It was obvious that the gentlemen had been engaged in a heated discussion. Even Diana’s charms failed to divert them for long.
“As I say,” Longfellow rejoined, “leaving ten thousand troops here after the end of hostilities was sheer folly. Today, most sit in New York—but where will they turn up tomorrow? You’ll keep these men on short pay, and what’s more important to your own interests, they’ll be kept from looking for employment back in England. But the war is over. I don’t see why anyone thinks we’ll be happy to pay your soldiers to retire with us.”
“They may be kept busy enough. Pontiac and his Ottawas are setting fire to much of the West as we speak. In Virginia, Pennsylvania, New York—you must know that every one of our forts, except for Detroit, has fallen to Indian—”
“—not a great surprise, considering the quality of the officers you’ve been sending—”
“—predation, which leads me to suspect that even here, near the coast, you may one day be glad you help pay for British troops. And I say help pay, sir … no one expects you to assume the entire cost of their upkeep. But England has already been saddled with tremendous debt, paying for your last defense—”
“So in return, you arrange to have redcoats prowling our waterfronts.”
“And your frontiers! We may not have seen the end of French intrigue. Your merchants might also be glad of someone with money to spend, ready to consume your truly amazing surplus of foodstuffs.”
“While your customs men begin taking away our sea trade! We read lately in our pamphlets and papers that the Crown plans—”
“You would do better with a few less of those! From what I’ve read they’re all filled with lies—”
“—to go along with this idea of Grenville’s to raise further revenues with an enforcement of the molasses tax, and several new ones. Yet we have always sympathized with the king’s needs, and raised and delivered our own revenues. When we are asked with some consideration—”
“Asked?” Montagu appeared to hardly know whether to smile or frown.
“Well, then, is this new way supposed to please us more? Let us levy taxes in our own assemblies, just as you do. After all, it’s the right of every British subject to be requested, rather than forced, to supply the Crown with funds. And to be represented directly in Parliament, most of us will maintain.”
“Do you really think you and your colonists here are on equal footing with the people of England—those by whom Parliament is chosen?”
“Certainly; we’re English, and men too, and yet you treat us like children!”
“The analogy has some justice, surely, when you look at—”
“Do I look like a child to you?”
Charlotte had heard much of this before, on otherwise enjoyable evenings spent in her neighbor’s study with a decanter of canary wine, or perhaps some old French brandy that had slipped through the blockade. Now, she looked down with more interest at the hand-lettered bill of fare lying next to Longfellow’s tapping fingers. Diana, too, read it over when Charlotte placed the card telling what was to come between them.
To start, a green turtle soup—something Elizabeth, the inn’s cook, born and bred in Marblehead, would know how to do to perfection. Then, roast goose with oranges and oyster sauce. (The goose would be one of Lydia’s ill-natured pirates who hissed and grumbled around her kitchen door. It would not be long lamented.)
Goose was to be followed by a wood pigeon pie made with celery and walnuts—an excellent idea, Charlotte decided, for her own purse as well as Jonathan’s. The cook would use not only a great deal of cream from her dairy, but a large quantity of butter as well. And a ‘made’ dish like this one of game birds would be, for Jonathan, mostly a matter of a little shot and powder, some seasonings, and a simple, flaky flour-and-lard crust.
With the birds would come a dish of greens and gravy, as well as one of fresh roasted beets, peeled and buttered hot from the coals. And finally, rum-baked spiced apples, and a cranberry custard. Edmund Montagu had arranged to give them a good dinner, although it was something less than a feast. Still, it was a fine offering to occupy an odd afternoon, even without the further amusements Charlotte saw ahead.
“—and this Dutch gold piece that Bowers tells me was found by the miller …” Montagu went on, “of course, you realize it indicates the West Indies, or Surinam. Either way, it means smuggling.”
“That wouldn’t be surprising, since we can’t get enough molasses from Britain’s islands to keep our distilleries going. And just how do you expect us to keep buying goods from you without hard currency?”
“Distilleries which in turn supply rum to trade for slaves. A very nice business,” Montagu added haughtily.
Here, Charlotte managed to interrupt. She had never seen a slave in Bracebridge, but she had heard about Dutch gold very recently.
“Were you speaking just now about the coin from Gabriel Fortier’s bedroom at the Blue Boar?”
“We were, ma’am,” Montagu replied.
“By the way, Captain,” Longfellow interjected, “are you conducting a search for Fortier now?”
“Not at the moment. But with the insistence of half the town, someone may soon have to organize one.”
“I believe Mrs. Willett is about to try to convince you to clear Fortier’s name. Indeed, we talked about a mutually discovered theory this afternoon, which sheds some light on your mysterious merchant. But I won’t stand in her way. I’m sure she’ll tell it beautifully.”
Seeing the eyes of all the rest upon her, Charlotte gathered her courage, took a deep breath, and began.
“I propose a succession of events. I think they might help to explain Jack Pennywort’s adventure, and the part played, I believe, by Duncan Middleton in his own disappearance.”
Montagu tilted his head briefly, and again raised piercing eyes to hers.
