No Rest for the Dove (13 page)

“I have said to Signor Lahte that we have an amusing gift for him. Though as yet I have not told him what it is….”

“Tell him now, my dear,” her husband said in a commanding tone, as if he had tired of the game.

“Well, then, Edmund had Richard’s sketch copied, and it was taken to many establishments in the town, where it was shown to the sort of people who have rooms to let. In one of these lodgings near Long Wharf, the man was finally recognized. And a young boy was found waiting for his master to return …” Her glance allowed her husband to pick up the thread.

“A boy,” Montagu continued, “who arrived in Boston last week, traveling with a man he calls Sesto Alva. He spoke in French to those who found him, but I have since questioned him further in Italian. He has told us little, however, other than that they both came from Milan.”

“
Both
came from Milano?” Though Lahte said the words softly, they were heard by all—for the others had already turned toward him to learn more of this odd coincidence.

“According to the servant. Do you know of this Alva?”

“The name is an old one in that city … and I may have met a Sesto Alva. But of course so many claim one’s acquaintance….”

“The youth told us he was once your servant, as well—and that he’d come here hoping to return to that position.”

“What—what name did he give?”

“Angelo. Nothing more. He has a small mole above his lip, so.”

“Ah! Yes, I do know him. He was one of several boys I have employed—but this one, especially, was devoted to me. He is at the moment in Boston?”

“He is on his way to Bracebridge, in a cart that brings our baggage. He should arrive shortly, for we passed them on the road.”

“A happy surprise?” Longfellow inquired.

“One of little importance,” Lahte answered grandly. “I did not send for Angelo, and he will explain himself when he arrives. Oh, yes, he will explain, or be very sorry!”

IT WAS AFTER
one, by Longfellow’s frequently consulted pocket watch, when the baggage cart was heard on the drive.

At the sound Gian Carlo Lahte jumped to his feet, only to adjust his clothing with an appearance of unconcern. However, he soon followed Longfellow and Montagu out of doors, where they watched a boy scramble down from a pile of large boxes. At first, Angelo stood, uncertain. Then his eyes found what they sought. He walked stiffly forward, and broke into a run. Lahte, too, advanced, calling out in Italian, which the young man answered.

Il Colombo, for so he suddenly seemed in this master’s role, clasped the youth by his shoulders as soon as the two came together on the cropped lawn. They continued to speak in lowered tones while Longfellow and Montagu went to see about the surprising amount of luggage. Once it was deposited in the hall, and the cart’s driver had gone
off toward the Blue Boar, Angelo was ushered to the door of the sitting room to be presented to the ladies as a temporary member of the household. Again, he made his greeting in Italian, and gave an awkward bow.

“He speaks little English, I am afraid,” Lahte explained, “but as we have often traveled together, I believe he will cause no trouble.”

Charlotte noticed that this boy still had the high, clear voice of a child; nor was his figure yet that of a man. She wondered with sympathy how he found the strength to support the many burdens of a servant’s life. Still, far from appearing oppressed, Angelo showed a bold interest in his new surroundings.

“Where will we put him?” Diana asked Longfellow. Signor Lahte responded.

“There is no need to worry. He can sleep on a blanket at my feet. That is all he will expect.”

“But surely,” Charlotte objected, “he would be more comfortable in a bed?”

“I think not,” Lahte replied in an autocratic manner. This she found greatly surprising, and she resolved to keep further thoughts on the boy to herself. Longfellow now asked another question, as politely as he could.

“This young man … does he sing, as well?”

“You have seen it, then. Yes, he sings, after a fashion. Sadly, his voice did not develop as was once hoped. But he has been taught to play the harpsichord; he will play for me when I practice. You see, he has many uses. Truly, Angelo has been something more than a servant to me—almost a ward, if you like. Perhaps that is why he still behaves as a child from time to time. If he misbehaves while he is here, I will find a switch,” Lahte finished, taking a few swipes with an imaginary branch, which caused the youth’s cheeks to brighten.

“Preferably out of my sight,” Longfellow replied. “As
to the sleeping arrangements, do what you wish. Now, what in blazes will we do about dinner?”

This comment, addressed to no one in particular, caused an immediate round of discussion. Soon Cicero went across the road to alert the inn’s landlord, and the guests retired to their rooms to settle themselves.

While they waited, Charlotte and Longfellow made their way out onto the piazza.

“What do you think, Richard, of the boy’s story?” she asked. “It seems to me a very long way to come … especially to serve someone who has not called for you.”

“I suspect there’s more to it than young Angelo admits. He might have gotten himself into some sort of trouble in Milan, as boys will.”

“He says he traveled as a servant to Sesto Alva, yet why did Alva come here? If it was for the reason we supposed—if he was in fact the husband Lahte referred to—then why would he employ Lahte’s servant?”

“Perhaps he knew nothing of their past relationship. But we’re sure to learn more shortly. Our dinner,” Longfellow added pleasantly, “should be an interesting one. As my sketch has returned, I’ll post it in the taproom when we arrive. Then we’ll see if anyone coming through this week noticed someone speaking or traveling with Alva, on the afternoon of his death. One final precaution, which can’t hurt.”

Charlotte silently agreed, as she looked up to enjoy the voice of a cicada renewing its strident song in the arbor above them.

Upstairs, listening to what he had decided was a most unsettling clatter coming through the window, Montagu hung the damp cloth Diana had dropped by the china basin onto a chair, at the same time asking himself some of the questions being pondered below.

