A Mischief in the Snow (27 page)

“Though very nearly,” Montagu interjected.

“As the case may be. And yet—and yet! A dark and mournful force had come to haunt the castle, nightly walking the corridors, sighing and moaning and leaving wax drippings for which small boys were frequently blamed. Life is indeed full of injustice, Captain Montagu, as you say. But one young fellow, I believe, grew up to find that he was entitled to everything the castle contained— yet only if he married at once, and swore upon his honor never to forget his wedding date, to the end of time. That idea will touch the sensitive reader, I think, and provide you with a reminder, Edmund. Now tell me, is this a new species of romance?”

“It is a new species of something, Richard. And a fine soporific. I am going to bed. Diana?”

“A very good idea—before my brother thinks of something worse, which I know he's quite capable of doing. Thank you, Edmund.” She took his offered arm and rose to her feet, glancing as she did so to Charlotte, who still seemed lost in a dream of her own.

Longfellow bent and touched his neighbor's hand, causing her to look up into his eyes.

“Oh,” she said, her gaze lingering.

“Ah!” Diana suddenly exclaimed, in a manner so forceful that Edmund stepped back to examine her.

“Are you all right, dear?” he asked with some concern.

“I'm well enough,” his wife told him, smiling somewhat smugly, he thought. “Don't worry, Edmund,” she then said as they walked toward the door. “It was only a pin, popped out of place. Let us go to bed. I believe Richard and Charlotte will do well enough now, on their own.”

O
N
F
RIDAY MORNING
, Charlotte awoke to discover two things that seemed curious. First, she was in Richard Longfellow's bed, a large piece of furniture with no curtains, but plenty of feathers. It was admittedly comfortable, yet she herself was not—until she recalled he'd sent her to bed after a final glass of port, saying that he intended to camp out next to Cicero in the kitchen.

She heard a stirring below, where they must have begun breakfast. Perhaps that was why Orpheus was not with her as she'd expected. Rising, she closed the door the clever dog had found some way of opening, washed quickly in water from a pitcher, and looked carefully at her face in a mirror, to see if she was in any way changed. Then she dressed, and went to join the others.

Next to the east room where she'd slept, she passed one claimed by Diana on all her visits, where she and Edmund were probably still asleep. Next to that was the room given to Moses Reed. Cicero's at the west end had been offered first to Lem, who'd now moved out to
accommodate Magdalene Knowles. It was a full house, to be sure.

As she stooped to re-buckle a shoe, Charlotte reminded herself that Longfellow had acted as a gentleman. And yet, she did feel a little disappointed. That was nonsense. They were old friends. And if they were to become something more, it would not happen overnight. At least, it had not happened
last
night.

In the kitchen, Orpheus bounded to her side, his tail flashing.

“Up at last?” Longfellow asked. He continued to toast pieces of bread in a wire basket while Cicero made fresh coffee, nodding his own greeting.

“At least before the sun.”

“Barely, for it's after seven. Lem has gone to do the milking, and I've already been on a mission to the inn. I had to beg Elizabeth for breakfast provisions for our little army.”

“I'm surprised you woke so early.”

“A straw bed on the floor makes sleep something of a challenge.”

“I'm sorry to have kept you from your own bed, which was delightful.”

“Was it?” he asked with a smile. Cicero made a noise of sorts, and delivered a cup of coffee. Charlotte accepted it gratefully.

Bringing the basket back from the embers, Longfellow set it down, opened it, and gingerly offered her a piece of dark bread with gleaming raisins.

“There's clotted cream,” he pointed out, “and preserves. We should fortify ourselves for our jaunt. The weather promises to remain clear, and the road north is open. We need only walk a mile or two from where we'll leave the sleigh. Jonathan has one ready to lend us.”

“Who else will go?”

“Reed and Magdalene, and Lem. Edmund feels it would be best for him to avoid any connection with the place. Magdalene can pick up what she needs, and your presence will comfort her, I'm sure. Not that I thought I could leave you behind! Reed and I will search for whatever documents Mrs. Knowles may have kept, to see if there is anything else to shed light on recent events. Lem can hold the horses on the road, to atone for his sins. We'll also be able to take a look at the place the shillings were cast.”

