A Wicked Way to Burn

by Margaret Miles

  “No!” Hannah breathed softly.

  “He made Mr. Wise admit it was exactly like the ones he’d picked up from the floor on Tuesday night, when the old man dropped his purse.”

  Abruptly, Charlotte felt her neck begin to tingle. Jonathan Pratt had been given one coin. She’d already guessed there was a second one about, and would soon see if her theory was right. Yet here was a third! And this coin promised to do far more harm than the others.

  “After that, the miller shouted here was proof Gabriel Fortier killed the old man for his money. He said when the Frenchman came back to get his clothes, Providence made him drop a piece of the treasure he’d stolen. Some of the men talked about finding the Frenchman and giving him a taste of the whip, before they gave him over to the law. But since nobody knew where to look for him, they finally settled on going to hand the coin over to Mr. Bowers.”

  “It’s clear what Peter Lynch thinks to gain by it,” Hannah interjected, her face livid with indignation. “It’s the girl Lynch wants, and he’s out to get her, no matter what he has to do!”

  Charlotte felt the color drain from her own cheeks, and put her hands to her face to warm them again. Neither she nor Hannah believed the miller’s accusation to be true. But how had Peter Lynch come by the coin? Could it be that her recent conclusions were wrong? What if the merchant really had died after all—been killed, or at least abducted? If his gold had been taken from him by force—but in that case, where could the body have gone? And why would a man like Peter Lynch risk suspicion by producing such a coin, if he had actually killed Middleton for it? No; it was all too ridiculous. Especially when she herself could offer an even simpler explanation for the appearance of the second coin—and show there was no third.

  “The main thing holding the others back is that no one’s found what’s left of the merchant,” Lem finished, gingerly setting down his empty goblet. “But as soon as someone does, several of the miller’s friends promised to help him turn Bracebridge upside down to find the Frenchman, and then hang him from a tree!”

  It was a terrible thought. Yet it was something at least a few of the local folk, whose families had recently suffered at the hands of the French, might easily do.

  “I only hope they don’t become tired of waiting,” Charlotte said bleakly, as she slowly brought a canister of black tea down from its shelf, and took the kettle from the hob.

  THE TEA WAS half consumed when Lem insisted on going back to his hammer and maul. Shortly after that, Jack Pennywort knocked lightly at the back door. Looking somewhat the worse for wear after his few days of fame, the little man sat and took a cup with plenty of sugar, along with a heavy slice of nut loaf spread with butter.

  Between mouthfuls, Jack attempted to explain again, in language suitable for his new audience, what he’d seen and done on Tuesday evening. Outsized and outnumbered by the two women, he also fidgeted, and kept a close watch on the door, even as he accepted a second piece of buttered bread. And yet, thought Charlotte, Jack managed to answer the questions she put to him with at least the appearance of honesty.

  “Then you actually saw the gentleman’s figure moving for a few moments through the flames. But you didn’t see him again afterward?” she asked as she leaned forward on the table, while Hannah kept her eyes on Jack from across the room. Pennywort had obviously tired of telling a story he no longer dared (or cared) to embellish. By now, it was far from fresh, and had begun to shrink a little, which seemed to have caused it to lose some of its flavor. Still, as long as the ladies were interested….

  “That’s right,” he agreed, staring blankly at a pair of candlesticks that gleamed on the window ledge. “As I say, I saw a pale flash, and another gleam, like, after that. Then came the flames and smoke. After the smoke had gone off and the blue fire rose, I looked far and wide, but I saw no sign of anybody there at all.”

  “And at your feet?” Charlotte asked, watching him intently. “Did you think of looking there?”

  Jack said nothing, but regarded her with a wary expression.

  “You say the road was brightly lit by the flames?”

  “There was light, and shadow, of course,” he answered finally. “ ’Twas too bright to look at the fire for long.”

  “And then you saw the man waving through the flames—now I can’t seem to remember, did you say these flames looked to be red?”

  “First regular, then blue, I said, mistress. And no one can tell me different, because I know what I saw!” he added hotly, sensing that she might be trying, as others had, to confuse him.