But Charlotte’s beginning was delayed as Jonathan Pratt came to inform them their first course was ready. They all rose and soon climbed the main stairs, before they were ushered into a small private dining room with its own fire, several candles, and a large linen-covered table. Here, Lydia Pratt met them as well, coming from the kitchen end of an interior passage, and carrying a heavy tray.
The party sat as a bread basket and a large tureen were transferred to the table. Then, as they broke open crisp rolls, a thick green soup was ladled into bowls. It was tasted and pronounced delectable, having just a hint of amontillado to set off its richness.
Finally, when they were settled in comfortably, Charlotte recommenced the story she and Richard Longfellow had pieced together, recapping what was already known, and adding even more.
AT TWILIGHT (SHE recounted), following the tavern’s usual talk and a threatened brawl, complete attention was drawn by the spilling of a bag full of gold coins. Shortly afterward, Fortier got up to leave; soon after that, the merchant followed. Jack went out as well, driven by habit, curiosity, and very possibly a touch of greed. He would provide the necessary audience for what was to come.
When Middleton saw that he was being followed, he quickened his steps, drawing away from the crossroads and the tavern as he climbed the lonely road to Worcester. It was a quiet night, and a suitably mysterious and auspicious one. Jack Pennywort must have wondered where the stranger could be heading as he left the safety of the village—wondered, too, if he himself would be seen following. Unexpectedly, Middleton left the road and made his way to a cluster of nearby fir trees, presumably to answer a call of Nature. This left Jack with more time to think, and to grow afraid.
When Middleton returned to the road, the brown bundle he had been carrying had vanished … because it was now worn under his cloak! The brown “bundle” had actually been a second long garment which he had planned to put under the first, covering that garment’s bright red lining. The merchant again hobbled uphill, followed by a limping Jack, who vowed to himself to return later to examine those trees. (When he did, he found only a piece of string.)
Before long (Charlotte continued carefully), Middleton approached a clear spot he’d already chosen in the elevated road, where nothing obstructed his view for a hundred yards to the sides, and nearly as far ahead and behind. Next, he took a small piece of mirror from his pocket, which came from the one broken in his room at the inn. (Although he himself broke the mirror to obtain the useful fragment, he knew it was almost certain that a servant would be blamed.) Now, he used this fragment of mirror to look back, and saw Jack still there. It was the reflection of the rising moon in this glass that Jack saw as a first faint flickering, up near the old man’s shoulders.
Now, Middleton held something else in his hand—a gold coin. This he dropped into the road; then he took several more steps. In his mirror, he saw Jack stoop to pick up the shiny object. It was time to bring the performance to its conclusion.
Here, Charlotte paused for breath and took a sip of wine, while her audience waited in silence with anticipation. Thus fortified, she continued.
“Perhaps pretending to stumble on a stone, in case anyone was watching, Jack bent to pick up the coin. This gave Middleton a chance to twirl his cloak so that the dull brown inside was on the outside. Then, he threw a small bomb, previously concealed in his bundle, onto the road. It was filled with specially prepared ingredients; Richard can tell you how it was made. As it burst into flames, Middleton waved his arms and leaped about behind the fire. When enough smoke came to hide him completely, he jumped down onto the south slope of the road. He lay flat in the weeds with the dull cloak over him, knowing Jack would be partially blinded by the smoke, the light, and by the tears that heat, and fear, brought to his eyes.
“After he recovered from the first shock, Jack looked far and wide, but could find no one. He was still unable to see what was under his own feet! Then even the blue fire that followed the first began to die away, and before long, darkness returned. This time, it brought even more than its usual terrors. So Jack turned and ran down the hill to alert the tavern, and to find safety again among his friends. After a few more moments, Middleton got up and went about his business, probably making for the woods to watch the further proceedings—apparently no longer under the constraints of an earthly body, and yet not quite ready for heaven, either!”
In hindsight, it was a simple and effective plot. Charlotte was pleased to hear her explanation immediately declared quite likely, even before she took from her pocket fibers from the brown cloak, and the piece of mirror, which she’d found beside the road. She also took pains to point out that if Lynch had wanted to get his hands on a gulden with which to incriminate Gabriel Fortier that afternoon, he had only to look to his smaller friend, for Jack Pennywort would likely have told him he had “found” such a coin.
Longfellow next gave them a recipe for the making of something like Greek fire, which Edmund Montagu followed closely. Against all expectation, the British captain felt a growing respect for these new country acquaintances. Not only did he appreciate the methods of Mrs. Willet and her neighbor, but he had to agree with Longfellow that in one or two ways, at least some Americans were something more than children—even though their political opinions might still be those of innocents.
He had information of his own to add to their story, which he knew would surprise them. He also saw a rare chance to join in an amusement with a fair amount of safety, without risk to his own mission. Perhaps it was the combination of the quantities of sharp cider he’d taken earlier, as well as the wine, and the warmth, and even the company, that led him to feel an unaccustomed glow in this cozy place. He would have to remember to be careful.
At this juncture, the soup was removed while a crisp-skinned goose was brought in, along with the dishes of vegetables.