“It will do no good,” she told him, sipping more of Cicero's brew.

“But I'll have done my duty. And our curiosity will be satisfied.”

“Where did Lem find himself last evening, by the way?”

“He shared a bed with Reed. I doubt he rested as well as you. Though I hope he slept more quietly.”

“What?”

“We might go into that some other time. But tonight, you'll again have Lem for company, unless?…” He watched carefully for her reaction.

“It will be good to have things back to normal.” To that, Longfellow said nothing.

At the end of another half hour Lem had returned, and Moses Reed came down to join them. Edmund descended soon after to help himself to a plate heaped with griddle cakes, kept warm by hot bricks in the bread oven. At last, Magdalene and Diana arrived together, having finished more elaborate preparations than the others had attempted. It seemed to Charlotte, who felt her own want of attention, that Diana had made Magdalene more than presentable.

“Let's be off,” said Longfellow, after everyone had shared in the coffee, cakes, butter, and syrup. “My thermometer tells me the air is warmer today. And melting won't help the roads.”

The party for the island crossed the road, and in a few minutes saw a pair of large horses, one of which Reed had ridden out from Boston, hitched to a wide sleigh. This was furnished with robes and even charcoal foot warmers the ladies might set under their skirts. Longfellow and Lem climbed up onto the front, while Charlotte and Magdalene sat behind, the attorney between them. With a shake of the reins and a warning jingle of bells, they were off.

THE TRIP ACROSS
the bridge attracted a number of eyes, for there were quite a few villagers already about their business this Friday morning. But once they'd turned north on the Concord road, there was little traffic on the newly compacted snow, shining like smooth satin.

For a few miles they admired the frosted countryside. Nothing, it seemed, broke up expanses of snow deep enough to bury all stubble from the harvest. Overhead, hawks could be seen wheeling, searching for a meal, while the blue mountains in the distance stood out with new brilliance.

But all too soon, enjoyment changed to anticipation, and concern. There to the right was the island, dark, rocky, robed with coned trees whose branches had already lost much of their new coating. Between island and road lay well over a mile of brush, reeds, and river ice, which would have to be negotiated carefully. Knowing this, Longfellow had brought along a length of rope, to be used in case of emergency.

They passed the house of John and Rachel Dudley, where they saw Winthrop busy with the eternal chore of chopping firewood. At least Rachel and the children would stay warm, thought Charlotte, whether the constable returned home or not. Still no word of his whereabouts had reached the inn, according to Longfellow's information that morning.

They stopped when they reached the point of land nearest to the island. Lem remained where he was, better able to watch their progress from a high seat.

Climbing down, Longfellow helped the ladies who each, he was again glad to see, wore stout footwear. Their capes looked sufficient for the day; he and Reed, he supposed, would need to open their great coats before long, due to the exertion of walking.

This proved true as the sun rose higher, shimmering on the ice around them, forcing them to squint through the crisp air. They reached a few small rocks within the hour, and sat for a few moments to rest. Then they moved on, and with surprising suddenness seemed to be upon the main mass.

Observing a sharp shadow, Longfellow led them around to the south, until they could see sunlight penetrating a thin cleft.

Charlotte realized this must be the place Lem had told her about, which he must have described to Richard Longfellow. She watched as her neighbor strode into unknown territory, with a strong curiosity that took him well ahead of the rest.

Longfellow looked about to see bare vines, and a mixture of trees that seemed to hang above him. Through the cleft was the small meadow he sought. On one side, snow had fallen heavily; on the other a projecting cliff offered protection, so that brown fronds of wood ferns still
poked through the new layer of white. Over all, climbing bittersweet with orange berries had drawn several sorts of birds, all chattering busily, ignoring the new arrivals.

They came to a stone building. It was square, with a sloping roof; some of it was newly repaired and mortared haphazardly. A new door, too, had been attached to the old rusted hinges. It was partially open.

Of whatever had once been inside, little remained. Someone had come before them, probably on the day of the old woman's death, for there were no tracks in the snow beyond distinctive hoof marks.