  “I’m sure that’s so,” she answered with another offer of the bread plate, which Jack again accepted. “Earlier,” she went on calmly, “I heard—well, they say you left the tavern on the heels of the old man, and went off in the same direction. But I never heard anyone say why you decided to follow him—”

  Jack winced suddenly. Clearly, a piece of nut had affected a rotten tooth. As Charlotte watched with sympathy, he readjusted the morsel with his tongue and thumb, and then went on.

  “Because I expected he might get into trouble, as the Frenchman had gone off before him, and we’d all seen that gold.”

  “Extremely sensible. And thoughtful of you, too.” Her kind words were rewarded with a crooked, gaping smile. “But you didn’t actually see the Frenchman outside, did you?”

  “He could’ve been waiting behind some trees. Soon as I saw the old man slip down from the road, that’s the first thing I thought—”

  “Down from the road?”.

  “He went off toward a clump of fir trees. It was the ale, and the cold—that’s what I figured. Not worth mentioning. When he came back, I followed him a little longer, until I saw the rest.”

  “So, it’s not very likely that Gabriel Fortier was in the trees, or somehow made Mr. Middleton disappear a moment later.”

  “Could’ve had a charm—maybe put a spell on him, some say. I don’t know about that myself.”

  “More tea, Jack? I’m sure you’ll wait for another cup, with more sugar? Now, I wonder if I can recall what it was I heard about a brown bundle the merchant carried….” she added to herself, getting up to spoon more leaves into the warm pot.

  Jack had by now begun to massage his jaw. When Charlotte poured the hot water, she saw him reach into his breeches pocket for something, probably an oil-soaked clove, which he expertly nestled into the source of his pain.

  “What about his bundle?” Jack asked after a bit more thought.

  “Well, did he have a bundle when he came back to the road?”

  “I never said he had a bundle.”

  “But he had, before. I’m sure Mr. Longfellow told me he was seen with one earlier. Did you go back to look for it in the trees? Perhaps some time later?”

  Pennywort gazed around, consulted with his crooked foot, and finally replied: “Next morning, I did. No harm in that, is there?”

  “None at all. A man has a perfect right to be curious, I’d say. Even a woman. What did you find? Something mysterious?”

  “All I found was string.”

  “String?”

  “Aye, string. Only a piece of string. Not worth mentioning, you see.”

  Jack had ceased to see the point of retelling the story, especially its pointless details. He began to stretch on his chair, looking toward the backyard, his tongue working its way around his mouth to catch the last of his small meal.

  “Do you know, Jack,” said Charlotte, almost done with him, “you tell your story so well that I can practically see it happening. You first saw two glimmers of light. The first was just a pale flash. And then, a gleam. Now, I can almost see that gleam, and it looks to me like a coin catching the moonlight—maybe a piece of gold dropped carelessly onto the road? One you might naturally bend down to pick up, when you reached the place where it fell?”

  “What if I did?” Jack answered, puffing himself up with sudden fright. “I’d be an honest man still, though there’d be them as would say I stole it
all, if I said I pocketed the one! Why, I only come here to do an honest day’s work for you. But some might say it looks like you be trying to trap me—”

  “I do believe you only picked up what had been dropped … but dropped for a very good reason. Of course, you know the main reason I called for you is that our woodpile needs another splitter, and that’s certainly warm work I’m sure you’ll enjoy this cool afternoon. Only tell me one thing more—aren’t you a close friend of our miller, Peter Lynch? Could it be he took the coin you’d found away from you, afterward, for reasons of his own?”

  The little man had gone as white as fresh bleached linen. Whether it was the pain of his tooth again, or a fear of something greater, she couldn’t be sure. But he held so strongly to his story that Charlotte was finally forced to let him go, after he’d repeated it all once more, at top speed.

  “I got nothing out of it, God help me!” Jack concluded shrilly. “Naught from the miller, naught from the old stranger! Naught but string! I’ll give you no more talk now, and no work, either! Not this day, I won’t.”

