"Edmund!" she cried, running into her husband's quivering arms.

"My love," he said with something that sounded like a sob, though Longfellow a.s.sumed the captain's voice had merely been m.u.f.fled by his wife's neck, onto which his lips had fallen.

"Now it is my turn to go," said Richard Longfellow, relieved to do so. Quietly, he shut the door on their renewed happiness, and went to see how affairs progressed in the kitchen.

Chapter 21.

THE FIRE IN the farmhouse kitchen had fallen to a comfortable glow, as occasional tongues of flame rose above the red remains of logs. Together for several hours, the two women at the hearth enjoyed a companionable silence. the farmhouse kitchen had fallen to a comfortable glow, as occasional tongues of flame rose above the red remains of logs. Together for several hours, the two women at the hearth enjoyed a companionable silence.

Earlier, they had spoken while Charlotte prepared a supper of eggs and cod, to be followed by a pudding of apples and currants. Magdalene Knowles had walked along the walls, softly touching the china teapot on the sideboard, a polished silver tray, the glazed crock containing dried beans. At last she'd seated herself to stare at the long hunting gun that hung above the fire. Occasionally, she reached a hand to Orpheus, who kept one eye open.

Now Charlotte sat as well. She recalled Diana's warning, then Magdalene's responses to her own brief questions. These had been answered with the directness of a child. Seeking to establish the extent of the woman's understanding, she'd learned that her guest was anything but stupid, whenever her attention could be captured and held. However, it soon seemed to return to a place within her-something Charlotte supposed was not surprising, when one considered Magdalene's life had been more solitary than if she'd lived within a convent's walls.

"Do you have a favorite kind of work?" she asked, after speaking of her own delight in her plantings.

"I ply my needle, to keep our clothes. We have no garden."

Of course, thought Charlotte, for where would they have put one? Magdalene had said, though, that she enjoyed walking about the island, so she must have watched many things grow. Did she also know the place had an odd reputation? Surely, she must have seen the boars. Had she no fear of them? Later, perhaps, she might ask.

"Would you like to help me in my garden one day?" she tried. Magdalene seemed unable to imagine such a thing. It would be a pleasure, in a few months' time, to show her Longfellow's roses.

Charlotte next decided that she must inquire, after all, about that morning.

Magdalene showed no reluctance. She described Lem as he'd appeared at the front door. She had taken him to Catherine, as she'd recently taken Charlotte in. He told them Alexander was dead. Catherine then put him to work. Magdalene went out for a walk as she did each day. She knew nothing more of what went on in the house until she approached it again, and heard Lem calling her. By then he had wrapped Catherine in blankets, and told her to gather a few things of her own, which might serve as the old lady's pillow. He told her they would walk over the ice to the village. It was something she'd often longed to do, but could not.

When asked why that was, her guest became evasive for the first time. Was it, Charlotte asked, because Mrs.

Knowles would not allow it? Magdalene nodded, and added something more.

"How could I go? I had to wait for him." This she would not clarify. Charlotte decided to ask nothing else until she could make more sense of what she already knew.

Only Lem and Magdalene had been on the island when Catherine fell into the fire. If it had been no more than that, there would be nothing else to do about it. But the woman had accused someone of pushing her. Such an action would have amounted to murder. Who could have wished her dead?

Catherine surely possessed a heightened sense of her own importance in the world; no doubt she'd also formed strong opinions about a number of things. Her outward manner had not been pleasant-yet her description of her marriage gave some indication of why she had become embittered. Perhaps it had done more than that? Had Catherine been entirely sane before she died? Since she'd lived with no restraints, and with only one companion of limited abilities, it would hardly have been noticed, had her mind become unbalanced.

The same, she supposed, could be said of Magdalene.

Still, Catherine could have stumbled, causing her own death. Dying, though, she had spoken as if she were sure. sure. Had she been pushed after all? Who could have done it? Not Lem, of course-and no one would imagine he'd had a motive. Even if Old Cat had baited him, as she'd enjoyed teasing Alexander G.o.dwin. Even if Lem had taken offense and lost his temper, and then-? Had she been pushed after all? Who could have done it? Not Lem, of course-and no one would imagine he'd had a motive. Even if Old Cat had baited him, as she'd enjoyed teasing Alexander G.o.dwin. Even if Lem had taken offense and lost his temper, and then-?

