A Wicked Way to Burn (25 page)

Beside him, Captain Edmund Montagu thought once more of what he had seen of Sam Dudley. Without a physician, there was no way to be absolutely sure. But Longfellow had said he’d already sent for one of the best, and that he should be arriving soon. The man would confirm what they both suspected. The bruising had been slight, but the coincidence was great—far too great to ignore. It was more than likely, thought Montagu, that the boy’s death had not been an innocent one. And he decided to postpone his departure for one more day.

The sluggish mind of Hiram Bowers was also mulling over the possibilities suggested by the body, the alarm, and the crowd that had just turned toward the inn—but why were some of them advancing to Jeremy Howard’s property, up and across the way? The townspeople were on edge—the constable knew that only too well! Many of them even expected
him
to set their minds at ease. If only they would learn to settle their own fears, as he so often had to do with his own. Now, something seemed to have irritated them again. Hiram thought that he would be glad when the end of the year rolled around, and he could go back to selling buttons. Now, what was it someone had said the other day about Mrs. Willett? Ah, yes. It seemed Jack Pennywort—the last one to see the merchant Middleton alive—had paid a visit to Mrs. Willett yesterday, supposedly to do some work, which he avoided in the end. Phineas Wise said he’d come back for another pint, just half an hour after he’d left in the first place. But Jack would not discuss his visit with the lady,
and that in itself was very strange … not even after he’d been brought two free tankards. Jack had even gone home early. Very queer indeed! Well looking on the bright side, maybe the crowd that now entered the inn had found something to celebrate. It was possible. Anything could happen, and often did. Maybe the others had gone to invite Mrs. Willett to join them. In his usual fog, Hiram Bowers marched on, looking forward to enjoying a pint with the rest.

When they reached the inn’s gate, Montagu and the constable plunged into the crowd, while Longfellow continued on. He soon found the search of Charlotte’s outbuildings nearly concluded, and the two women inside idly drinking tea. As long as they were safe, they urged him, might he not do better to see what else was going to happen? After taking a moment to catch his breath and have a swallow of hot tea, Longfellow, too, made for the Bracebridge Inn.

Sadly, he was too late to witness the lengthy initial confrontation between the Reverend Rowe and Edmund Montagu—one an acknowledged pillar of godliness, the other a jealous protector of the Crown’s prerogatives. But the latter was only one official protector, in the face of many curious souls. And so, Montagu followed a flustered Jonathan Pratt through a search of the inn’s first floor, while the landlord, in turn, trailed a group led by the reverend. Finding nothing, they next prepared to explore the rooms above.

It was now suggested that the inn also housed one other stranger who had been in Bracebridge for several days, and for no good reason—unless one believed the absurd idea that he observed the ways of animals, and was paid to reveal them. This man was also known to have been out of doors at all hours, able to see, and hear, and possibly do evil. This stranger was Adolphus Lee. By the time the reverend and his followers mounted the
stairs to the second floor, they were buoyed by the remainder of the crowd that had returned from Charlotte’s farm, and those who had completed an unsuccessful search of Jonathan Pratt’s outbuildings. Still notably absent were three members of the inn’s own family. There was no sign, Montagu realized as he looked around, of the servant girl Mary Frye. Nathan, the smith, was missing as well—so, too, was the landlord’s wife.

Jonathan Pratt also wondered why his wife had not come forward at the beginning of the commotion. It was unlike Lydia to let anything take its natural course, if she could hope to direct it and perhaps even hand out blame. Climbing the steps, he heard those ahead corner a bewildered Tim (who had gone up for a better view of what was coming), and demand to know Adolphus Lee’s whereabouts. The boy pointed to a door that stood next to the Jamaica Room, behind which the man usually slept for much of the day. A knock produced no result. A path was cleared for the landlord, who by right might open.

But … something stood in the way. Apparently, a chest of drawers had been pulled across to slow, perhaps, an unwanted entrance. But enter the stout landlord did, with a push and a shove, until light flooded out to the dark hallway, forcing the visitors to blink—against their will, for none of them wanted to miss a thing.

