A Mischief in the Snow (20 page)

T
O THE RELIEF
of all but the youngest in the village,.by the next morning the storm had blown itself out, leaving behind only a west wind to cut through the sharp sunlight. Drifts of snow had made a sort of white washboard across much of the village, including its lanes and the two main roads.

As the villagers emerged from their burdened houses, they found a world fresh and clean, through which teams of oxen pulled heavy sledges to compact the snow. Everyone, it seemed, was eager to be out, wishing to trade stories, and suspicions that had been born in the night. To this end not a few bundled themselves up and headed for the Blue Boar across the village bridge. Others took a different direction, stomping uphill and then through the welcoming door of the Bracebridge Inn, proceeding to the taproom to find an audience that was more civilized than the one found in the rival tavern.

Still others, mostly women and girls, made their way to nearby houses where they found chattering companions;
together, they then ventured further afield, frequently stopping at the shop of Emily Bowers.

A lone woman and her dog had the best view of the dazzling new blanket that lay over the broad marshes and the town, below a wind-whipped sky. All of this she admired, as her skirts plowed a path from her farmhouse down to the lower abode of Richard Longfellow.

Though covered from head to toe, Charlotte shied at a gust that raised crystals of ice in a fierce flurry, then spawned smaller devils that skittered off across the buried herb beds. While the air was exhilarating, she began to wish she'd taken the road after all, as she encountered a drift that came up to her waist. She might have led one of the cows out of the barn after milking, and walked behind with a switch—but that had seemed less than kind. She smiled, too, at the thought of reaching Richard Longfellow's door with an unexpected guest, its bell clanging to warn of their arrival.

Even Orpheus, who'd started by frolicking at her side, had now decided to follow her, easing his steps and avoiding the biting wind. Somehow she hadn't felt comfortable with the thought of leaving him with Magdalene, though she doubted her guest would rise before her return. More than once, she'd awakened in the long night to hear the other woman pacing the floorboards above. Magdalene might well need extra sleep, after the frightful day she'd endured.

Reaching Longfellow's back door, Charlotte opened it to step into a cool kitchen. No one was there. She wondered if she could be too early for the household. But the fire had been stirred. She removed her outer wrappings, and left them at the hearth. Then she walked through the hall to Longfellow's study.

This, too, was empty, and as yet had no fire. She
supposed he could have decided to take his coffee in the sunny front parlor. As she walked on to the front hall, she heard low voices, and her nose informed her that coffee was nearby.

“Good morning,” she said boldly at the parlor door, intending to make her presence known before she overheard what seemed to be a close conversation. She saw two men holding china cups, leaning forward in their chairs so that their heads nearly touched. They turned at the sound of her voice. One rose quickly—the other took his time.

“Edmund?” she asked in amazement. “How is it that you're here?”

“Good morning, Mrs. Willett! You didn't know I'd been summoned?”

The captain came and took her hand and kissed it gently. She went further, inviting him briefly into her arms.

“He sent for you?” she then asked, while her neighbor watched with an expression she could not quite understand.

“Richard? Yes. I presumed you knew that. Have you two had a falling out?” Their silence caused Edmund to nod slowly. “Possibly an oversight.”

“It was intentional, Carlotta, I'm sorry to say,” Longfellow offered.

“There's no need to tell me anything you wish to keep secret,” she said. But her look assured him she was not entirely easy.

“I have
never
wished—” he began. Recalling his own injured feelings, he reconsidered. “Perhaps I did. But only after… well, the truth is I sent Edmund a message on Tuesday. It had to do with something odd I found by the ice—a piece of silver.”

He watched a flush of crimson mounting Charlotte's cheeks, as if he'd touched on something to embarrass her. What that might have been, he could not imagine. Perhaps, he thought, she would tell him later.

“I wasn't sure,” he continued. “And I thought you might already know about it, at any rate.”

“Know about
what?”
she demanded. “I've begun to feel I know very little lately—and, that there's a good deal you've not told
me
. I have been forming my own ideas. But how,” she added as a new thought rushed into her head, “could you have known on Tuesday of either of the—of either death?”

“I didn't.” Her neighbor paused, considering her precise choice of words. Then he plunged on. “I presume you can keep a secret, Carlotta. Will you keep the one I'm about to tell you?”

“Of course, if you ask me to.”

“All right, then. First, let's all sit down. Would you like some coffee? Here—take mine. By the way, did you see anyone in the kitchen when you came in?”

“No. Where are the others?” she asked, entering the covert spirit of the discussion she'd interrupted.

“Diana is still in bed,” said Edmund Montagu. “Reed, as well.” He brought a third chair, and sat beside her.

“Cicero,” said Longfellow, “is out in the glass house, stoking the stove. Lem should still be shoveling out front.” He looked through the window, and was satisfied to see the young man at his task. While the wind took some of each raised shovelful of snow, the rest was tossed to one side of a lengthening passage.

“I've had several aggravating moments recently,” Longfellow admitted as he came to sit with the others. “But the thing that united my growing suspicions was
this.” From his waistcoat, he produced a shilling. He gave it to Charlotte.

She took the coin and examined it briefly. Then, looking straight into her neighbor's eyes, she held them.

“Is it counterfeit?”

“A lightning conclusion, Carlotta. Unless you know something else that led you in that direction. Something you have yet to tell me?”

Instead of answering, she turned to the captain with a question of her own.

“Edmund, is
this
why you've come? And not for Diana's sake? Are you, too, interested in this silver?”

