Chapter 14

When Alexander Beall reached the Kraus homestead, he found the midwife hanging stained sheets and large, linsey-woolsey cloths on the clothes line. They had met several times before, and the huge, black woman greeted Beall warmly.

"Sheriff Beall, what brings you over this way? Somebody in trouble?"

"You do, Big Mama. I heard you was over here, and I couldn't stay away. There's jus' too much of you."

"Haw, haw," she laughed mirthlessly. "You is getting pretty big round the middle yo'self, Mr. Sheriff sir."

"It's all them dumplings. I do love 'em."

"Uh huh, I hear little Annie's takin' care of yo' other needs."

"Sometimes, sometimes. But today I gotta ask you a question or three, if you ain't too busy."

"Lord no, I'se all finished. That girl done pushed out a boy baby slick as grease. Jus' a bit messy. That's why I did some washing as you can see."

They walked together to the Kraus's barn, and Beall shared some of his tobacco with the midwife. She filled a small corncob pipe, and they sat together on a bench smoking quietly for a few minutes. The woman poked him with her elbow at length and asked, "What'chu want to know, Mr. Beall? I gotta get along home soon. M'man's waitin'."

"Might be a secret," Beall said, head lowered, studying his toes.

"I knows some secrets. And I keeps 'em, too."

"So they say, uh huh. But this here's about a woman's been gone some time. No need to keep her secrets."

"Who, what woman you talkin' of?"

"Elizabeth Clagett, Beth she was called."

"Poor chile. I do remember her. She had only the one that lived, but he were a good boy. Awful shame 'bout them two."

"Was three killed, Big Mama."

"That there Lem Clagett, he was no 'count."

"Why's that?"

"Way he treated that gal. Mean sum bitch, he was. Mean."

"What did you say about her having only one that lived? Did she have one that died?"

"Sort'a. One time I got sent for, and she was in a bad way. All beat up and knotted with belly pain. That husband decided she was gonna have a baby that warn't his, some such thing. He hit her and hit her 'til she bled. I helped get her cleaned out. T'weren't much, couldn't tell nothing 'bout it."

"When was that?"

"Oh, I don' know. Long time, lot a'babies ago."

"You know who killed those folks, Big Mama?"

"Lord no, Mr. Beall. I hain't even heard no good rumors 'bout that, and I hear's near about everything from most everybody I'se wif."

"Was that baby of hers, the boy that got killed with them, was he a full growed baby, a nine-month child?"

"I think so. Been a long time, but he didn't look like no early bird, that I recall. Why, somebody out there countin' months now after all these years?"

...

Beall and his wife went into town the next Saturday, a mild day with very little wind and only a few high, puffy clouds. While Mrs. Beall looked at newly arrived British and Scottish yard goods, her husband made a quick side trip to the constable's office.

Beall skipped the amenities and went right to the point. "I need a favor, Wainright. Might help both of us. Can you find out about American prisoners held by the British during the revolution?

"Perhaps," the constable replied, making a tent of his thin fingers. "Who and why?"

"There's a young man out my way that was held, so they say, from the time of the fall of New York City until the surrender at Yorktown. He might be involved in one of these killings. At least I need to eliminate him as a possibility if I can."

"Unless the records have been sent to London, they should be at colonial headquarters in New York. If he has not fled to England to escape the wrath of his former prisoners, Loring still heads that division despite his harridan of a wife's rather fragrant reputation. He did keep good records, I'm told, if not an orderly house."

"The man's name is James Brookes, ends with 'e-s.' He served with the Maryland troops at Harlem Heights. I believe that's where he was captured." Beall watched Wainright's quill copy down the information in a tiny script. "How long will it take?" he asked.

"Oh, a month, six weeks perhaps. One never knows with the bureaucracy or the coastal winds. I will also send a request by dispatch rider through Annapolis, but that is somewhat uncertain as well. Depends on the state of the roads as you know. Anything else?" Wainright asked.

"No. Have you found out any more about the death of Sparks or the man who filched his purse?"

"Not a thing. Quiet as a grave, no humor intended."

"And no one is spending like a, what do they say, drunken sailor?"

"No luck there either, I'm afraid."

Beall stood and tugged on his hat. "Must be going, wife's in town with me today, and she always has a number of stops to make."

"I was going to invite you to dine with me," said Wainright, "but now I insist. Please, you and your good wife join me at the City Tavern. It's really quite nice, quite proper, and a number of ladies of good repute dine there regularly. They usually have rare roast beef, do a good blood pudding, if you care for that sort of thing, and have an excellent cellar. Don't know how you colonials can live on stews, biscuits and cider."

"I'd rather not," Beall said shaking his head. "I'm hardly dressed for supping with the nabobs, and I suspect my wife might feel ill at ease as well."

"Nonsense. All sorts of folk dine and drink there. Has quite a popular public room, and I've seen provincial men in very ordinary dress supping upstairs. No problem, I assure you, very democratical, and besides, you'll be with me, and no one looks askance at the town's law man." Wainright laughed a small laugh, the first Beall had heard from him.

"Very well, I'm game to give it a try. Can't be worse than the Suter's place, eh?"

"Hah, they call that the Fountain Inn now and force the swine and goats to use the back entrance most of the time. Another of Robert Peter's enterprises if I'm not mistaken."

"Back here in an hour or so, then. Thank you, Wainright."

"Not at all, not a bit. I look forward to meeting your good woman."

The dining hall of the City Tavern was on the second floor with the noisier pub below. The Bealls, somewhat uncomfortable in their country clothes, sat at a table set for four, complete with reasonably white napkins and tall water glasses. Wainright, obviously a regular from the way he was greeted and the table by the window with a fine view of the harbor that he was given, insisted on starting with some oysters and a light wine. Then after a brief discussion with the black youngster in knee britches who was serving their food, he suggested they try the roast beef. They easily agreed while trying to look around the room without being obvious about it.

"Oh my," said Mrs. Beall suddenly. She nudged her husband. "Look, Alex. Have you ever seen the like?"

A tall, buxom, and very blonde young woman in a clinging blue velvet dress with tangles of flowers embroidered down its short sleeves and bodice entered the room on the arm of a short, elderly man in a well-cut gray suit, extra-long waistcoat and ornate Ramillies wig. Beall looked and returned his wife's nudge, whispering, "Now that's a well-matched pair, clippity-clop!"