A Mischief in the Snow Part 21

"Money is a sensitive subject with our juries," Longfellow said helpfully. "Perhaps because most who sit have rarely seen much of it."

"What has happened to him?" Diana inquired. "By now he must be a rich man."

"He was hanged in New York, having copied bills of that province, and of New Hamps.h.i.+re and Connecticut, too. He seems not to have profited from his work. Instead, it kept him running from place to place, hiding wherever he might, hoping none of his friends would reveal him out of fear, or for reward. That is what finally happened, of course."

"A life of crime is fraught with difficulty," Longfellow said lightly.

"Something you might impress on a pair of young men not far from here."

"That, I will do. I shall also tell them that if they contemplate such a life, they should have sufficient standing, or at least enough backing, to change the name of what they do. Like Clive, first 'protecting' India for the Great Mogul, then returning this past summer to effectively steal its vast wealth for Britain."

"Clive, in many ways, is a man of greatness. His better qualities will probably ruin him in the end-for he's hardly as greedy as most," Edmund finished with a sigh. At any rate, it was not to his taste to look for boys to catch up in the nets of Justice, such as it was here, especially for what seemed to them little more than games. On the other hand, what might happen when young men followed leaders like Sam Adams, and the enormously wealthy Mr. Hanc.o.c.k? At least in Bracebridge, the "leaders" were no more than a few farmers.

"It is strange," he remarked, s.h.i.+fting back to the topic of history his wife had advanced, "to find two ends of such formidable English families interwoven in this province."

"Which families?" asked Diana, always interested in society.

"Dudley and Knowles. Robert Dudley, as I hope you know, Diana, was made Earl of Leicester by Elizabeth. And Knollys, which is where Knowles comes from, was that lady's chamberlain and treasurer, and the keeper of Mary, Queen of the Scots. I'm personally acquainted with another, Sir Charles, who is an admiral. Once the governor of Louisburg, he now supervises Jamaica. I suppose he'll become accessible to his new relation-though Ned Bigelow, or Knowles, is to receive little else. The Navy, at least, pays scant attention to which side of the blanket one has been born on."

"Often having something to do with it in the first place?" Longfellow asked.

"Lately," said Charlotte, startling them all as she came to life, "Ned has become interested in sea travel, and the southern islands."

"Has he, Carlotta?" Longfellow inquired.

They all waited for more, but she seemed to retreat back into her own thoughts.

In fact, she wondered if that could mean Ned had known about his blood relations for some time. And she wished Richard and Edmund would not talk so blithely of Mr. Syllavan, for it seemed to her that a similar noose might now be tightening around the neck of a certain young fiddler, fascinated by warm and distant climes.

"A Knollys of our our century," Edmund continued, "was the notorious Earl of Banbury, who killed his brother-in-law in a duel." century," Edmund continued, "was the notorious Earl of Banbury, who killed his brother-in-law in a duel."

"Shocking behavior," said Longfellow, making the captain wince at an unpleasant memory of his own. "It does begin to sound as if the Knowles clan in Philadelphia may have something odd in their veins, after all."

That, thought Charlotte, was another theory Catherine Knowles had advanced when she'd taken tea with the old woman, dressed in her dated finery. When the dark mirror had seemed to dance... and she'd first seen the sorrow of Magdalene's life.

"Speaking of history and black sheep," Longfellow added, "I've just finished Horace Walpole's peculiar story."

"Otranto? I would have guessed that far too romantic for your taste," said the captain with a smile. I would have guessed that far too romantic for your taste," said the captain with a smile.

"And you would have been correct."

"Oh, yes," said Diana. "The book with the castle. What is that all about, Edmund? Richard tells me any day now one of our Boston friends may ask us about it."

"Walpole claims in his introduction that his reason for writing it was an artistic one," Edmund replied. "But that may be as fanciful as the rest. Its true purpose is no doubt hidden."

"Well, what do you suppose it is?" asked Longfellow, wis.h.i.+ng he had something to pa.s.s on to Jack Pennywort one day.

"It's not far, I think, from what Mr. Reed brought us, with his talk of wills and responsibilities." He stopped and looked to his wife, fearing the subject might distress her, not quite sure of his own feelings.

"Go on, Edmund, please," he heard her ask. Could it be that Diana was even more beautiful tonight, with this new display of bravery?