“Yes and no,” he answered truthfully. “I will admit I was glad to have another reason to visit. My wife, you see, bolted from our home, leaving only the briefest message for me to find. From what little it said, and its vehemence, I had to assume she had no wish for me to follow.”

“Oh—I'm sorry.”

“After we had watched one another suffer for several weeks, I truly believed that a separation might help both of us to mend. It was necessary to let some things settle, I supposed, before we could hope to begin again, on better footing.”

“I should have told you earlier how—how affected Richard and I both were, to hear of your loss,” Charlotte told him earnestly.

“You both must know…” The captain looked now to Longfellow. “We all fear losing what we love one day. It's a hard thing, but loss must be felt by all whose lives are not very lonely. Or very brief, as my son's was. I hope Diana learns to accept this.”

“Perhaps she already has, to some extent,” said Longfellow. “But you'll not mention to my sister that I called Edmund for quite another reason, Carlotta?”

“I suspect you only found a roundabout way to be helpful. You could have waited a while, after all, before calling for assistance. I wonder what will happen now that you have,” she finished, a new concern in her voice.

“What will happen, do you mean, to our good villagers? That remains to be seen. But if you, too, have felt as if you were kept in the dark, then just how did you learn of this criminal scheme?”

Charlotte started at the beginning, telling them— though she was thoroughly sick of doing so—of her recent visit to Boar Island. She saw the two men grasp the arms of their chairs while she briefly mentioned falling through the ice. They remained speechless as she went on to describe her visit with Mrs. Knowles, and her observations of Magdalene's circumstances.

The discovery of the silver spoon beneath the landing seemed the culmination of her story. But she assured them a little breathlessly that this was not all. She'd learned that it belonged to Rachel Dudley, who'd lost several others—though every one had now, mysteriously, come back to her. She'd also been told that women from Bracebridge to Concord had found silver or pewter objects missing within the last few months. Each, however, had been discouraged by her husband from accusing anyone of a crime.

“Small wonder!” Longfellow finally exclaimed. “For I don't doubt their husbands were responsible! Never was much ‘lost’ or taken, I presume—and what was gone would soon have come back to the household in newly struck shillings, each remarkably close to the real thing. This one I suppose, like many others, is mixed with pewter—tin, a little copper, more lead—debased enough in value to earn each of those who participate in the scheme some small profit.”

“But how did
you
know?” she asked, examining the shilling she held between her fingers more closely. “It seems to me no different from any other.”

Holding the coin so that it caught the strong sunlight, she saw the familiar profile of the late king, large pouches under the eye and chin, a laurel wreath resting atop long curls. She read around the curved edge, “
GEORGIVS II DEI GRATIA
.”

“This may help,” said Longfellow, offering her a pocket lens he'd taken from a table; she presumed he and the captain had already scrutinized the coin together. She re-examined the front of the object, then looked at its back. Coming out to the edges were the usual four emblems, surmounted by crowns, and a date—1758. Between these ran a series of letters: M-B-F-ET-H-REX-F-D-B-ET L-D-S-R-I-A-T-ET-E.

“Do you suspect anything yet?” asked Longfellow.

“No. But I've wondered for years,” she admitted, “exactly what these mean.”

“The letters? Ask Edmund to reel it off for you. He's been at court far more than I.”

“The letters,” said Captain Montagu, “stand in place of Latin words. The translation is, ‘King of Britain, France, and Ireland, defender of the Faith, Duke of Brunswick and Luneburg, Arch-Treasurer and Elector of the Holy Roman Empire.’ Their four emblems make a cross, you see, with a sunburst at the center.”

“A remarkably close match to the genuine article,” said Longfellow. “And one showing an excellent hand. But to the carefully observant eye, the whole is not entirely successful. You'll note that this coin does seem to have been milled, for there are diagonal cuts all around the edges. In the course of wear and handling, such
indentations naturally become tarnished, and fill with minute amounts of oil and other debris. The edges above them, like the faces, are more exposed to abrasion, and so they should be shinier than what lies below. However, you'll see that on this coin, which must have been intentionally soiled, the inner marks are still bright in many places. This indicates that they've been newly minted— yet the date is several years old, and for good reason. The year of 1758was the last in which a large run of shillings was made.”

“Then how—?”

“I believe this shilling was created in a mold with at least one set of faces. And I suppose the ‘mill marks’ were added by hand. Look closely and you'll see they're somewhat irregular. There, I think, is where the nub, which once attached the piece to a pouring chamber, has been filed off.”

“But how did you come to look for these things?”

“As soon as I picked this up from the snow, early on the day of the ice harvest, I thought it strange no one nearby would claim it, though one of them must have dropped it from a pocket.”

“Who was there?”

“Flint and Tinder, Jonah Bigelow, and young Ned.”

“I see.” Charlotte felt her heart beat faster. “But Edmund, this hasn't come to your attention, I hope, in Boston?”

“Once,” the captain told her. “I've not yet learned enough to tell Hutchinson; as you know, he sees himself as quite an expert on the currency question. But several found their way into a bagful about to be melted down by one of the town silversmiths. Seeing that the weight was not right for the number of coins on his scale, he looked
more carefully, and then let us know what he suspected. Some coins were heavier than they should have been, no doubt because your coiner's pewter had a great deal of lead in it. I understand much is re-melted in the colonies, and eventually becomes so. Not surprising, since there are no guilds here to assure the quality of metals.”