Within a quarter of an hour, a donation of ale had, indeed, come his way, though its main purpose was to move him out of his comfortable chair and onto a nearby bench. With his book and elbows resting on the rough planks of the table before him, Jack watched Mr. Flint and Mr. Tinder begin their morning. Soon, they began to discuss a few of Otranto's many mysteries.

"Read the prophecy once more, Jack," Mr. Flint requested, pulling anew on his long pipe of white clay. The little man ruffled the pages back to the beginning, and read slowly and carefully.

"'The castle and lordship of Otranto should pa.s.s from the present family, whenever the real owner should be grown too large to inhabit it.'

"Too large," Flint said thoughtfully. "Round, do you think?" He patted his own girth, situated today beneath a pair of flannel under-vests. "I hardly see-"

"Quite a bit bigger than that, I'd say," Jack answered. "One fellow has a leg said to fill an entire room!"

"A metaphor, then," Mr. Tinder surmised, drinking in smoke more quickly. "Occasionally men become too big for the comfort comfort of their fellows. Most especially, when they've been inflated by listening to puff-praise!" of their fellows. Most especially, when they've been inflated by listening to puff-praise!"

"Yes, indeed," Flint agreed. "Like many in Boston these days, friend and foe alike."

"And in London," Tinder added sagely. "In palaces and Parliament. I sometimes wonder if they will run out of room in Britain, and begin to push one another off their little island." in London," Tinder added sagely. "In palaces and Parliament. I sometimes wonder if they will run out of room in Britain, and begin to push one another off their little island."

"Do you imagine our lords may become cursed like Otranto, Mr. Tinder, if they will not give over Ma.s.sachusetts to her rightful heirs, one day?"

"A good many curse them regularly now, I believe," answered Tinder jovially. "And I would not be surprised to see a few more evicted quite handily, as was poor Mr. Hutchinson. The governor already seems to prefer the safety and society of Castle William, out among the lobsters!" Both chuckled at their humorous remarks, though they verged on treason.

Jack did not entirely understand the new drift of the conversation. But he agreed that many in Boston seemed to care little for the interests of the rest of the colony.

Still, he would say no ill against the Bostonian he knew best, who'd moved in among them, and had yesterday paid for today's breakfast. While he went on with his description of the novel's plot, the older men re-loaded their pipes, and continued to smoke in a contented fashion.

"But why," Jack asked eventually, "do you think this helmet fell out of the sky, on top of Prince Conrad? And what got it up in the air in the first place?"

"The wind today is liable to send several things up and down again," said Flint, who watched the trees bending outside. "Mark my words!"

"But it will not move a statue," said Tinder, who thought more deeply on the question. "Could it be, Jack, that there was a war on, nearby? Did Mr. Walpole mention that? Gunpowder could have been used to blow the thing apart. Perhaps this helmet, with its bouncing black feathers, was. .h.i.t by a cannon ball? I know for a fact such missiles may take the head of a man off quite cleanly, if they come in at the proper angle. Though I've not seen a statue with feathers in all all my travels." my travels."

"It may have something to do with the great arm," Jack said finally.

"Where does that come into it?"

"A little further, after the head has fallen, leaving behind the mangled remains."

"Oof, that's a nasty thought," said another tavern regular. "On an empty stomach, especially." d.i.c.k Craft had entered a few moments earlier and planted himself by his old friend Jack, whom he knew to be in funds.

"Now this great arm," Jack went on, "stood up by itself, and hung on to the rail next to the stairs. It was inside some armor-"

"Armor!" Flint repeated with new a.s.surance. "That could explain a part of it, too. When wet, it tends to lock up, you see. There was one suit-badly damaged by sea salt, it was, years ago, when John Fisher brought it over. Rusted during the crossing. Standing yet at the old house, I suppose. Heard of it from old Mr. Jones-never saw it myself. But what else can you tell us of this Otranto, Jack?" he finished, sucking the dregs in his pipe.

"Well, there's quite a lot about marriage, and how you might trade an old wife for a new one."

"A useful sort of knowledge," Tinder returned. "I believe that is a thing far more difficult to accomplish in the Popish countries, or even in Britain, than here. a.s.suming of course one has some reason. Marriage here is a civil proposition, while on the other side of the water it is yet the business of the clergy-as is the case with divorce. Now there, separations are favored; but here, most realize the parties might well get up to a great deal of mischief that way, so that we prefer-"

"There is also a young lady who's stabbed, and dies," Jack interrupted.

