“Will we be having your creation for dinner?” Evelyn asked.
“I do hope so, if it comes out well.” Rose picked up her bag with its fresh fore-quarter of mutton, kissed her mother’s cheek, and hurried down the hallway to the kitchen.
It did come out well, and when Reed and Charlotte turned up unexpectedly later in the evening, they enjoyed a taste of Rose’s mutton curry.
Speaking freely since everyone in the room was well-aware of Rose’s marital status, Reed explained how he had been unable to contact Finn in days.
“Do you think he has found employment?” her brother asked her.
Rose shrugged. “I couldn’t possibly know. I doubt he’s at Kelly’s yard where he used to work, as he told me he was tossed out.”
“Strange,” Charlotte said. “Even though I was questioning the overseer about theGarrard, he didn’t mention being visited by one of her ghosts, back from the dead.”
Rose considered. “Finn said he only spoke with the owner.”
However, now her curiosity was piqued. What was Finn doing with his days? Reed was certain he was still in Boston, as asserted by Chef Louis. Moreover, Finn had mentioned he was at work on that terrible day she encountered William outside her husband’s room. She supposed she could move things forward and become a free woman if she spoke with him herself. Her previous compulsion to be near Finn had vanished. Apparently, her anger with him over hurting William had extinguished those feelings of excitement and wonder at seeing her dead husband among the living.
On the other hand, she could certainly stomach her indifference and insist he march himself over to her brother’s offices.
First, Rose had to find him.
***
Charlotte pointed out Walsh’s office as she walked onto the East Boston shipyard, this time in the company of her husband. After coming to an understanding that they would work together to help Rose, they decided to revisit Kelly’s. However, the office was locked.
Reed asked one of the yard’s only visible workers, hurrying past with a bucket of tar, where they might find the overseer.
“Mr. Walsh went on an unexpected holiday,” the man said. “That’s all I know,” he added as if expecting a follow-up question. “Grabbed his stuff and took off for parts unknown.”
“So you don’t know when he’ll be back?”
“No, sir.” The man set his bucket down. With old man Kelly never here no more, and now Walsh gone, I don’t know as how this place’ll continue.”
“I suppose we could go find Mr. Kelly at home,” Charlotte wondered.
“I hear he’s taken to his bed after some bad news. Took his health right from him.”
“Maybe Mr. Walsh has not left the area yet for his holiday,” Reed suggested. “Where does he reside?”
The man stared hard at Reed, and it occurred to Charlotte he was not meaning to look aggressive, but, rather, he was wearing his thoughtful expression.
“I can tell you that,” the man said, wiping a grimy hand under his nose, leaving a streak like a tar moustache. “Moved out of his walkup on Everett Street a few years back and bought hisself a fine house, on Bunker Hill. Quite the place, I hear Not sure I’d want to go away if I lived there.”
The back of Charlotte’s neck prickled. A few years back, perhaps four? Maybe Walsh came into quite a bit of money? Even though his name wasn’t officially on the ship’s insurance policy.
“That must have made Mrs. Walsh quite happy,” she said.What’s more, if Walsh went away without his wife, perhaps she would receive them in her home and be forthcoming on their good fortune.
The man let loose a short laugh. “I doubt that, as our overseer’s never been married. There ain’t no Mrs. Walsh.”
With that, and a quick tug on the front of his cap, he picked up the bucket and strode away.
Charlotte felt her stomach drop, an unpleasant sensation that often assailed her when she at last understood something. Particularly if that something was abject evil.
Obviously, Walsh was a consummate liar. Moreover, he had known how unstable the ship was and had let young men go to their deaths needlessly. She would bet her last laying chicken that he’d been paid handsomely from the insurance money, a generous cut paid either by Dilbey, the ship’s owner, or by Liam Berne.
“I know that look. What are you thinking?” Reed asked her.
She told him about Walsh’s wedding excuse for not going on theGarrard.