“The ties, if you would, my sweet,” his mate requested.

The captain knelt gallantly to reposition her soft shoes, before fastening their lappets. It was a great pity feet were not often seen, for Diana’s were indeed lovely. He listened to her sighs as he stroked her ankles gently. She reached out for a moment to touch his hair, then stretched for the cloth to wipe the talc from her fingers.

“I’m glad you don’t ask me to sleep at the foot of
your
bed,” she said playfully, watching when he rose to put on the light country coat she’d purchased for him at the summer’s start.

“You need have no fear of that, my love,” her husband returned. “Although once or twice I have contemplated acquiring a switch, like Signor Lahte.” To this, Diana made no reply. Her squint, however, made him put aside the idea, though he believed the practice often did some good.

While she was but a woman, it might just be possible, he supposed, for Diana to summon a thunderbolt to do her bidding, like a goddess—given enough of a goad. And this, the captain told himself, was
one
experience with his changeable wife that he would prefer to avoid.

I
SUGGEST,” SAID
Longfellow as they sat down in a familiar room on the second floor of the Bracebridge Inn, “that we have our lobsters without delay.”

“Please!” said Diana, from her place at her husband’s right hand. “For I’m faint with hunger. Do you have sour cabbage in the kitchen?” She turned to Lydia Pratt, who stood awaiting approval of the day’s bill of fare.

“Sour cabbage?” Lydia returned. “There’s a crock just started, but it’s not far along. I won’t recommend it.”

“I will have some, anyway.” Diana was amused to see the landlady’s expression of disapproval deepen, even beyond what it had been when she learned a servant sat next to his master at table. Turning on her heel, Lydia left them.

“How refreshing to be in a neutral tavern … and a change from Boston,” said Montagu. “More and more,
Richard, that band of renegades makes life uncomfortable at your Green Dragon—where I’ve found I must often go, of late, in the course of my duties.”

“There is a suggestion afloat that they buy the place outright … but I hardly see how you, a fellow Freemason, can complain of it.”

“Your brothers are not mine! The membership of this newer lodge is very unlike St. John’s. That is clear whenever we gather together; yours seems to be largely a collection of volatile and obnoxious riffraff.”

“Under the ancient laws, St. Andrew’s is perfectly correct.”

“So your friend Warren assures me—though for the moment he seems to have left the fold….”

Hearing her physician’s name, Diana turned and spoke to Mrs. Willett.

“Dr. Warren has told me, Charlotte, that I must walk every day—which is quite the opposite of the advice given to Lucy by her man. I did tell you Mrs. Cooper, née Devens, is also—? Well,
her
physician tells her to stay indoors as much as possible, and not to go
near
a coach or chaise! Can you imagine her utter boredom? Warren’s suggestions are better; I’m sure he’s worth the two pounds we’ll pay him. At least, I’m more inclined to listen to him than to Lucy. She is rarely sensible, these days.”

“I spoke with Dr. Warren the night before last,” Longfellow continued to the captain. “When he came out to examine this man you call Sesto Alva. Naturally, your name was mentioned….”

“He took a moment to damn the stamp men as well, I suppose?”

“From what I gather, you’ll soon find yourself even less welcome at the Dragon, if Oliver comes to sell any of the wretched things. But mark my words—these stamps
will end by costing you far more than you’ll ever be able to collect.”

“
That
would hardly surprise me. Boston’s revenue collection is appalling.”

“What are these stamps?” Lahte interrupted. “And why do you so despise them?”

“It is the will of London’s Parliament, Gian Carlo,” Longfellow slowly explained, “that after the first of November, anything written or printed on paper, parchment, or vellum must have an official stamp affixed to it, if it is to be sold or recorded here. For instance, if a man wishes to buy or sell property, if the local innkeeper wants to renew his liquor license, if a fellow plans to bring suit against his neighbor—all will be required to purchase one or more of these paper stamps. It will be the same to sell a newspaper or a magazine. You have heard, Edmund, of the letter our Assembly is sending to each of the others, calling for a general congress to discuss the issue in two months’ time?”

“Who has not! ‘To humbly implore relief’—a lie more honest men would choke on. But there’s little chance a governor of any colony will approve of this affront.”

“That, alone, will hardly deter delegates from going to New York.”

“No …” Montagu’s gaze sharpened. “But have
you
heard of last week’s rioting in Boston, when the life of the secretary of the province was threatened?”

“We do get the odd piece of news here. Yet Oliver’s troubles sound more like summer amusement than anything worse.”

“Amusement! If you believe
that—
!”

“Edmund, I would be grateful if you will not spoil our dinner,” Diana broke in curtly. Her husband ignored her.

“Last Wednesday,” he went on, beginning to glower,
“Andrew Oliver was hung out on a limb of the new-named Liberty Tree! At any rate, his effigy dangled all day from a great elm at Essex and Newbury—along with a paper-and-paste boot, complete with an ugly little devil climbing out of it.”

“A boot?” asked Lahte, clearly confused. “What is the point of a boot?”

“It was meant as a threat to Lord Bute,” returned the captain. “However, since he left His Majesty’s government over two years ago, it is a message that can do little good! This reeks of politics. And we saw the same devil, by the way, last November in the Pope’s Day parade … another well-beloved excuse for violence among the rabble! They cry that government is out to steal their souls, when all that is being asked of them is a little of their coin—all meant to stay in these colonies, and much of it to be used to pay soldiers who remain to protect their lives!”