Could Magdalene have been capable of such a thing? It was true she'd had a long and difficult servitude. Might she have been overcome, in the end, by an urge to give one savage thrust? Had she the ability to plan? What if she'd somehow come back into the house quietly, meaning to blame someone else for the old woman's death once she'd accomplished it herself? Could Magdalene be clever? No-a woman able to plan would have left Boar Island long before this! Today, she'd not found it difficult to walk to the village.

You, madam, you... find out if the boy was... if... the boy...

Alex G.o.dwin was dead. What other boy was there but Lem? Catherine had not been off the island for years. Who else, Charlotte wondered, might have gone there lately, and especially this morning?

Once again she considered the spoon, and the canvas bag taken up by Constable Dudley, after Lem had put it down by the fire. Might Dudley have carried it off for a reason? As soon as he returned home, the spoons were discovered in their usual place in Rachel Dudley's locked cupboard. If, as Charlotte already suspected, Dudley had first taken the spoons himself, and then lost the one she'd found, he must have decided the best thing to do would be to retrieve the rest. Had someone near the bonfire slipped them into the bag, then, with a nod to alert him?

But it wasn't only the spoons-a good deal of silver, and some pewter too, had gone missing in the last several weeks, in Bracebridge and beyond. What had become of it all? Had it been taken to Boston? If so, why had she found a piece of it on Boar Island?

Lem had told her he'd once been to the island, but he'd discouraged her from returning-as had Ned and Jonah. Hadn't he withheld something else from her lately? For one thing, there was the fact that he was fond of visiting the Bigelows.

Lem had also said there was a house in a hidden part of the island. Hannah had mentioned fires in the night, and phantom torches bobbing along the sh.o.r.eline. Recently, these occurrences seemed to have increased.

What else might happen to a set of spoons, once they were sold? A caudle bowl, part of a silver tea set, a box full of shillings? Melt them down, add some pewter from an old porringer, a dented mug or two, and what would you have then? Something less than silver. And yet, perhaps something more?

Was this this what some men in Bracebridge had been doing lately, keeping it to themselves? Hadn't their wives seen something unusual going on, without being able to put a finger on it? Could Longfellow know? Was that why he'd been avoiding her? And what if Lem and Ned, too-? Did they sometimes meet on Boar Island, a place Alex G.o.dwin visited regularly? She'd supposed he only went up the path to the stone house, and back down again. But what if Alex had begun to suspect something else was happening on another part of the island? Might he have told Catherine Knowles of his suspicions? Or had someone decided to prevent him from doing so? what some men in Bracebridge had been doing lately, keeping it to themselves? Hadn't their wives seen something unusual going on, without being able to put a finger on it? Could Longfellow know? Was that why he'd been avoiding her? And what if Lem and Ned, too-? Did they sometimes meet on Boar Island, a place Alex G.o.dwin visited regularly? She'd supposed he only went up the path to the stone house, and back down again. But what if Alex had begun to suspect something else was happening on another part of the island? Might he have told Catherine Knowles of his suspicions? Or had someone decided to prevent him from doing so?

Her head reeling, Charlotte looked to Magdalene. She had taken daily walks about the place. Might she have known what went on? She must have! But had she the sense to realize it was not only unusual, but against the law? It seemed she'd told Catherine Knowles nothing about it. Did she enjoy keeping secrets?

Magdalene raised her eyes from the fire, sensing something new in the air. And Charlotte began to pose a new series of questions.

"Magdalene, do you recall seeing men on your island?"

"Once, many came. They sang... danced... fought. They came to kill the boars. Then they went away."

"But recently?"

"There was one..."

"Within the past year?"

"One who came for me. He promised to return."

For years, according to Catherine Knowles, Magdalene had waited patiently at the cliff's edge for a lover. Had there been such a man, long ago?

"Magdalene, what was his name?"

"She won't allow it! I can never speak of him. When he looked at me, when he touched me, then, how his eyes would dance! But I know... I'll see him no more. His eyes-his eyes are now my son's."

"You have a son!"

Magdalene turned, her own eyes wide. "He has come back to me," she insisted. "But please, you mustn't say. She would send him away." has come back to me," she insisted. "But please, you mustn't say. She would send him away."

"Magdalene, you do know... that Catherine Knowles is dead?"

"But now that I am here, how will he know where to find me?"

Magdalene sank back. She shook her head slowly, as if she felt the return of a familiar, coursing pain.

Charlotte became aware of a drop in the wind's savage roar. Now it almost sobbed along the eaves. Enticingly, it began to whisper...

