A Wicked Way to Burn (17 page)

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 frequently 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.

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.