"For you, I will try-though much of it is foreign to the way things are thought of in Ma.s.sachusetts. Walpole, you must realize, is no longer a young man-he's also a martyr to the gout, which may have something else to do with it-but in his time, he's seen great change in Britain. Kings, lately, have become more powerful than they once were, at the expense of those who share their power of governance. In the current king we have an example of the sins of the fathers, newly magnified. Perhaps Walpole wished to call attention to the fact that the Hanoverians, who were invited to England, have nearly worn out their welcome."

"That could be part of it, I suppose," Longfellow considered.

"Yet there's something else that concerns Walpole. I believe the rest of us should be aware of it, as well. In England, indeed in much of Europe, lesser men have for some time been gaining influence and power-"

"Lesser men," Longfellow interrupted. "Those of us without hereditary stature, Edmund?"

"Those with less investment in family, Richard, yes. Those with less interest in chivalrous behavior, too. Merchants, city traders, men with fleets of s.h.i.+ps, investors in new ca.n.a.ls and other works that benefit the public-and change it. This trend threatens men like Walpole even more than irritable kings, who might be replaced. Otranto Otranto, I think, shows us the unhappy effects of an old, corrupt system. And yet it should also remind us that even our children's children will be marked by today's injustices, which will continue to haunt them."

"And will there be no escape?" asked Longfellow with a gentle smile at this foolishness. "Who, exactly, does Walpole wish to expose?"

"For a start, those now turning whole villages away from the land, forcing enclosures so they may enrich themselves without responsibility-building gigantic farms, and exclusive pleasure parks where they may hunt and otherwise amuse themselves, all at the expense of poor cottagers, and the older landed aristocracy. Increasingly, they do this with the help of Parliament-"

"I've no doubt," Longfellow said soothingly, hoping to stem the tide. He'd seen before that his new brother enjoyed romantic philosophy. However, while it made the captain more heated, it somehow left him cool. Some curious natural law, no doubt. "Beware, Edmund," he added, "or you may one day awake to find yourself a revolutionary."

"I still maintain the novel is about social injustice, Richard. Do you not agree this is something we should all attempt to define, and address?"

"I do. The question is, what are we to make of Walpole's bizarre attempts, if that is what he's up to? What of his apparent pa.s.sion for gigantism, and spectral invasions?"

"Those are rather difficult," Edmund admitted. "Yet I think he implies that power, grown too large, can be toppled only by something greater-something grounded in family and honor."

"Family, honor, medieval chivalry-rather than Nature, Science, and the Rights of Man. An interesting plan, if one's aim is to march backwards. I seem to recall that Voltaire, several years ago, wrote a work in which our planet was said to have been visited by beings from Saturn. Life for our philosopher-novelists seems a riot of fantastic events! In fact, now that I think of it, I may write a novel myself. Something in Walpole's new style-for it seems to be selling well. I believe I know just where to begin. Let us look more deeply into the fire; most of our candles seem to have guttered out, anyway. And I think my sister has fallen asleep-"

"I have not!" Diana said indignantly.

"Then nudge Mrs. Willett, will you? A story, in the style of Mr. Walpole-just the thing to prepare some of us for a visit to Boar Island tomorrow. As an Anglican, Edmund, you will have no faith in ghosts, but do your best to follow. Now..."

Longfellow leaned back and put his feet closer to the dying fire, while he examined the plaster overhead.

"A very long time ago, when gentlemen still controlled the world and ladies knew their place, a n.o.bleman set sail from one of Europe's barbaric regions-a little west of Calais. He wished to see the end of the earth, but found instead a great island populated by people hardly unusual, yet oddly smaller than he. Lesser men, it seemed to him as he tottered about on high heels, his head covered by an immense court wig far grander than anything with which these Lilli-puritans, as they called themselves, were familiar."

When even his poorly schooled sister had groaned at this, Longfellow went on.

"Eventually this great man built a damp castle, in which he installed his family. One ominous day, during which it rained nearly a foot, in a fit of terrible cruelty, he promised his only daughter to a fellow from Philadelphia."

"Against her wishes?" his sister asked.

"Yes, Diana. Then, however, as romance will rise like cream in a bucket-a reference for you, Mrs. Willett- the daughter foolishly disobeyed her father and formed an entirely unsuitable attachment herself. Because the neighborhood lacked any really good families, she decided to trust her fate to a brown bear of the forest-"

"Richard!" his sister cried reprovingly.

"It is only fiction, Diana... or perhaps a natural history. Yet as it turned out, this was a visiting coal merchant from Newcastle, and quite a wealthy one, too-which was not quite as bad."