Some time later, she looked up to see Magdalene watching the flicker of the fire, her eyes staring, her hands folded in her lap. Loss, thought Charlotte, was something about which she herself knew a great deal. And yet, her own had been nothing like this.

Nothing at all

Chapter 22.

TO THE RELIEF of all but the youngest in the village,.by the next morning the storm had blown itself out, leaving behind only a west wind to cut through the sharp sunlight. Drifts of snow had made a sort of white washboard across much of the village, including its lanes and the two main roads. of all but the youngest in the village,.by the next morning the storm had blown itself out, leaving behind only a west wind to cut through the sharp sunlight. Drifts of snow had made a sort of white washboard across much of the village, including its lanes and the two main roads.

As the villagers emerged from their burdened houses, they found a world fresh and clean, through which teams of oxen pulled heavy sledges to compact the snow. Everyone, it seemed, was eager to be out, wishing to trade stories, and suspicions that had been born in the night. To this end not a few bundled themselves up and headed for the Blue Boar across the village bridge. Others took a different direction, stomping uphill and then through the welcoming door of the Bracebridge Inn, proceeding to the taproom to find an audience that was more civilized than the one found in the rival tavern.

Still others, mostly women and girls, made their way to nearby houses where they found chattering companions; together, they then ventured further afield, frequently stopping at the shop of Emily Bowers.

A lone woman and her dog had the best view of the dazzling new blanket that lay over the broad marshes and the town, below a wind-whipped sky. All of this she admired, as her skirts plowed a path from her farmhouse down to the lower abode of Richard Longfellow.

Though covered from head to toe, Charlotte shied at a gust that raised crystals of ice in a fierce flurry, then sp.a.w.ned smaller devils that skittered off across the buried herb beds. While the air was exhilarating, she began to wish she'd taken the road after all, as she encountered a drift that came up to her waist. She might have led one of the cows out of the barn after milking, and walked behind with a switch-but that had seemed less than kind. She smiled, too, at the thought of reaching Richard Longfellow's door with an unexpected guest, its bell clanging to warn of their arrival.

Even Orpheus, who'd started by frolicking at her side, had now decided to follow her, easing his steps and avoiding the biting wind. Somehow she hadn't felt comfortable with the thought of leaving him with Magdalene, though she doubted her guest would rise before her return. More than once, she'd awakened in the long night to hear the other woman pacing the floorboards above. Magdalene might well need extra sleep, after the frightful day she'd endured.

Reaching Longfellow's back door, Charlotte opened it to step into a cool kitchen. No one was there. She wondered if she could be too early for the household. But the fire had been stirred. She removed her outer wrappings, and left them at the hearth. Then she walked through the hall to Longfellow's study.

This, too, was empty, and as yet had no fire. She supposed he could have decided to take his coffee in the sunny front parlor. As she walked on to the front hall, she heard low voices, and her nose informed her that coffee was nearby.

"Good morning," she said boldly at the parlor door, intending to make her presence known before she overheard what seemed to be a close conversation. She saw two men holding china cups, leaning forward in their chairs so that their heads nearly touched. They turned at the sound of her voice. One rose quickly-the other took his time.

"Edmund?" she asked in amazement. "How is it that you're here?"

"Good morning, Mrs. Willett! You didn't know I'd been summoned?"

The captain came and took her hand and kissed it gently. She went further, inviting him briefly into her arms.

"He sent for you?" she then asked, while her neighbor watched with an expression she could not quite understand.

"Richard? Yes. I presumed you knew that. Have you two had a falling out?" Their silence caused Edmund to nod slowly. "Possibly an oversight."

"It was intentional, Carlotta, I'm sorry to say," Longfellow offered.

"There's no need to tell me anything you wish to keep secret," she said. But her look a.s.sured him she was not entirely easy.

"I have never never wished-" he began. Recalling his own injured feelings, he reconsidered. "Perhaps I did. But only after... well, the truth is I sent Edmund a message on Tuesday. It had to do with something odd I found by the ice-a piece of silver." wished-" he began. Recalling his own injured feelings, he reconsidered. "Perhaps I did. But only after... well, the truth is I sent Edmund a message on Tuesday. It had to do with something odd I found by the ice-a piece of silver."

He watched a flush of crimson mounting Charlotte's cheeks, as if he'd touched on something to embarra.s.s her. What that might have been, he could not imagine. Perhaps, he thought, she would tell him later.

"I wasn't sure," he continued. "And I thought you might already know about it, at any rate."