“All of which probably means,” sighed Diana as she helped herself, “that I was wrong about Pennywort. And that you, Captain Montagu,” she added with obvious satisfaction, “were misled by the merchant into believing him dead, when he’s not dead at all! But why did Duncan Middleton go to all of this trouble, simply to disappear? And more to the point, where on earth is the irritating old man now?”
Chapter 15
THAT’S WHERE I begin my tale,” Montagu started, laying down his knife while the others gave him most of their attention.
“If I may,” he continued, “I’ll tell you the story of a young man intended for the army, who found that company not entirely to his liking, once he’d bought his way into it. While there, he met too many other ‘second sons’ who were at loose ends, engaging the enemy rarely, gaming, drinking and fighting each other far too often. Understandably, many of these fine young men got themselves into trouble. A few others, like myself, pulled them out when we were able—smoothed over the rough spots … hid what sins we could with appropriate compensation—and were rarely seen or thanked directly.
“It has for some time been my way to follow those who find themselves in trouble. More recently, I have watched those who may be creating it … against the Crown’s interests. Which is why I came to Boston.”
“Then you are a spy,” Diana breathed softly, with a dazzling smile.
“If you like, although if I were, I’d scarcely tell you so. At any rate, I assume that we are all on the same side! Let us say that I’m the tax collector’s helper, at least temporarily.”
“That should make you a popular fellow,” Longfellow commented, after barking out a dry laugh. “Why do you want to tell us about your business?” he asked point-blank, staring hard at Montagu’s unreadable features.
“Largely because you seem to know a great deal about one part of it already. I’m sure I needn’t ask you not to broadcast what I’ve said, or am about to say. Why make my life more difficult than it is?” the captain asked rhetorically. “But I believe this affair will soon be over. Until it is, I can tell you something about Middleton that could help you settle things in your own little community, when I am gone away tomorrow.”
Pausing, Montagu glanced at Diana, but she only picked delicately at a wing joint with her teeth. He went on, addressing her brother.
“I’ve been watching Duncan Middleton for six months. He is a shipowner, as well as a merchant who deals heavily in cargo taken to and from the West Indies. And I, too, believe that he is very much alive!”
“But you told me …” Diana began to object. Then she saw Montagu’s smile, and knew that he had toyed with her. With a cold calm, she settled back to listen to the rest.
“Middleton recently met with one of his captains who had returned from Curacao, which explains the pocketful of Dutch guldens he was seen carrying about,” Montagu continued. “Our merchant is a notorious smuggler—like a great many others who avoid payment of duties on certain listed goods which they import—and who buy and sell foreign commodities directly, thus bypassing His Majesty’s home ports, and pockets. None of this is what one might call news; enough people know it to fill a prison. Let’s just say that these things may not go on quite so freely, in a short while.
“Happily, at least for us, Middleton has recently devised a novel and even odious scheme to cheat his fellow man. By diluting the rum he ships with other substances … mostly cheaper turpentine, as well as a bit of black powder … he is hoping to make money on the frontier. Mysterious death at the edge of civilization is still rather commonplace, and he believes his poisonous brew will be overlooked as its occasional cause. But as soon as it can be proved that his drink is deadly, we will be able to stop him.”
“I should hope so,” said Longfellow thickly, wiping goose fat from his chin with his napkin. “But what was it that got you to focus your attention on the old reprobate in the first place?”
“In most criminal affairs, local officers know a great deal before they have proof … or before they’re allowed to use what proof they have, against those who break the law. It’s simply a matter of asking them what they know. And, with the new interest i
n colonial controls, some of them will soon be authorized to take to court what they, and I, have learned. At the moment, Middleton seems a prime candidate for prosecution. In fact, your merchant has already been tried for holding improper manifests, but this was done by a judge and jury of his own peers—which, oddly enough, didn’t seem to do much good. This time, though, it will be the Admiralty Court. Without a jury of his fellows, and especially with his new sins exposed, I believe Duncan Middleton will have very little hope of remaining a free man. He’ll find he has an enormous fine to pay, as well. He should be an invaluable cautionary example to others who might have similar plans in mind. This will be doubly true when government begins to confiscate the goods of all those who benefit from cheating it out of its due.”
“So—taxes are one thing, but tainted spirits quite another,” Longfellow concluded at the end of Montagu’s rather long speech. “A man indeed goes too far, when he becomes a threat to civilization.”
“I’m glad you agree. I had hoped I would be able to appear to believe in his death here, so that Middleton would feel safe in taking further chances. Toward that end, I encouraged your sister to carry misinformation back to Boston,” the captain admitted, still addressing Longfellow, “but I see I can no longer use that strategy.”
“But you feel sure he’s gone on from here?”
“What would keep him in a backwater like this? No, I’m fairly certain he’s off to take care of other affairs—although the fact that he’s left so much in Boston for us to seize does indeed surprise me. He must have had much more hidden abroad than we ever imagined … perhaps in Curaçao, or Aruba. At any rate, a close watch is being kept for a wagonload of his rum we have reason to suspect was sent west from Providence on Monday night. An officer who had … delayed, shall we say, the post from there to Boston on an earlier day was waiting for him, though he somehow missed meeting Middleton on the road.”
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