Inside, as expected, was Adolphus Lee. He sat upon a rumpled bed, wearing only his breeches, his face contorted in a look of fascinated horror. At the same time, through the crack at the door’s hinges, frills of a shift could be seen. And although the woman who wore it could not be observed in her entirety, those who noticed suspected they saw a portion of Lydia Pratt within.
Whoever
the woman was, there was no doubt that, as Jonathan Pratt’s searching eyes peered around the door, she emitted a squeak.

Meanwhile, caught in a trap with no easy exit, Mr.
Lee looked longingly through the window, as if hoping for some assistance from the natural world.

The hushed crowd shifted its feet uncertainly. Finally, Jonathan Pratt cleared his throat to address his neighbors.

“Seeing that you have not found what it is you are searching for, I hope you will finish with the empty rooms, and then leave my house. It would appear that my guest and I have certain matters to look into.” With this, he gently closed the door on the room’s occupants.

Even the Reverend Rowe, hearing whispers around him, believed that some things were sacred to marriage—at least, in the first round. He had hardly been prepared for what he’d discovered. Pratt, after all, was one of the largest and most regular contributors to the church, a man who saw to many of its needs; in fact, he’d just sent over that rare and valuable coin the night before. The reverend quickly decided that he had an entire flock to consider first, however much one erring member might have earned his, and the Lord’s, wrath. Besides, he had always greatly admired Lydia Pratt himself, feeling that she was something of a kindred spirit. Later, they would talk, and he would show her a better way.

Already envisioning the encounter, Reverend Christian Rowe licked his lips, as he silently led the others in a quick peek at the remaining rooms. Then, they went down the steps and out through the inn’s side door.

Watching them go, Jonathan Pratt stood whistling quietly, his cheeks playing with the beginnings of a satisfied smile.

“LIKE SOME BUFFOONERY
from a recent novel,” was the way Longfellow described the scene later in the afternoon to Charlotte and Hannah Sloan, after he had knocked some of the season’s first snow from his coat and
planted himself by the fire. Next to him, Lem, (who had hurried in the cows earlier) grinned at what he heard, and decided in future to ask Mr. Longfellow for suggested reading material.

“Finding Lee with … a lady … restored part of the town’s good humor, and certainly gave them something to talk about—as well as yet another excuse to adjourn to the Blue Boar.”

“Let’s hope they stay there for a while,” said Hannah, vowing to herself to find more for her own menfolk to do.

Charlotte remained silent as a further revelation came to her. So
that
was what Mary Frye had meant! The maid had probably caught Lydia before, hearing her say she had been one place, when Mary knew the landlady had really been in another. At a small inn, secrets of that sort could only be kept for so long.

‘“Diana will be pleased when I tell her,” Longfellow added, “though it will make her wish she hadn’t slept so late. My sister has wished Lydia gone more than once. And now I suppose she’ll have her way. As usual.”

“She won’t be the only one who’s pleased,” agreed Hannah.

“They tell me,” Longfellow went on, “that Lee’s moved over to the Blue Boar until he can finish his work.”

“He’s staying?” Charlotte asked with surprise.

“Since he’s already produced letters from respected men at Cambridge, the village can’t very well throw him out for this—at least not without Jonathan’s help, which he doesn’t seem anxious to give. So, since Jonathan is one of our own selectmen, and I happen to be another, there’s not much anyone can do about Adolphus Lee. The situation certainly shows us how times have changed. I doubt if we could have kept poor Lydia out of the stocks several years ago. If anyone had wanted to.”

“How is Jonathan?”

“Quite happy. I should say. When the rest left without speaking—general embarrassment was quite plain, and after all, Jonathan hadn’t said the first word against her—then I wondered if he might not enjoy having the upper hand, for once. As for Lee, he’s a sort of hero now, having deprived the local dragon of her fire!”

At least, thought Charlotte, some steam had escaped from the pie before any further harm had been done.

“But they didn’t find … anyone else they were looking for?” she asked.

“Who, Lynch’s murderer? They didn’t find Gabriel Fortier, if that’s who you mean. At first, they thought at the inn that Mary had run off with him. But she came back a while later, with her apron full of butternuts she’d been off gathering before the snow started. She says she only saw Fortier in the morning—said Nathan woke him up early, and set him to work mending an ax in the back. Where the Frenchman is now, I couldn’t say.”