"Know about what?" what?" she demanded. "I've begun to feel I know very little lately-and, that there's a good deal you've not told she demanded. "I've begun to feel I know very little lately-and, that there's a good deal you've not told me me. I have been forming my own ideas. But how," she added as a new thought rushed into her head, "could you have known on Tuesday of either of the-of either death?"

"I didn't." Her neighbor paused, considering her precise choice of words. Then he plunged on. "I presume you can keep a secret, Carlotta. Will you keep the one I'm about to tell you?"

"Of course, if you ask me to."

"All right, then. First, let's all sit down. Would you like some coffee? Here-take mine. By the way, did you see anyone in the kitchen when you came in?"

"No. Where are the others?" she asked, entering the covert spirit of the discussion she'd interrupted.

"Diana is still in bed," said Edmund Montagu. "Reed, as well." He brought a third chair, and sat beside her.

"Cicero," said Longfellow, "is out in the gla.s.s house, stoking the stove. Lem should still be shoveling out front." He looked through the window, and was satisfied to see the young man at his task. While the wind took some of each raised shovelful of snow, the rest was tossed to one side of a lengthening pa.s.sage.

"I've had several aggravating moments recently," Longfellow admitted as he came to sit with the others. "But the thing that united my growing suspicions was this." From his waistcoat, he produced a shilling. He gave it to Charlotte.

She took the coin and examined it briefly. Then, looking straight into her neighbor's eyes, she held them.

"Is it counterfeit?"

"A lightning conclusion, Carlotta. Unless you know something else that led you in that direction. Something you have yet to tell me?"

Instead of answering, she turned to the captain with a question of her own.

"Edmund, is this this why you've come? And not for Diana's sake? Are you, too, interested in this silver?" why you've come? And not for Diana's sake? Are you, too, interested in this silver?"

"Yes and no," he answered truthfully. "I will admit I was glad to have another reason to visit. My wife, you see, bolted from our home, leaving only the briefest message for me to find. From what little it said, and its vehemence, I had to a.s.sume she had no wish for me to follow."

"Oh-I'm sorry."

"After we had watched one another suffer for several weeks, I truly believed that a separation might help both of us to mend. It was necessary to let some things settle, I supposed, before we could hope to begin again, on better footing."

"I should have told you earlier how-how affected Richard and I both were, to hear of your loss," Charlotte told him earnestly.

"You both must know..." The captain looked now to Longfellow. "We all fear losing what we love one day. It's a hard thing, but loss must be felt by all whose lives are not very lonely. Or very brief, as my son's was. I hope Diana learns to accept this."

"Perhaps she already has, to some extent," said Longfellow. "But you'll not mention to my sister that I called Edmund for quite another reason, Carlotta?"

"I suspect you only found a roundabout way to be helpful. You could have waited a while, after all, before calling for a.s.sistance. I wonder what will happen now that you have," she finished, a new concern in her voice.

"What will happen, do you mean, to our good villagers? That remains to be seen. But if you, too, have felt as if you were kept in the dark, then just how did you learn of this criminal scheme?"

Charlotte started at the beginning, telling them- though she was thoroughly sick of doing so-of her recent visit to Boar Island. She saw the two men grasp the arms of their chairs while she briefly mentioned falling through the ice. They remained speechless as she went on to describe her visit with Mrs. Knowles, and her observations of Magdalene's circ.u.mstances.

The discovery of the silver spoon beneath the landing seemed the culmination of her story. But she a.s.sured them a little breathlessly that this was not all. She'd learned that it belonged to Rachel Dudley, who'd lost several others-though every one had now, mysteriously, come back to her. She'd also been told that women from Bracebridge to Concord had found silver or pewter objects missing within the last few months. Each, however, had been discouraged by her husband from accusing anyone of a crime.

"Small wonder!" Longfellow finally exclaimed. "For I don't doubt their husbands were responsible! Never was much 'lost' or taken, I presume-and what was gone would soon have come back to the household in newly struck shillings, each remarkably close to the real thing. This one I suppose, like many others, is mixed with pewter-tin, a little copper, more lead-debased enough in value to earn each of those who partic.i.p.ate in the scheme some small profit."

"But how did you you know?" she asked, examining the shilling she held between her fingers more closely. "It seems to me no different from any other." know?" she asked, examining the shilling she held between her fingers more closely. "It seems to me no different from any other."

Holding the coin so that it caught the strong sunlight, she saw the familiar profile of the late king, large pouches under the eye and chin, a laurel wreath resting atop long curls. She read around the curved edge, "GEORGIVS II DEI GRATIA."