Longfellow imagined a few men had hurried over after hearing of Alex Godwin's death, to clear away all trace of their illegal activity. They found a hearth, but no bellows; a bench built into a wall, but no chair, nor implements to tell how someone might have created the shillings. However, a few candle stubs were still melted onto shelves of flat rock projecting from the wallstones. These were recent; mice had only begun to gnaw them.

“If you ladies are chilled, we might find some fallen wood and make a small fire. No? Fine. It will be a warm walk up to the house. And since there's little here to see, we might as well go.”

Leaving the meadow as they'd come, they again took to the ice, and walked further to the east. They eventually reached the wooden landing. Today, only its upright columns were visible, for the rest was covered by several inches of glittering snow. Finding the path to the house, they started to climb.

At the top, though the air was still, they heard little beyond their own labored breathing. Then an insistent crow cawed as it flew far below, over the sunny marsh.

“I see nothing ghostly,” Longfellow said aloud, causing Charlotte to wonder what, then, had brought the
idea into his mind. “An old manor, sorely in need of attention. We'll give it our own for an hour or so. Shall we go in?”

He opened one of the great doors and stood back to allow Magdalene to enter first, though she hardly seemed anxious to do so. Facing her home of many years, she appeared less than pleased with it.

“You don't have to go in,” Charlotte assured her. “If you like, I'll bring out whatever you ask for. But you might want to choose, yourself, what you'd like to take back to the village. To Mr. Longfellow's house. Or to mine.”

Magdalene looked to her lawyer, who nodded his approval. Then she disappeared through the pointed portal.

Surprised at the amount of courage she, too, had to summon, Charlotte went next. Nothing had changed. Yet today the house seemed even less inviting than it had been before. She realized it had become a dead thing, a relic with no meaning. No person remained to give it a glow of warmth, a pulse of daily activity. Yet perhaps she did feel
something
here, after all.

“By all that's holy!” Longfellow exclaimed. He'd looked first across strips of dark carpet on the broad stone floor, up the walls to where weapons shone dully. The tapestries beyond had made such an impression that he stood staring, his mouth open. Finally thinking to close it, he turned to regard the others. “I imagined,” he said, “that there were furnishings here, of a primitive sort. But this!”

“Are they very old?”

“Undoubtedly.
Such skills no longer exist. The classical scenes are a delight—but I wonder how he got them here? Wrapped around a mast, possibly. I suspect our lieutenant governor would give his eyeteeth for such decorations! The weapons add a curious touch. It's as if Fisher
hoped to keep the medieval past alive, far from where it once belonged. All in all, it's an amazing collection.”

“There is more,” said Moses Reed shortly.

“Then let's go and see it,” said Longfellow. He took a few steps one way, then turned another and began to stride toward the room Charlotte knew would lead to the hearth where she'd taken tea.

Once in the dark antechamber, he went to the windows and grasped a curtain. Turning to Magdalene, he asked for permission to let in the light. She nodded and he pulled, only to find the material falling in a heap at his feet, setting dust flying all around. However, he'd lightened the room so that the paintings on the walls seemed to come to life, and the chairs made of antlers and tusks stood out against the darker wood paneling of the walls.

“German, certainly,” said Longfellow, dismissing them for the moment. Turning on his heel, he went on through the far doorway to enter the larger room beyond. Here, he and the lawyer both took hold of sets of curtains, and let them fly. These held, sliding on iron rings over their rods, so that the air remained reasonably clear. The next thing to draw their attention was the portrait of Catherine Knowles, whose blue eyes fell upon the room with an icy sentience that caused Charlotte to shudder.

“I see now why Horace Walpole imagined a portrait might leave its frame, to walk among us,” was Longfellow's first comment. “I only wish it could speak, so we might learn exactly what happened to old Mrs. Knowles.”

Charlotte was about to reply. She saw movement just above the hearth. She felt her stomach lurch. The mirror had renewed its gamboling. In its dark reaches, between spots of blackened silver and the overlay of rosy glass, she again seemed to see colors swirling.