ain’t the law! Are you a constable, or ain’t you?”
“Not a constable, sir, but—”
“Then you ain’t the law! Mrs. Kincannon wants you out of here! Now move!” This time the musket did come up, aimed between Matthew and Magnus.
Matthew did not move. His heart was pounding, but he levelled a cool gaze at Joel Gunn and stood his ground. “Sir,” he said, “did Abram have the knife in his right hand or his left?”
“What?”
“I understand you saw the slave standing over Sarah’s body, holding the knife. Was it in his left hand or his right?”
“His right hand! He’s right-handed, I know that for sure!”
“And—pardon me for asking this, madam, but…how was Sarah lying on the ground? On her back or on her stomach?”
“Her stomach. She’d tried to run away from him and he’d stabbed her in the back a half-dozen times. But maybe she was on her side, I don’t know. When I ran to get Griff and we came back, she was lyin’ on her stomach.”
“Please,” said Madam Kincannon, who held up a trembling hand and had to lower herself onto a pew.
Matthew doggedly went on, though he knew the pain Sarah’s mother was feeling; he was going by instinct and by what Granny Pegg had said. “So…you had a lantern with you? You could positively tell this was Abram standing over Miss Sarah?”
“I had a lantern. I shone it right at him when I came around the side of the barn, he wasn’t standin’ ten feet away. Took him by surprise. He looked at me, flung the knife aside and took off runnin’ down to the quarter. I hollered at him and tried to give chase, but he’s a fast one. Then I knelt down beside Miss Sarah, but she was…I’m sorry for stirrin’ this up, Mrs. Kincannon…she was already dead, or near enough she couldn’t speak, and…the blood was everywhere. I figured I needed to tell somebody quick, so I ran to Griff’s house.” The man glowered at Matthew. “What’s the use of these questions? Abram stabbed Miss Sarah to death, and that’s what happened.” He glanced with disdain at Granny Pegg. “We’re goin’ up that river to get ’em, father and brother too. If they won’t come back easy, it’ll be all the worse for ’em.”
Matthew wasn’t done, and he didn’t intend for Joel Gunn to push him aside. “How was Abram holding the knife, sir? By the blade? By the handle?”
“By the handle, of course!”
“So you assume he’d just finished his work a few seconds before you arrived?”
“Sir! Please!” The lady had pressed a hand against her forehead and squeezed her eyes shut. “Dear Lord…please spare us these questions!”
“I saw what I saw,” said Gunn, with defiance in his fleshy face. “Abram killed Miss Sarah. He was standin’ there with the bloody knife in his hand. Then he ran, and now he’s out on the river with his kin tryin’ to escape judgment. What more is there to know?”
“Well,” said Matthew, turning his attention to the woman, “what was your daughter doing out there, after dark? Did she leave the house alone? Was she meeting someone? And what would’ve been the reason Abram killed your daughter? Do you have any idea?”
Suddenly Joel Gunn was in his face, and Gunn had sweat on his cheeks and showed the brown stubs of his teeth when he seethed, “They’re animals, mister! If you don’t have slaves, you don’t know, but they’ve got to be watched during the day and kept away from the big house at night! They’re the beasts of the field, and every man of them could be a killer if it lit his fancy! The women too! You can’t turn your back on any of ’em, or you’ll get what Miss Sarah got!”
“Settle down,” Magnus advised, towering over Joel Gunn and Matthew as well. “And watch where you’re aimin’ that shooter!”
“Leave this place at once!” Mrs. Kincannon had regained her strength, if not her composure, and stood up. Even so, she wavered on her feet. “Get out before I shoot you myself!”