  With that, Jack Pennywort hurled himself lopsidedly into the yard, leaving his gentle inquisitor to tap her chin thoughtfully, while Hannah Sloan put down her broom.

  Chapter 14

  IT WAS NEARLY four o’clock when Charlotte Willett put the final touches to her costume, and slipped a few small objects into a pocket that hung beneath her petticoat. Then, taking up her skirts, she left her bedroom and moved carefully down the narrow stairs.

  Before slipping wool over silk, she stood for a moment by a long glass at the door to take stock of her appearance. The clear blue of the dress she’d chosen certainly complimented her eyes. The pinned-in square of wide lace that lay over her bosom covered it modestly, but not entirely, which was the expected effect. And although there were no preparations on her lips or cheeks, her natural high color (and steady exercise) kept her looking healthy, capable, and consequently interesting, without attracting overdue attention. It was a pleasing thought.

  She gave the small stays at her waist a final, chastening tug. Then, she swept her cloak over all, and fastened it with an ivory scrimshaw clasp Aaron had obtained for her from Captain Noah Willett. At last, she felt ready.

  Pulling up her hood, Charlotte opened the door and gave a final thought to the supper she’d laid out in the kitchen for Lem. After that, she pointed the toes of her Morocco shoes (the ones Longfellow had bought on his travels) toward the inn, and braced herself as she felt a waiting hand of autumn wind come up to accompany her.

  AT THE SAME time, Lydia Pratt looked into another mirror, adjusted a loop of black hair, then touched the beauty mark she had recently applied to her cheek—quite possibly to confound her husband, for Lydia rarely adorned herself at all.

  “But you told me you hadn’t spoken to him,” Jonathan Pratt reminded his wife. They stood alone under the large chandelier in the front hall, watchful for interruption from without, or within.

  “I told you I didn’t see him arrive; that’s what I said. As for being in his room, I’d simply forgotten about it. Don’t you think I have enough to worry about? After all, it’s Mary’s job to see to their needs once they’re settled. But she was nowhere to be seen when he called, and I remember now that I had to go up instead. Of course I had strong words for the girl, as soon as I found her!”

  “But you did say—”

  “It wasn’t anything of the least importance—only something about the sheets—now where is that girl? I suppose she’s gone off again, with dinner to serve to the captain!” Lydia Pratt’s looks were always sharp. But when she frowned, the tightness of her mouth made her jaw stand out even farther, and her black eyes glinted under what sometimes looked like one thin eyebrow set atop her narrow face.

  “Lydia … dear … Captain Montagu was naturally anxious to hear the details of your conversation, when I mentioned Lee told me one had occurred. Naturally, I was somewhat embarrassed that you hadn’t mentioned it when the captain questioned you. I told him you’d probably overlooked the whole thing … but you might have been the last one ever to speak to Middleton, if you don’t count his ordering a tankard of ale. If Lee hadn’t said anything—”

  “Which is another thing!” His wife seemed about to go on in the same vein, but abruptly decided to hold her tongue. “If and when I get a chance,” she began again with better composure, “I’ll speak to the captain. Wasn’t it enough today that you brought that great green thing into my kitchen, to scratch up the floor and the walls with its horrible claws? On top of that, you actually seemed to expect me to dispatch it!”

  “Sweetheart, it was quite chilled and slow when I left it there. Besides, you wouldn’t have wanted it brought dead all the way from Boston? It might have given us all the flux!”

  The sea turtle had been a bargain, Jonathan went on. It also kept him from asking more about his wife’s whereabouts on the day of Duncan Middle ton’s disappearance, for which she was grateful—to the turtle, at least. If anyone should ever find out what she’d done …

  Nervously, Lydia stepped back as Jonathan moved past her to open the door for a guest he’d seen through a tall window, hurrying up the walk.

  Charlotte Willett entered with an entourage of swirling leaves. When she’d lifted her hood and unfastened the clasp of her cloak, the landlord took it from her shoulders with a flourish.

  “Your two gentlemen are already in the taproom.” he told her, gesturing to the familiar passageway.