"Is there?" Flint asked, warming to this new idea. "That is sad, very sad. Most often in books they are only abused, though sometimes it goes on for years, until it seems their woes are worse than Job's! And when they are saved at last, it is seen as a reward for steadfast goodness."

"Not in Otranto," Jack a.s.sured him. "Though I couldn't keep track of all all the women-or the men, come to that. Some are n.o.ble, and some are not, but that keeps changing, too. All at once, an old friar is revealed to be the Count of Falconara! And then, it's learned Saint Nicholas has left something buried under a tree-" the women-or the men, come to that. Some are n.o.ble, and some are not, but that keeps changing, too. All at once, an old friar is revealed to be the Count of Falconara! And then, it's learned Saint Nicholas has left something buried under a tree-"

"And what is that?"

"It is an enormous sword..." Jack paused for a much needed pull at his tankard, for his head had begun to throb.

"Convenient for the giant hand and great arm," said Tinder, smiling. "It all seems to remind me, at least the way you tell it, Jack, of a Mr. Shandy and his Uncle Toby."

"Then at the very end-"

d.i.c.k Craft spoke up in amazement. "What! Have you got there already, Jack? You only started yesterday!"

"Last night," Jack admitted, "I found I'd opened up the wrong cover-then, by turning the whole thing the other way round, I found myself far advanced. I took it as a sign, of sorts. But as I was saying, at the very end there's wind and thunder, and people falling on their faces out of fear, and Saint Nicholas comes out of the clouds and takes up the ghost from the picture gallery. Finally the castle's new owner-for by then Duke Manfred has gone off to a convent-then, the new owner marries, hoping that his wife will help him to, to..." (here, Jack read from the final page) "to 'indulge the melancholy that had taken possession of his soul.' 'indulge the melancholy that had taken possession of his soul.' And there is the end of it." And there is the end of it."

"A gloomy ending," said Tinder reprovingly, moving his shoes, which had begun to steam, away from the hearth. "Though it could be the wife was happy, I imagine. Women often often enjoy a swoon, or a cry. They are such sentimental creatures..." enjoy a swoon, or a cry. They are such sentimental creatures..."

"But why do you think they all stayed in this castle, sir, if living there brought such terrible luck?" asked Jack.

"A good question," said Flint. "When they could have come here, where very little of this sort of thing happens. At least in my experience."

"Except, perhaps, on Boar Island?" asked a young farmer from Lexington, who'd earlier wandered over to listen. He was known to the company, but he was not a confidant, and so could hardly have been surprised when they only stared back. "I've heard," the smiling man went on, "it is a place where odd things often happen. It houses spirits, it's said. Demons, are they? And it is supposed to have wondrous decorations, like this armor you mention, sir. Can you tell me what else might be there?"

"Never you mind," said Phineas Wise, going by with a tray and tankards. No one else ventured anything more. Having been rebuffed enough, the farmer took up his pewter vessel and left them. said Phineas Wise, going by with a tray and tankards. No one else ventured anything more. Having been rebuffed enough, the farmer took up his pewter vessel and left them.

"The fewer who know what's on the island, the safer those women will be," Tinder commented belatedly to the customer's back.

"d.a.m.ned foolish, if you ask me, them living there alone." This conclusion came from Samuel Sloan, who'd crowded in at the table nearest to the fire; moments before, he'd set down linen for the sleeping rooms upstairs, which his daughters had washed. "Far better for us if Old Cat and Mad Maud would come down from there, and go off to live in Boston. Though they're peculiar, they would find plenty of company in that place, I'm sure!"

"It would be safer," d.i.c.k Craft agreed.

"Do you mean, d.i.c.k, because of the sh-sh-sh-?"

What Jack had begun to ask was swiftly stopped by a kick from Samuel Sloan's boot, given under the table. Jack let out a yelp; Flint and Tinder looked at one another and clicked their tongues. Somewhat chastened, Jack dipped his head, then gave a few sidelong glances to see what damage had been done.

"Don't go too far, Pennywort," Samuel Sloan growled a moment later, after he'd surveyed the other customers. "Or it could be all of our skins, and not just your own hide." Seeing the unfortunate effect of his words-for Jack now seemed about to weep into his third serving of ale-he raised a finger and pointed to the landlord, letting him know who would pay for another. "Only keep what you've learned under your hat, won't you, lad?" he added.

Jack snuffled, and brought forth a smile.

