After Dru and I arrived, she hovered nervously until Edwin asked her to leave him alone with Tilly and me. Sadie persuaded Dru to go out to the garden at the back.
“Miss Carroll, please let me begin by offering my sincere condolences,” Edwin said.
“I thank thee.” Her voice was barely above a whisper.
“I must warn you, Mrs. Dodge, to keep your silence.” The detective gave me a stern look.
“I shall remain mum,” I said from my seat next to Tilly in the same parlor where I’d talked with Zerviah yesterday. Tilly reached for my hand. I gave hers a light squeeze.
“I am ready,” she said, her spine straight, her voice firm.
“Miss Carroll, when did you last take your fishing boat out?”
The slightest tremor passed through my aunt. I wouldn’t have noticed if I hadn’t been holding her hand in mine.
“Seventh Day morning early,” she said.
“Seventh Day being Saturday, am I correct?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said.
Edwin glared at me.
Oh, dear. I was supposed to keep quiet.
“Early,” Edwin said. “What time, Miss Carroll?”
“It was a little after dawn, so about six thirty.”
“Was anyone with you in the boat?”
She waited long enough for me to hear the clock. Tick, tick, tick.
“No.”
My shoulders slumped in relief. Tilly had been alone. The so-called witness had lied. But . . . was my aunt telling the truth?
“Are you quite sure?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Where do you moor the craft?”
“At the town dock.”
“What time did you return to the wharf?”
“By ten.”
He gazed at his notebook, then up at her. “Did you know your ward was carrying a child?” He glanced at me.
Tilly’s breath rasped as she sucked it in.
What an unfair blow. Surely Zerviah’s conjecture hadn’t been confirmed yet.
“I will not have thee maligning Frannie’s character,” Tilly said, chin raised. “She was a girl of sixteen.”
“I maligned no one, Miss Carroll.” He kept his voice quiet, calm. “I asked a simple question. Please answer it.”
“I will not stoop to such a thing.”
As instructed, I kept my silence, but I wondered at why Tilly had kept hers, in a way. She hadn’t answered him.
“What do you know of a Miss Hazel Bowman?”
Tilly relaxed almost imperceptibly. “She’s a girl in town. Frannie and she both worked at stringing tags and were friendly. She lives on Main Street.”
“Was Miss Isley in the habit of spending the night at Miss Bowman’s home?” he asked.
“On occasion.”
“Your sister told us you both thought your ward was with Miss Bowman last Friday night. Was that what you thought?”
She lifted a shoulder. “I suppose.”
“How much time did your ward spend with Reuben Baxter? Did she ever spend the night with him?”
Edwin was a skilled interviewer, clearly trying to throw Tilly off her guard.
“Young man, I will stand for no more of thy insolence.” She began to rise.
I gently tugged on her sleeve. “Tilly, it’s his job. Please sit down. He’s not trying to be rude, but he has to ask these questions.” I kept my voice as soft as I could while maintaining a touch of firmness. “All thee needs to do is tell him the truth.”
She turned and studied my visage before settling back onto the settee.
Edwin shot me a quick look of thanks.
“Very well.” Tilly faced the detective again. “No, she would not have spent nights with Reuben Baxter. They enjoyed each other’s company, however.”
“Did he come to your house to see Miss Isley?”
“My sister and I are often occupied with our duties at the library. I could not account for every minute of Frannie’s time.” She pressed her thin lips together.
“So you don’t know if they’d had an argument recently?”
“I do not, but I also do not trust the boy.”
He watched Tilly, but didn’t ask her the reason for her distrust.
I tilted my head. Why didn’t he inquire?
Edwin went on. “Was there anyone else with whom your ward frequently associated outside of her work?”
Tilly finally smiled. It was wan, but it was a smile. “She very much liked Brigid McChesney, the Irish girl. They got along famously and could make each other laugh for hours with their stories.”
“Did Joseph Baxter go to your home recently?”
Edwin had asked Dru the same question yesterday. I didn’t know why.
“I don’t think Joseph has ever been to call, no,” Tilly said.
He studied his notes. “That will be all for the moment. Thank you for your time, Miss Carroll. I might need to speak with you again, and I request you make yourself available should that need arise.”
