A Mischief in the Snow Part 18

"At your stove?"

"Yes."

"Fine."

They made their way past the fire where Flint and Tinder seemed to be reading their newspapers, though this Longfellow doubted. As he pa.s.sed, new smoke rose up from their pair of long clay pipes, yet their eyes would not meet his.

"Gentlemen," he said as he went by. In return, he received startled grunts, and a rattling of pages.

In a tiny s.p.a.ce built onto the main room, Phineas had a cast-iron stove blazing. Onto its top he set a pan, taken from a board crammed with several others. Into the pan he poured the contents of the pitcher which was, in fact, a dark brown ale of strong fragrance.

"What do you know of this s.h.i.+lling business?" Longfellow asked. Wise paused to look up, his eyes steady as he considered.

"All that I need to know. Pa.s.s me four eggs from that basket behind you." Longfellow obliged. He watched the lean and rawboned fellow crack the eggs into a bowl, then beat in several spoons of sugar.

"You've taken them and said nothing?"

"As often as the next man. I'm not constable this year, as I was the last. So I felt no need to look further."

"They didn't tell you?"

"They know that I know, and I leave it at that. I don't think," Wise continued as he began to grate a furrowed nutmeg, "it's as well planned as you might suppose. Things of a hidden nature expand, if there's no one to stop them." He took up a smaller gray jug, and poured a cup of dark rum into his spicy mixture.

"Just how many are are in on this, would you say?" in on this, would you say?"

"Two dozen? Perhaps more. Few with much to lose, I'd say."

"And who, Phineas, is behind it? Do you know that?"

"I've overheard enough to guess. But I suggest you go out yourself, and hear what you can."

Seeing the ale on the stove steaming, the landlord poured a little into the bowl, stirring quickly with a large spoon to keep the eggs from curdling.

"I doubt I'd learn the time of day talking with your customers this morning, Phineas. As you already suspect."

Wise smiled at that, for it was true. He poured the rest of the ale into the bowl and blended it thoroughly.

"From what I can tell," said Longfellow, "the s.h.i.+llings are coming from Boar Island. And John Dudley, constable or not, has something to do with it. Where is he, by the way? Still upstairs, sleeping amidst his fumes?"

"Gone. Got up early-ate some cold pork and gravy from that pot there, while I was up a ladder pulling down snow drifted over the door. When I came back in, he was finis.h.i.+ng a bottle two gentlemen abandoned last evening, telling me I could hardly charge him for what another had left behind!"

"And?"

"I could, and did. He gave me this for the night, and a small debt built up over the past week." Reaching onto the shelf above the stove, Wise took down a s.h.i.+lling and handed it over. Longfellow brought it close to his eye.

"Like those given to Jonathan, and Nathan Browne."

"I should think so." Wise poured the rest of the pan's mixture into the bowl, then poured the concoction back into the hot pan. A moment later it had returned to the bowl. This process was continued until the liquid became smooth and glossy.

"There," said the landlord, when he was satisfied. "A yard of flannel, as they say, to warm the stomach and the heart."

Longfellow picked up a gla.s.s from a shelf, wiped it with no fear of offending his reasonable host, and allowed it to be filled. The drink was as smooth as silk, and pleasant on the tongue.

"I just spoke with another of your regular clients," he told Phineas a moment later. "Up at the inn."

"Who was that?"

"Jack Pennywort."

"Just as well," said the landlord. "He'll hear less there to cause damage, should he repeat it."

"I take it, then, you hope this secret won't come out?"

"There's little hope of that. How How it comes out concerns me. When it does, will they all begin to nip at one another like dogs, trying to stay on top? Will this business with G.o.dwin and Old Cat Knowles enter into it, and bring us even worse? I only know I wouldn't want to be the man who informs on all the rest." it comes out concerns me. When it does, will they all begin to nip at one another like dogs, trying to stay on top? Will this business with G.o.dwin and Old Cat Knowles enter into it, and bring us even worse? I only know I wouldn't want to be the man who informs on all the rest."

"That's what someone else recently told me."

"Well, she's right. My business is a rough one. Some farmers come in here feeling barely Christian. They may leave in worse shape. I've even heard it said the young man's death may have been the best thing for us all."

"A cold thought."

"It's been a cold year for many, as you know. Even before the snows."

Longfellow recalled his earlier sympathy for his neighbors' struggles, increasing with each new season.

"What do you know of Boar Island, Phineas?"

"I know it's a rock set in a marsh. Now it appears to be something worse. A good place to stay away from, I should think."

"It might be, at that," said Longfellow. Despite another sip of flannel and the warmth from the stove, he felt a chill as he contemplated a visit of his own.

AFTER HE'D HELPED Charlotte to a fireside chair in Hannah Sloan's kitchen, Lem Wainwright set down a basket that contained fresh milk and cream, and a packet of cheesecloth filled with dried hop flowers. Hannah looked to her daughter Martha. She alone among her sisters and brothers had stayed indoors this morning, no doubt hoping for a visit. Charlotte to a fireside chair in Hannah Sloan's kitchen, Lem Wainwright set down a basket that contained fresh milk and cream, and a packet of cheesecloth filled with dried hop flowers. Hannah looked to her daughter Martha. She alone among her sisters and brothers had stayed indoors this morning, no doubt hoping for a visit.

"Take this bag, Mattie," said her mother. "Pour boiling water over it, and let it brew-then squeeze it out for me. I can hardly move today, for the pain!"

Martha found a bowl and began to do as she'd been told, then took what she'd made to a table across the room. Lem followed, admiring her second-best petticoat, and curls the color of ground ginger tucked under a nearly transparent cap. Orpheus, too, went to sniff at the hops, and sneezed at their unpleasant odor. The couple sat and gave a conspiratorial look back toward the fire.