"Though very nearly," Montagu interjected.

"As the case may be. And yet-and yet! A dark and mournful force had come to haunt the castle, nightly walking the corridors, sighing and moaning and leaving wax drippings for which small boys were frequently blamed. Life is indeed full of injustice, Captain Montagu, as you say. But one young fellow, I believe, grew up to find that he was ent.i.tled to everything the castle contained- yet only if he married at once, and swore upon his honor never to forget his wedding date, to the end of time. That idea will touch the sensitive reader, I think, and provide you with a reminder, Edmund. Now tell me, is this a new species of romance?"

"It is a new species of something, Richard. And a fine soporific. I am going to bed. Diana?"

"A very good idea-before my brother thinks of something worse, which I know he's quite capable of doing. Thank you, Edmund." She took his offered arm and rose to her feet, glancing as she did so to Charlotte, who still seemed lost in a dream of her own.

Longfellow bent and touched his neighbor's hand, causing her to look up into his eyes.

"Oh," she said, her gaze lingering.

"Ah!" Diana suddenly exclaimed, in a manner so forceful that Edmund stepped back to examine her.

"Are you all right, dear?" he asked with some concern.

"I'm well enough," his wife told him, smiling somewhat smugly, he thought. "Don't worry, Edmund," she then said as they walked toward the door. "It was only a pin, popped out of place. Let us go to bed. I believe Richard and Charlotte will do well enough now, on their own."

Chapter 32.

ON F FRIDAY MORNING, Charlotte awoke to discover two things that seemed curious. First, she was in Richard Longfellow's bed, a large piece of furniture with no curtains, but plenty of feathers. It was admittedly comfortable, yet she herself was not-until she recalled he'd sent her to bed after a final gla.s.s of port, saying that he intended to camp out next to Cicero in the kitchen.

She heard a stirring below, where they must have begun breakfast. Perhaps that was why Orpheus was not with her as she'd expected. Rising, she closed the door the clever dog had found some way of opening, washed quickly in water from a pitcher, and looked carefully at her face in a mirror, to see if she was in any way changed. Then she dressed, and went to join the others.

Next to the east room where she'd slept, she pa.s.sed one claimed by Diana on all her visits, where she and Edmund were probably still asleep. Next to that was the room given to Moses Reed. Cicero's at the west end had been offered first to Lem, who'd now moved out to accommodate Magdalene Knowles. It was a full house, to be sure.

As she stooped to re-buckle a shoe, Charlotte reminded herself that Longfellow had acted as a gentleman. And yet, she did feel a little disappointed. That was nonsense. They were old friends. And if they were to become something more, it would not happen overnight. At least, it had not happened last last night. night.

In the kitchen, Orpheus bounded to her side, his tail flas.h.i.+ng.

"Up at last?" Longfellow asked. He continued to toast pieces of bread in a wire basket while Cicero made fresh coffee, nodding his own greeting.

"At least before the sun."

"Barely, for it's after seven. Lem has gone to do the milking, and I've already been on a mission to the inn. I had to beg Elizabeth for breakfast provisions for our little army."

"I'm surprised you woke so early."

"A straw bed on the floor makes sleep something of a challenge."

"I'm sorry to have kept you from your own bed, which was delightful."

"Was it?" he asked with a smile. Cicero made a noise of sorts, and delivered a cup of coffee. Charlotte accepted it gratefully.

Bringing the basket back from the embers, Longfellow set it down, opened it, and gingerly offered her a piece of dark bread with gleaming raisins.

"There's clotted cream," he pointed out, "and preserves. We should fortify ourselves for our jaunt. The weather promises to remain clear, and the road north is open. We need only walk a mile or two from where we'll leave the sleigh. Jonathan has one ready to lend us."

"Who else will go?"

"Reed and Magdalene, and Lem. Edmund feels it would be best for him to avoid any connection with the place. Magdalene can pick up what she needs, and your presence will comfort her, I'm sure. Not that I thought I could leave you behind! Reed and I will search for whatever doc.u.ments Mrs. Knowles may have kept, to see if there is anything else to shed light on recent events. Lem can hold the horses on the road, to atone for his sins. We'll also be able to take a look at the place the s.h.i.+llings were cast."

"It will do no good," she told him, sipping more of Cicero's brew.

"But I'll have done my duty. And our curiosity will be satisfied."

"Where did Lem find himself last evening, by the way?"

"He shared a bed with Reed. I doubt he rested as well as you. Though I hope he slept more quietly."