Charlotte again saw the long, bloodless wound in the miller’s forehead.

“An ax?” she whispered.

“Many hours
after
the work you’re thinking of, from what you’ve described to me of the body, which, incidentally, I greatly look forward to seeing. I might even try an experiment or two … but I believe the miller must have been floating for most of the night—probably since late last evening, I would guess.”

“Then—”

“It would seem Gabriel Fortier escaped today from what must have looked to him like a mob coming for his blood. Whether he’s guilty of anything or not, he had reason enough to run.”

“Then you don’t think—”

“I think Mary Frye is far better off today than she
was last night. Beyond that, I have several
other
things to think about, at the moment.”

“Richard, I only know a little about anatomy … some of medicines, I’ll admit, but very little about the rest. It did strike me when I saw Sam Dudley this morning that a physician—”

“—might tell us how, exactly, he died. An excellent idea! Given the circumstances, I thought as much last night, so I sent for a fellow named Warren I met in town a few months ago. I’ve been meaning to invite him here. I think you’ll like Joseph. He speaks his mind, and he listens, too, from time to time. One of the most promising of the recent graduates of Harvard College.”

“Oh! I look forward to meeting him.”

“You might do a little more, Carlotta, since he’s coming all the way from Boston, and he’ll be here this morning. As you know, the inn’s kitchen is upside down at the moment.”

“And yours hasn’t held much appeal for anyone lately.”

“Well—yes. I’d hoped you’d allow us to share a little something at your generous fireside. Nothing fancy.”

“If I’m ever at a loss for funds, I might make ends meet by opening a public house. I imagine you’d steer quite a healthy business my way.”

“A privilege I would offer
only
to those who meet your high standards of behavior and taste.”

“You’re lucky I’ve heard, too, that Dr. Warren is a handsome man who has a delightful beside manner. Have you heard that as well?”

“Not from any Tories, certainly; he’s most noted in town for his republican manner, above anything else.”

“Are you trying to frighten me?”

“Would it be possible?”

“Quite! Still, none of us should cast the first stone, I suppose. I’ve heard we are all by nature political animals;
although I’m not sure the man who said so meant to include females.”

“Would that be a quotation from Dr. Franklin?” asked Lem, who had been following only some of the conversation.

“Aristotle,” replied Longfellow. “An older gentleman, and not quite as popular. Although he had his day. Look in Mrs. Willett’s library, and we’ll discuss him later.”

A new noise at the front door made Charlotte rise with a hand to her cheek. But it was only Cicero, who brought in Joseph Warren before retiring across the garden.

LONGFELLOW ROSE FROM
the table, and immediately went to clasp Warren’s hand and shoulder, aware that Charlotte had already begun to examine the visitor for herself.

“I also have it on good authority that most of his teeth are his own,” her neighbor offered with a grin.

Warren quickly caught his meaning, and turned to scrutinize his hostess boldly, causing her to look away from his sky-blue eyes.

The physician was, she had already decided, a very pleasing man, exceptionally fair but with a kind of glow. His face could probably hide little. She could imagine that he was as she’d heard—a man who would fly to action whenever the call came, wherever he felt he was in the right. It was said he had an argumentative nature. Still, he would probably prove a rewarding friend.

“I believe our hostess is satisfied,” said Longfellow. “But now, we have to go. We’ll be back shortly. Bodies, if you’ll excuse my mentioning it, may not be preferable to dinner, but they claim precedence—and now we have two.”

“Two?” asked Warren, turning. “Your note said only that a young man—”

“Oh, that was last night! This morning, we found another. However, let me show you, before I spoil the surprise. By the way, Mrs. Willett has invited us back here to dine.”

“I’ll see what can be done,” Charlotte answered, looking to Hannah.

“Our thanks, Carlotta. Say, Warren,” asked Longfellow, in the highest of spirits, “could we use more company, do you think?”

“From what I hear of these parts lately, we would be wise to seek a crowd.”

“You may change your mind about that, when I tell you the rest,” rejoined Longfellow, “but one more man wouldn’t hurt.
Avanti!”
he cried, stalking out of the kitchen door after Warren. At the same time, he beckoned to a startled Lem, who followed in a rush.