A Mischief in the Snow Part 16

Magdalene nodded. Moses Reed led her to a seat by the fire, where she began to warm herself.

"Have you spoken with Miss Knowles about the rest?" Longfellow asked the lawyer quietly, once he'd walked him a little distance from the hearth.

"She seemed not quite ready."

"Reed, do you know she gave birth to a son?"

"Yes, I know of the birth. It was accomplished without the benefit of a ceremony. Or even a midwife, I believe."

"Was it, by G.o.d?" Longfellow's eyes went to the lost woman by the hearth. "Do you know what became of the boy?"

"Quite soon, you will hear reasons for what Mrs.

Knowles insisted on doing, when he was only a few months old. In this, I must admit, I a.s.sisted her."

"When?" Longfellow demanded. "When "When may we know the rest?" may we know the rest?"

"Later today, I promise you. It can hardly matter if we wait a little longer. This afternoon I will explain it all. But I must prepare the way, and do the thing properly. For too long this unfortunate woman has been abused! Let us not be guilty of the same thing."

Longfellow said no more. Instead, he turned to practical matters.

"We'll sc.r.a.pe together a breakfast. A ham hangs in my cellar, and there are eggs. We have cheese, preserves, plenty of flour, and cornmeal. What do you say to a hasty pudding with cream and maple sugar, Mrs. Willett? Or do you suggest biscuits?"

Since the oven had not been used for some time, pot pudding was chosen. Cicero and Lem returned to the house, and there were plenty of hands to help in the heating of various dishes at the fire. Those not involved in the cooking arranged tea tables in the front parlor. When Diana descended, eight sat down to breakfast.

After all had been satisfied, they made their plans for the rest of the day. Longfellow invited Captain Montagu to accompany him on a visit to Nathan Browne, the blacksmith, whose forge stood behind the Bracebridge Inn. He also announced his intention of visiting the Blue Boar tavern alone, some time later.

Softened by Lem's pleading, the selectman decided to allow a visit to the Sloan household, as long as it was made in the company of Mrs. Willett. This condition she accepted, since it would give her a chance to see how Hannah progressed. Both promised to return well before dinner. However, Charlotte made it clear that first she would go and speak with Nathan, as well.

Diana and Magdalene would stay indoors, as neither had any need to go out. Together, they would be able to help Cicero with the dinner.

Cicero agreed, realizing their a.s.sistance would be minimal once they'd found something to talk about, and that they would then be little bother, after all.

Chapter 24.

SINCE NEW PATHS through the snow had by now been made in much of the village, Longfellow and Captain Montagu had no difficulty escorting Mrs. Willett to the circular drive before the Bracebridge Inn, and on to the smithy beyond the carriage house. through the snow had by now been made in much of the village, Longfellow and Captain Montagu had no difficulty escorting Mrs. Willett to the circular drive before the Bracebridge Inn, and on to the smithy beyond the carriage house.

Smoke signified that Nathan Browne was hard at work. Little wonder, thought Charlotte, for this was his busiest season. She often visited the place, but avoided his shop when most farmers brought in their tools and plows to be mended and sharpened for spring. Frequently they stayed far longer than they needed to, conversing and enjoying the warmth.

Today Nathan had only one customer, who wished to pay for the sharpening of a pair of shovels and a pick he'd brought in a few days before. He left them behind, however, for he'd come with neither horse nor wagon. In something of a rush, he lifted his hat and hurried out, as soon as the new party came through the door.

"A very good day," the blacksmith said, adding coins to those in a pocket that already bulged and jingled. "The snow seems to have made men feel generous."

"Why do you suppose that is, Nathan?" asked Longfellow.

The muscular smith pulled a heavy hood over the fire to slow it. He approached his visitors with a questioning look of his own.

"I don't know," he answered. "But I wonder if you have an idea, sir?"

"How much have you taken in recently?"

"Of that I'm not sure-but far more than usual. I'm often paid after harvest, for as you know, farmers are always behind. And yet, since yesterday morning, several have come to pay their debts, and a few have even advanced a little cash for future services! Silver has been pouring into my pockets." He gave the coins another jingle and laughed out loud.

"Most of it in shillings?"

"Why yes, as a matter of fact."

"I wouldn't be surprised if you weren't the only one having luck today."

"Oh? Why is that?"

"I doubt," Charlotte said, "that Nathan would would know, Richard. After all, he's the first person you'd be expected to ask. Isn't he too obvious?" know, Richard. After all, he's the first person you'd be expected to ask. Isn't he too obvious?"