"What?"

"We might go into that some other time. But tonight, you'll again have Lem for company, unless?..." He watched carefully for her reaction.

"It will be good to have things back to normal." To that, Longfellow said nothing.

At the end of another half hour Lem had returned, and Moses Reed came down to join them. Edmund descended soon after to help himself to a plate heaped with griddle cakes, kept warm by hot bricks in the bread oven. At last, Magdalene and Diana arrived together, having finished more elaborate preparations than the others had attempted. It seemed to Charlotte, who felt her own want of attention, that Diana had made Magdalene more than presentable.

"Let's be off," said Longfellow, after everyone had shared in the coffee, cakes, b.u.t.ter, and syrup. "My thermometer tells me the air is warmer today. And melting won't help the roads."

The party for the island crossed the road, and in a few minutes saw a pair of large horses, one of which Reed had ridden out from Boston, hitched to a wide sleigh. This was furnished with robes and even charcoal foot warmers the ladies might set under their skirts. Longfellow and Lem climbed up onto the front, while Charlotte and Magdalene sat behind, the attorney between them. With a shake of the reins and a warning jingle of bells, they were off.

THE TRIP ACROSS the bridge attracted a number of eyes, for there were quite a few villagers already about their business this Friday morning. But once they'd turned north on the Concord road, there was little traffic on the newly compacted snow, s.h.i.+ning like smooth satin. the bridge attracted a number of eyes, for there were quite a few villagers already about their business this Friday morning. But once they'd turned north on the Concord road, there was little traffic on the newly compacted snow, s.h.i.+ning like smooth satin.

For a few miles they admired the frosted countryside. Nothing, it seemed, broke up expanses of snow deep enough to bury all stubble from the harvest. Overhead, hawks could be seen wheeling, searching for a meal, while the blue mountains in the distance stood out with new brilliance.

But all too soon, enjoyment changed to antic.i.p.ation, and concern. There to the right was the island, dark, rocky, robed with coned trees whose branches had already lost much of their new coating. Between island and road lay well over a mile of brush, reeds, and river ice, which would have to be negotiated carefully. Knowing this, Longfellow had brought along a length of rope, to be used in case of emergency.

They pa.s.sed the house of John and Rachel Dudley, where they saw Winthrop busy with the eternal ch.o.r.e of chopping firewood. At least Rachel and the children would stay warm, thought Charlotte, whether the constable returned home or not. Still no word of his whereabouts had reached the inn, according to Longfellow's information that morning.

They stopped when they reached the point of land nearest to the island. Lem remained where he was, better able to watch their progress from a high seat.

Climbing down, Longfellow helped the ladies who each, he was again glad to see, wore stout footwear. Their capes looked sufficient for the day; he and Reed, he supposed, would need to open their great coats before long, due to the exertion of walking.

This proved true as the sun rose higher, s.h.i.+mmering on the ice around them, forcing them to squint through the crisp air. They reached a few small rocks within the hour, and sat for a few moments to rest. Then they moved on, and with surprising suddenness seemed to be upon the main ma.s.s.

Observing a sharp shadow, Longfellow led them around to the south, until they could see sunlight penetrating a thin cleft.

Charlotte realized this must be the place Lem had told her about, which he must have described to Richard Longfellow. She watched as her neighbor strode into unknown territory, with a strong curiosity that took him well ahead of the rest.

Longfellow looked about to see bare vines, and a mixture of trees that seemed to hang above him. Through the cleft was the small meadow he sought. On one side, snow had fallen heavily; on the other a projecting cliff offered protection, so that brown fronds of wood ferns still poked through the new layer of white. Over all, climbing bittersweet with orange berries had drawn several sorts of birds, all chattering busily, ignoring the new arrivals.

They came to a stone building. It was square, with a sloping roof; some of it was newly repaired and mortared haphazardly. A new door, too, had been attached to the old rusted hinges. It was partially open.

Of whatever had once been inside, little remained. Someone had come before them, probably on the day of the old woman's death, for there were no tracks in the snow beyond distinctive hoof marks.

Longfellow imagined a few men had hurried over after hearing of Alex G.o.dwin's death, to clear away all trace of their illegal activity. They found a hearth, but no bellows; a bench built into a wall, but no chair, nor implements to tell how someone might have created the s.h.i.+llings. However, a few candle stubs were still melted onto shelves of flat rock projecting from the wallstones. These were recent; mice had only begun to gnaw them.