Tilly stood and smoothed down her dress, her head held high. I rose, as well.
Edwin also rose. “Mrs. Dodge, could you please ask your other aunt to come in?”
“Of course.” I escorted Tilly into the hall.
Tilly paused after a few steps, speaking so low and soft I could barely hear her. “Does thee believe me, Rose?”
Did I? I took my aunt’s hand. “I feel thee might have held something back from the detective. Thee need not tell me, but if it has any relation at all to Frannie’s death, thee must inform him.”
“I know. Pray for me, dear.” She opened the door next to her. “I do believe I need a rest now. Please tell Sadie,” she said before disappearing into a darkened bedroom. The door shut with a soft click.
I closed my eyes and prayed, right there in the hall. Edwin could wait. I held my grieving aunt in God’s Light until I heard a rustle from the back of the house. I opened my eyes to see Aunt Dru peering at me.
“What is thee doing?” she asked in a loud whisper. “Is Tilly still with Edwin?”
I beckoned for her to join me. “No, but he would like to speak with thee now.” I pointed to the parlor door. I didn’t deem it wise to say anything more about the questioning. “Tilly’s resting. Go on in. I want to let Sadie know.”
A moment later I resumed my place on the settee, now with an excited Drusilla next to me.
“Miss Carroll.” The detective proceeded to ask her the same questions about Reuben and Joseph he had inquired of Tilly. He hadn’t gotten far with Dru yesterday when he’d tried to query her during his mealtime visit. Now Dru gave him the same answer as Tilly had about Joseph, but her story differed when it came to Reuben.
“Has Reuben been around the house?” she echoed. “Well, I didn’t see him, but I found an empty ale bottle behind the shed. It must be one he left.”
“Was it there on Thursday?” he asked.
“How should I know? I didn’t go behind the shed on Fifth Day.”
“When did you discover the bottle?” Edwin spoke slowly, either out of an abundance of patience or to restrain himself from throttling the old lady for her meandering responses. I didn’t blame him. He had to be frustrated.
“I found it on Seventh Day afternoon when I always tidy up the garden, small though it is,” she said.
It seemed to me Reuben—or anyone else—could have left the bottle any time between the previous Seventh Day and the one in question.
“Where were you Saturday morning between six and ten thirty in the morning?” Edwin kept his eyes on his notebook.
“Why, I was at home, of course, making breakfast and baking the pies. I always bake pies on Seventh Day morning. It’s so relaxing.”
“Was your sister at home with you?”
“No. She went out fishing.”
“Did she go alone?” Edwin asked.
Dru blinked. “She left the house alone, if that’s what thee is asking. She wasn’t in the habit of taking others out on the water with her, except for Frannie, of course. And the girl had started tiring of fishing with her old guardian. Those in their teen years discard the company of their elders as if we have not a thing to teach them.” Her voice rose in indignation.
True. But I found it interesting to learn Frannie had formerly gone out fishing with Tilly. Maybe it had been a way for the two to share each other’s company.
“What time did Miss Tilly return?” he asked.
“Let’s see, it must have been about nine thirty. I’d gotten the bottom crusts rolled out for four pies and was cutting up apples and pears.”
“How did Miss Tilly seem?”
“Seem?” Dru asked. “What does thee mean?”
“Her demeanor—was it normal? Did she appear to be in disarray at all?”
“Now, why would thee ask such a thing, young man?” She frowned at him.
“Dru,” I murmured. “Thee needs to answer his questions.” I again received a gratitude-filled glance from the detective.
“Very well. She always looks a bit disheveled when she returns from fishing, what with the sun and the wind and all. I didn’t notice any difference this time.”
“Did thee know Frannie was pregnant?” Edwin asked.
She gaped. “She never!”
“I take it your answer is no?”
“It most certainly is.” She folded her arms. “Frannie Isley was a good girl, Edwin Merritt, and let thee not forget it. Are we quite finished?”
Edwin hoisted himself to standing with a tired sound. “I believe we are.” He rubbed his forehead with his hand but he couldn’t erase the lines of exhaustion etched on it. “I thank you both for your time. I shall let myself out.”