"Asked about what?" The smith rolled down his sleeves, for the atmosphere had cooled.

"We've only come to ask for your help, if you'll give it," Longfellow replied. "Something unlawful has been occupying the village, of which only a few are unaware. This makes it necessary for me to suspect even those I consider my friends, at least until I find some answers. Would you mind if I took a look at those shillings of yours?"

The smith reached into his pocket. He then set the coins down on a nearby bench, and spread them with a quick movement of his strong fingers.

One by one, Longfellow picked out silver that far outweighed a few coppers, and took it to the window. Looking for information of another sort, Edmund Montagu walked around the shop, observing implements that hung along the walls.

"Mrs. Willett?" Nathan appealed. He pulled a keg forward and offered it as a seat. "This has nothing to do with the boy's death, I hope?" he asked suddenly.

"All eleven shillings are counterfeit," Longfellow announced, setting them on the sill.

"What?" Nathan cried. "What is that you say?"

"Several of our neighbors appear to be less scrupulous than we about the law," replied the selectman. The captain approached with his pocket lens and made his own examination.

"How do you know this?" Nathan asked warily. Edmund Montagu handed him the lens, so that the smith could take a better look himself.

"By the shine within the false mill marks," Longfellow said helpfully. "And, if you would care to bite down on one, you'll find it somewhat softer than you'd expect."

"I would have to agree," Nathan said eventually. "But you say you have no idea who to suspect?"

"That may not be entirely true-you're the first I've questioned. No suspicions of anything else unusual? None of your customers has dropped a hint?"

"Many men come in here, of course. But I work alone while they pa.s.s the time of day with one another. Since I came to this village no more than a few years ago, there are things they won't tell me-not yet. I've often been glad of it, for it frees me to think my own thoughts, and keep my own council."

"That is an advantage," Longfellow agreed, having long enjoyed the same benefit. "But you might tell us this: in your opinion, would such a moneymaking scheme be difficult to accomplish? What tools would be required, and what sort of talent?"

"As for the tools, plenty of farmers have small forges; they often make and mend things at home. And you're right about a need for talent. Ordinary coins, I believe, are pressed from sheets of silver. Here, someone seems to have poured them into a finely etched mold, most likely one of steel. I myself might have suggested one with room to make several coins at each pouring. I expect inferior metal-pewter, by the look of it-was added to the silver, once that was well melted. The marks along the edges, now, seem to be cut with some sort of small knife; but they're not quite alike from coin to coin, are they? So perhaps more than one man was involved in that tedious job."

"As we, too, suspect. Does anyone come to mind as a possible candidate for casting these things?"

"Well, now! To begin with, your friend Mr. Revere can tell you that even a master silversmith such as he may not be much of an etcher. That is something a man is born to-like being able to paint, or carry a tune. Even after working at it for years, a master may do no better at the task than a promising lad."

"You think, then, that a young man-?"

"Who knows? He would surely need to know how to handle a firebox and bellows. But with a little practice, silver isn't difficult to pour, for it melts with less heat than iron, which is is hard to work. That's the reason most of us buy iron bars and rods of different sizes. Then, we need only heat them to the point where they can be hammered out." hard to work. That's the reason most of us buy iron bars and rods of different sizes. Then, we need only heat them to the point where they can be hammered out."

"That's some help-"

"Beyond anything else," Nathan decided, "I think your man would need a delicate, steady hand to make his faces. And to etch several, he'd need to spend a great deal of time, probably for little reward. He would surely make more at honest labor, if he'd only apprentice himself. Unless, for some reason, he was unable to do so? He-or perhaps she?" he asked, looking to Charlotte.

That was a possibility, and one she'd overlooked.

"An interesting idea," said Longfellow. "Yet unlikely. The women of the village have been carefully kept from hearing of this endeavor-by their own husbands. Where do you think something like this could be carried out, Nathan?"

"Not in the village, I would agree. Or neighbors would see the frequent smoke, and then, wouldn't one of the women have gone to see? Nor along the main roads, I should think..."

"How about Boar Island?"

"Now there's an interesting thought. Somewhere Alex G.o.dwin went quite often." The smith considered the idea. "Do you think he's been doing this?"

"No-though it could be someone he knew, and planned to expose. Mrs. Willett found a silver spoon near the island's landing a few days ago, something with no more business there than she. This spoon was stolen from John Dudley's wife, with several others like it."