"They're not holding you, then?" Mattie asked, fingering a ribbon at her ear.

"Well, not exactly," said Lem. For the first time in days, he felt at peace. It was not to last. "Though I am staying with Mr. Longfellow. And I'm still not supposed to go out on my own."

"Good," said Mattie. "We'll all know where you are, for a change. I've been hearing stories..."

"What kind of stories?"

"On Sunday, after the sermon, a girl I know who lives north of the village told me she'd seen you up there last week."

"That's not so strange, is it? My parents live north of here, you know. And my brothers and sisters."

"Whom you rarely visit, as you've told me yourself."

"Sometimes I do. Occasionally Mrs. Willett gives me something to take to them."

"When, exactly, was the last time that happened?"

"A while ago," said Lem, praying it would be enough. He stuck a finger into the bowl that held the poultice- and withdrew it suddenly, hissing his discomfort.

"It's not as hot as all that," said Mattie. "I should think you'd be used to hot water, by now." She lowered her own hand into the water to move the cheesecloth around, but withdrew it immediately. "There," she said, biting her lower lip in a way the boy found most attractive. "We'll let that sit. But she also said," the young woman continued, sliding easily back to her first subject, "that you'd pa.s.sed her without a word, and even turned away-as if you didn't want anyone to know you were there. Why, I wonder, was that?"

"Who was it?"

"I'll not tell you. I can keep secrets of my own."

"Oh," he returned unhappily. "I'll tell you this, if you would like to know. It's not much good keeping a secret, Mattie. It's far better to have none in the first place."

"That, I'm sure, is true," she sighed. "Especially between people who are married."

"Married?"

"Yes, as an example."

"I'd not keep anything from you, Mattie. If we were ever-"

"To marry?"

"Well, as an example."

His smile, she thought, had become almost witless. Perhaps she had baited him too long. When his hand felt for hers behind the bowl, she let him take it.

Meanwhile, by the fire, the two women glanced over. They said nothing of what they saw, but returned to their own quiet conversation.

"I was sorry to hear about the G.o.dwin boy, of course," said Hannah. "Still, I doubt he's much of a loss to his parents, if they sent him away from Worcester."

"Did they? Why do you suppose that was?" asked Charlotte.

"Samuel says he got himself into some sort of trouble. When they managed to get him out of it, he came here to start over. That That didn't work out well. Some are born bad, it seems to me." didn't work out well. Some are born bad, it seems to me."

"There's something else I came to talk about," said Charlotte, not wanting to make a judgment on the information she'd just received. "It's something you'll find irritating."

The larger woman tilted her red face, putting her best ear forward. "Just what I need to distract me. What now?"

"It seems there's been a scheme of sorts going on in the village, perhaps for some time. It's one many of the men have organized, and neglected to mention to the rest of us."

"There's little news in that!" Hannah leaned back and gave a groan; her hand then went to her lower back to give it a rub. "Not here, nor anywhere else in the world. When have they not not conspired to have things their own way, at our expense? Though I'm fond of a few of them, I can't say I've trusted any man for years..." conspired to have things their own way, at our expense? Though I'm fond of a few of them, I can't say I've trusted any man for years..."

"But this is something rather unusual." Charlotte supposed, too, that what she was about to divulge would end this particular problem within their little society-if events took their normal course.

"It's not about the spoons, is it?" asked Hannah suddenly. "Have you found out what's behind all of that?"

"Yes. I have."

Hannah's heavy bosom began to heave. Eagerly, she waited for more.

"It seems several of our neighbors have been filching silver from their wives. And pewter, too..."

"Yes... go on."

"... melting the objects down, then bringing them back."

"Back? How?"

"As counterfeit coins."

"Ahhh!" cried Hannah. She rocked back, causing her nerves to issue a new pang. She winced but otherwise ignored it, for she'd begun to imagine something far more painful.

"s.h.i.+llings, actually," said Charlotte.

"s.h.i.+llings!" Hannah's new exclamation caused Lem and Mattie to pause and look over, though their own conversation had become ardent.

"Mattie! Go upstairs and get the purse that's under my pillow."

Amazed by her mother's request, the young woman quickly left her corner.

"My Samuel," Hannah a.s.sured not only the kitchen, but the world at large, "will pay for this-and not with s.h.i.+llings, either!"

Charlotte glanced at Lem, and saw that he seemed resigned to what was happening. When Mattie returned, Hannah opened a leather purse and spilled several s.h.i.+llings into her lap.

"Like this?" she asked. Charlotte took one up. She looked at its edges carefully.

"I'm afraid so," she said as she returned it.

"And this?" asked Hannah, thrusting out another.

"That, too."

"Samuel 'confessed' to me that he'd won these playing cards at the Blue Boar. My father's silver snuff box! Ohhhh!" While Hannah's brows knitted themselves together, her eyes seemed to sink further into her weathered face.

"Samuel is not the only one," Charlotte a.s.sured her.

Lem had turned the color of a boiled crustacean. The young woman beside him also seemed affected by the news.

"Who?" Mattie asked.

Lem shrugged, then saw that this was not the right response.

"Who else knew?" she demanded. "You?"

This time he nodded, watching her face darken. He was reminded of a woman he'd read about in Tacitus, while he studied in Boston-one Boadicea, who'd led British warriors against the might of Rome. That had not turned out well, either. And this fight, he supposed, would unite all of the women of Bracebridge against the entire male population. It wouldn't take a sibyl to see who would lose. At least he would have plenty of company, while he lived out his life hungry and dirty.