  “Good evening,” Charlotte said formally as she made a small bob to Lydia, expecting a similar courtesy in return. Her greeting was answered only by a stiff nod as the landlady turned and walked away. Jonathan shrugged his apologies to an old friend. He was about to offer her his arm when they saw, through the multipaned window, something else that made them both stand still.

  Now Diana Longfellow approached the inn. She was accompanied for the sake of convention by Cicero—who could barely keep up with the young woman’s flying figure as it moved precariously across the road and up the stone walk, buffeted by sharp gusts that caught her widespread skirts as if they were sails.

  Once the door was safely closed behind her, Diana’s wave indicated to Cicero that he might go along. He gave Diana a withering glance as he headed toward his usual spot in the taproom, but smiled to Charlotte, approving of her quiet air and her sensible lack of hoops.

  “I really don’t know how I manage,” Diana began huskily after the landlord, too, had retreated. She sat and bent down with a small gasp and several jingles to replace her leather shoes with silk ones, taken from a banded box she carried. There were tiny bells, Charlotte noticed with astonishment, on the upper part of Diana’s costume, bells which could be flounced casually to call attention to one’s bosom. She wondered if fashion (if that was what it was) had taken a backward look to the Elizabethans, or if it had simply gone mad once again while trying to change the future.

  “I told Richard I’d be ready in just a few more minutes, but he insisted on coming ahead by himself, and left only Cicero to help me here. What if I’d been blown down in the road, or run over by a dung cart? I really don’t believe he would have cared.”

  “I’m fairly sure his appetite would have suffered.”

  “Are you? Lord! I must catch my breath before I move.” Sliding the shoe box under her chair, Diana straightened and took a small bottle from an embroidered bag. She removed its tiny cork stopper, and Charlotte leaned closer, drawn by a wonderful aroma.

  “Parfum parisien,” said Diana, dabbing a bit from finger to neck before offering the bottle to her friend. “I’m afraid the first application has been blown away.”

  “It’s a wonderful scent,” Charlotte responded truthfully. And the little container was a thing of beauty, she noted, turning it to catch the light. Made of black enameled porcelain, the bottle had the design of a red-and-blue dragon winding its way around the surface in a highly effective manner. It was one of the best of Diana’s frequentl
y presented discoveries.

  “It’s new, of course—Captain Harper lately brought a few in to Providence. He maintains there are only a half dozen in existence! The scent’s the product of a French firm, but the bottles come from Canton, according to Lettie Hitchbourn. She brought two of them back with her to Boston a few days ago, and sold one to me. Sold, mind you. Lettie would have made a wonderful merchant. That woman has a heart of gold. Minted gold. Most of us have more interesting things to do, though, than to think of money all day long.”

  Charlotte’s smile came easily. She knew that Diana played to whatever audience she had—but also that she had a great deal more knowledge, and perception, than one might think. It was a secret that by now the two women shared comfortably with one another. Unfortunately, her elegant looks and withering babble were greatly admired by many town acquaintances, and were what Diana generally enjoyed displaying. It was something that caused Mrs. Willett to be thankful for her own lot in life.

  “Well, I think I can manage now,” Diana said at last. The two began to walk toward the smell of pipes and wood smoke, and other comforts.

  The room they entered was hardly full, but Charlotte recognized several faces that turned to watch their entrance. She smiled toward Adolphus Lee next to the fire, who dipped his shining spectacles with an energetic bow (although his eyes were clearly on the lady he had yet to meet). Apparently, it was too rough tonight even for naturalists to be abroad, Charlotte decided as she inhaled the heady aroma of spirits and foods. Two slightly rumpled and bewigged gentlemen sat beside Mr. Lee; they, too, paused in their discussion, and bowed in tribute to the ladies, causing Diana to look with some pleasure in the opposite direction.

  Charlotte soon spotted Longfellow and Edmund Montagu, perched, she thought, like owls in a nest. In fact, they sat in a small area at the top of a few steps, set off by a wooden divider—much like the officers’ deck of a ship. They, too, rose from their chairs as the women approached, and helped them to glasses of Madeira from a silver tray as soon as they were comfortably arranged.