A Wicked Way to Burn (18 page)

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.)

“Excellent! Something I hadn’t thought of,” Longfellow interjected.

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?”

T
HAT’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 in 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.”

“Lost him, did he?” asked Longfellow with a trace of scorn. “Until we found him in this little backwater. Too bad you didn’t have one of our local lads with your man in Providence, to help you track the fellow. Most are quite good at it—apparently, better even than some from England. Do you hunt, Captain?” He was gratified to see Montagu stiffen slightly.