Further comment was interrupted when someone flung open the front door, letting in the wind and a stupendous piece of news.

"There's a body in the reverend's cellar!" The speaker was Amos Flagg, a cobbler who lived by the common.

"What?" came from many throats, as everyone sat up and stared.

"Brought in just now by Mr. Longfellow and Mrs. Willett-both of them in with Reverend Rowe. And who do you think it is?"

"Who?" called Mr. Flint in a high, excited voice, asking for them all.

"It's Alexander G.o.dwin-frozen solid!"

This caused a somewhat lower muttering to begin. Strangely, thought Phineas Wise, who now stood by the ale barrels, one or two even seemed to hide slight smiles. Watching looks pa.s.s from man to man, the landlord felt a doubled pang of uneasiness.

"How?" a voice called out.

It seemed that the cobbler had not explored as fully as he'd intended, once he'd gone down and lifted the tarpaulin, to stare into a frost-flecked face with clouded, bulging eyes. He shrugged as he told the little more he knew.

"Can't say for sure. But he was a big, healthy boy, and he wasn't ill, was he? Nearly knocked someone down just yesterday! And he's laid out flat, so I doubt he died of cold. Though he's frostbound now." now."

Before much longer, several men had decided to go and examine the body more closely; a small party formed at the door, then went out together. But by that time others had gone out quietly on the same mission, through the kitchen in back. More simply sat, and by the looks on their faces, there was a general idea that the young man's death had been no accident.

No one, thought Phineas Wise, had yet mentioned murder. But had they a.s.sumed otherwise?

"Mr. Wise," said Jack Pennywort, his voice unsteady, his face unusually pale as he brought his poor foot from under the table.

"Yes, Jack?"

"I think I shall go, now. W-w-will you sell me a b-b-bottle of brandy, to take along? I have another sh-sh-sh-" It seemed he could not bring himself to utter the word, though he set a fresh coin on the table.

The landlord picked up the shilling, studied it intently, and gave it back.

"I think not. Go home, Jack," he said kindly. This only gave the little man further distress, and he began to whimper.

The landlord scratched his stubbled cheek solemnly, and said a silent prayer for them all.

Chapter 13.

WHEN THEY LEFT Reverend Rowe's stone house Charlotte watched the minister walk off in one direction, while Longfellow and Constable Dudley took another. She chose a third, glad that she didn't have far to go. Reverend Rowe's stone house Charlotte watched the minister walk off in one direction, while Longfellow and Constable Dudley took another. She chose a third, glad that she didn't have far to go.

She walked for a few moments toward the river on the main road, then turned into a narrow lane. Beneath bare elms at the corner stood the freshly painted house of Hiram and Emily Bowers. She followed a flagstone path to its Dutch door, recalling that Hiram would be off in Salem, for a brother there had recently fallen ill. Emily had informed her of this, standing before shelves full of odds and ends, when she'd paid a visit to purchase five pounds of dried cherries. Information, after all, was something Emily Bowers handled as often as provisions.

Not everything she heard, of course, was pa.s.sed on to everyone. Speculating who who might wish to know might wish to know what what was something requiring tact from a woman in her position, Emily herself was often heard to say. While some were eager for every little tidbit, others, including Mrs. Willett, were more particular. was something requiring tact from a woman in her position, Emily herself was often heard to say. While some were eager for every little tidbit, others, including Mrs. Willett, were more particular.

Emily's eyes lit up as Charlotte entered the low room in front of the family's quarters. Clearly, she had something of interest to discuss. She put a hand on Charlotte's arm, and ushered her to one of a pair of padded benches covered in new chintz, next to the hearth. This was lately improved by the addition of an inset stove, which roared a welcome of its own.

"How was the pie?" Emily inquired.

"Once he'd eaten three helpings, Lem paused to tell me it was quite good. I enjoyed it as well."

"I thought so. The best fruit we've seen in some weeks..."

Charlotte nodded, readying herself for the match.

"It's not the first time I've heard that young man's name mentioned today," Emily informed her softly, her eyes glittering, like a squirrel's.

"Oh?"

"I see by your face that what I've heard may be true! What has Lem got to do with the death of Alex G.o.dwin?"

"But how-!"