"Trouble for someone! What does Dudley have to say?"

"I plan to ask that, the next time I see him. But you're sure you've heard no gossip? No suggestion of anything improper going on?"

"Sir, if you were to ask me to come and tell you of everything of that sort that's said in this place, I would take up far too much of your valuable time. But about these coins, no."

"Well, you have your business to attend to. But I thank you for your thoughts, Nathan. And please-don't make this common knowledge just yet."

"I promise you I'll keep my eyes open and my lips shut," said the blacksmith.

"That would be appreciated. I think we'd better leave you now, or you're likely to get no more visitors today."

"The shillings?" asked the smith uncomfortably, looking toward the window sill.

"Evidence, I suppose." Longfellow turned to the captain who'd thus far kept silent, though he'd listened carefully to all that had been said.

"Hold onto them," Edmund said flatly, surprising them all. "Some day, if you wish, you might sell them for the silver. But don't spend them. Accept any others you're given, and put the names of those who've had them into your head."

"I won't guarantee I'll be able to keep them there," the smith replied.

"But such knowledge could be useful one day, if it helps us to identify a murderer."

"That's hardly something one can overlook, like a pocketful of queer coins, is it?..."

Nathan Browne watched them leave, then whistled softly as he went back to uncover his waiting forge.

Chapter 25.

WALKING ONLY A little further, they came to the kitchen door of the inn and entered noisily, clearing their boots of snow. Elizabeth turned from the wide hearth to exclaim at the intrusion. She then greeted the arrivals as neighbors and friends, while her daughter Rebecca made a curtsy. little further, they came to the kitchen door of the inn and entered noisily, clearing their boots of snow. Elizabeth turned from the wide hearth to exclaim at the intrusion. She then greeted the arrivals as neighbors and friends, while her daughter Rebecca made a curtsy.

"What may I do for you, sirs? A pie for your dinner? I have some fresh made, of beef and kidney-"

"Thank you, Elizabeth," said Longfellow, "but it's the landlord we've come to see today. I'm sorry to make a corridor of your kitchen-"

"Don't apologize, sir! It's good to see you all, though Captain, your return is a special special pleasure. Is it not, Mrs. Willett?" pleasure. Is it not, Mrs. Willett?"

Charlotte reddened, but did not deny they both enjoyed the sight of this handsome officer in military coat and breeches, whose high black boots and gold b.u.t.tons shone impressively in the firelight.

Once again, Longfellow pondered a curious fact.

Though the village had little respect for most members of the British military establishment (hardly surprising since they'd followed so many blockheads during the last war) it did seem to crave the approval of this one, a son of an English lord who had married, if not quite one of their own, at least something of a compatriot. As to his sister's ambiguous reputation in the village, Longfellow had little doubt.

"Possibly," he added, "you'll be able to feed the captain at the inn soon enough. My house has become a little crowded, of late."

"So I hear," said Elizabeth, giving the captain a new look, full of pity. "To have Mrs. Montagu come to us again, only to find all of this! First the lad, and now an old dame she tended herself, right up to the end! Shocking, that is. I do hope your brave wife is well this morning, Captain?"

"She is, madam. I will tell her you asked."

"Oh, she would not wish to know-! But I thank you, sir." The modest woman lowered her head to hide a blush, and kept it so until the others had gone on.

A visit to the taproom showed nothing unusual this quiet morning, except that the place did seem strangely brightened by the new snow, some piled up along the windowsills. Tim, the message boy, sat enjoying a day on which no one, as yet, had asked him to venture out. At a sign from Longfellow, he came to the table as the three sat down.

"Would you know where Mr. Pratt is this morning?"

Tim nodded, his eyes examining the party as he tried to decide what they had come for at this hour. Most in the room were travelers who had little interest in continuing until the roads improved, and instead nursed warming drinks after their large breakfasts.

"He's in his office, sir, working the figures for year's end. Good morning, Mrs. Willett. Glad to see you again, Captain."

"If he can be bothered, you might tell him we would like a word about another financial matter."

"A financial matter?" Tim repeated, still curious.

"Exactly."

"Yes, sir. Then I'll go and see." Wasting no more time, the boy left with his usual dispatch.

"Your welcome holds, it seems," Longfellow said to Edmund Montagu. "I wonder how long it will last."

"Oh, I'm sure they'll all despise me soon enough, as most in Boston do."