"I don't believe what some are saying, of course- even if the two of them did have a scuffle yesterday. Nothing more than high spirits, I'm sure. And drink, perhaps. A good many took too much, it seems. Two or three ladies have already been in this morning to complain of it. I couldn't go off to the ice with Hiram away, but I did hear that you, Mrs. Willett, and Mr. Longfellow, were there-and that you went back early this morning to haul the body down into Reverend Rowe's cellar! As soon as you went in to speak with him, Amos Flagg went to see who it was, but he wouldn't stay to find out how how he died. The poor boy! Is there anything more you're at liberty to tell?" he died. The poor boy! Is there anything more you're at liberty to tell?"

Charlotte supposed there was no point in keeping back the rest, when it would soon be known to all. She wondered what Emily would think when she learned the truth. Taking a deep breath, she decided to find out.

"Oh, shocking!" Emily returned a minute later, though she did not seem to find the situation completely so. "All men, Reverend Rowe so often points out to us, are sinners... yet some to a far far greater extent than others. One thing is sure-John Dudley won't be happy to be constable this day! But what are you going to do?" greater extent than others. One thing is sure-John Dudley won't be happy to be constable this day! But what are you going to do?"

"How do you mean?"

"I suppose you could get Henry back; after this, Lem can hardly stay with you. How my heart goes out to him! After all, he is one of us-though the G.o.dwin boy was, too. Still, his family moved away so many years ago. And when he came back, it surely wasn't to be sociable! I hope he spoke more to the old women on the island than he did to the rest of us here."

"Lem has gone there this morning," Charlotte said calmly.

"To the island, Mrs. Willett?" For the first time, Emily Bowers showed real surprise.

"Without Alexander, who is there to a.s.sist them?"

"I hadn't thought of that. Who else would would go up there? Not that it's far-yet who among us would feel welcome? And you know what they've said about the place for generations." go up there? Not that it's far-yet who among us would feel welcome? And you know what they've said about the place for generations."

"That it's haunted?"

"As if such things could happen, these days," Emily sniffed. "But some do say they've seen things to make them wonder. Then again, those who live off to the north of the village tend to be less sensible than the rest of us, as you well know. With their country ways."

"Did Alexander see anything unusual, I wonder?" Charlotte murmured, almost as if she thought aloud.

"Not that I know of, dear. And I know he was asked just that by Frances, long ago-I speak of my husband's sister, you know, who took the young man in when she felt she needed something more of a nest egg. She does have that house all to herself. He wouldn't pay much, but at least he was well behaved, for the most part."

"It's difficult to imagine, isn't it, that he could have made such an enemy?"

"Well, I have heard some speak ill of him. He did have an unpleasant way of holding himself, as if he were far above the rest of the world. He came in here occasionally to buy for our Island Ladies, as I like to call them. Not much, for it seems most of what they need is sent down from the north-but when he did come in, Mr. G.o.dwin could not be bothered to pa.s.s the time of day. He was certainly certainly no gentleman, I thought, for all his airs, and the lace and feathers on his old hats. As he always dressed in cast-offs, you'd think he'd have had no gentleman, I thought, for all his airs, and the lace and feathers on his old hats. As he always dressed in cast-offs, you'd think he'd have had some some humility. But have I said too much?" humility. But have I said too much?"

"Well..." Charlotte began.

"They say he had hopes of having the whole island to himself one day, and not just the pittance they gave him instead of decent wages, which would hardly feed that old horse of his. You didn't know that? Oh yes, old Mrs. Knowles counts her pennies! He even had to beg for money from his family, my sister supposed, to pay her... he'd come riding back with the cash, and a few other things young men will spend their money on, which I don't think to offer here-as you know, I buy goods mostly for ladies. But with that great lady worth more than all of the rest of us put together, I ask you! Well, the wealthy are often the last to part with bra.s.s or or silver. In England, I hear, accounts for gentlemen are settled but once a year, if that! I'm glad to say we have far better manners here! Who can live on promises, after all? Though they seemed nearly enough for Alexander. The hot blood of youth, Mrs. Willett-that's what gives me the shivers to think of. Who do silver. In England, I hear, accounts for gentlemen are settled but once a year, if that! I'm glad to say we have far better manners here! Who can live on promises, after all? Though they seemed nearly enough for Alexander. The hot blood of youth, Mrs. Willett-that's what gives me the shivers to think of. Who do you you think is responsible?" think is responsible?"

"I've no idea," Charlotte answered, suspecting Emily had already made a guess.

"None? None at all?"

"Not at the moment. But should I hear anything-"

"Yes, do let me know. How often it's left to the women in this village to set things straight."

"There's something else, Emily-something I've been hoping to ask you."