Too Soon for Flowers (26 page)

“What have we here?” asked Montagu, marveling to
himself once more at the richness and abundance of the colonial diet.

“Lemon cake with beaten cream, and peaches preserved in rum,” said Charlotte, while Longfellow helped her to sit.

“The captain has been telling us we will soon be asked by Mr. Grenville to pay him, Carlotta, for a marriage in Massachusetts. What do you say to that?”

“It is extremely kind of Mr. Grenville to offer himself, yet I wonder if any of us could manage to pay what he’s worth. Unless, of course, he might consent to a raffle?”

It seemed that a gnat had flown into the captain’s mouth, for he suddenly coughed into his sleeve.

“I believe, Mrs. Willett,” said Edmund Montagu, once he’d recovered, “that your grasp of finance might well put our Chancellor of the Exchequer to shame. Let me help you to a plate of cake and cream, and we’ll try to talk of something more likely to challenge you.”

And so the gentlemen spent another pleasant hour amusing Mrs. Willett with lively conversation, while each studied the other, and asked himself why he was the only one able to successfully combine poise, tolerance, and intelligence, all in one go.

H
ANNAH SLOAN SET
down the basket that held their supper, without so much as lifting the cloth to examine its contents. It was an unusual omission for a woman long devoted to food.

“Have you heard anything at all of the boy?” Mrs. Willett asked, glad to sit for a moment by her own hearth. She was pleased to see that the plump face before her had regained some of its usual color, though its owner still seemed strangely distant.

Hannah looked away, replying with a question of her own. “Do
you
think Will is hiding for the reason the rest believe?”

“I don’t know what the rest believe,” Charlotte replied, “but I am still sure he will come back when he’s ready.”

“It’s as if he’s vanished from the earth,” Hannah whispered.
She lowered herself onto a three-legged stool, and began to mound the coals under the kettle with a fire shovel. “At least, no one has offered proof against him.”

“How could they? We’ve seen what there was to see. What else could point to him?”

“For one family in Concord, at least, a lack of anyone else to point to,” Hannah responded.

It was true. The longer Phoebe’s death was left without an official conclusion, the more likely it was that others would seek their own explanations.

Neither spoke for several moments. It occurred to Charlotte that Hannah still could not bring herself to mention Phoebe, though after three days it would have seemed only natural to do so. Finally, a cock crowed in the yard behind the house, breaking the silence.

“I suppose,” Hannah said soon after, “Reverend Rowe took a few to task in his sermon this morning.”

“At least we were spared hearing it firsthand. You see, there are always some things for which we can be grateful.”

“You’d better go and tell Lem his supper’s here. His appetite’s come back, and I think he slept well. The spots look less angry.”

“I’m glad for that.”

“With the itch, he’s asking for a bath. Do you think it would do any harm?”

“Not as long as he dries gently, so he doesn’t dislodge the scabs. You might pull down a little dried lavender from the corner, and add it to the water.”

“I’ll make sure he doesn’t use a flannel. It will be good to fuss over somebody. The Lord knows there’s nothing I can do for the lady from Boston, other than stay out of her way.”

“Has Diana been unkind?”

“Miss Longfellow is far too busy for that, with all of the comings and goings, and eternally having to change her
dress and hair. Too busy to talk with a lowly body in the kitchen, I suppose,” Hannah added petulantly, causing Charlotte to suspect the woman’s long-held distaste for town ways currently mingled with something more personal.

“It won’t be much longer,” she said, before thinking of a happy piece of news. “Your young Henry is quite good at milking.”

“He’s proud of it, too,” said Hannah, looking directly at Mrs. Willett for the first time that day. “He told me as much through the window this morning, while I was giving him his tasks. He’s a good boy, and no doubt of it,” she concluded, adjusting her large bodice to keep her pride in place.

“With the summer’s work coming, we might find more for him to do. If you agree?” Charlotte watched the woman lower her head and look into the basket with feigned interest. She knew without having seen them that tears welled in Hannah Sloan’s anxious eyes. When, she wondered—and just how—would it all finally end?

“IF SHE WANTED
to talk, she might have
said
something,” said Diana haughtily. “I had no idea the woman might condescend to speak to me!”

“She probably thinks you’re well beyond her in the art of conversation,” Charlotte responded. She glanced around her study with a wave of regret for having given it up, even for a good cause.

“That is obviously quite true—but it doesn’t mean I make a practice of neglecting to do a sociable thing, when one is called for,” Diana retorted. “I will try to make her more cheerful one way or another, for she has become very sullen lately, for some reason.”

“I’ve just spoken to Lem, and he seems much better….”

“That is what I thought, when I had a peek at him earlier.
Though there is really not much to see, which I find a little disappointing. My case, however, is best, for I have no symptoms at all.”

“It could be that your time hasn’t come,” Charlotte suggested, but Miss Longfellow only threw back her head and yawned. “I’ve brought you some of our lamb, and fritters and peas, for anyone who feels like eating.”

“Oh, good! I have a ferocious appetite in the country, though this spring air does seem to be making me feel tired. I only wish I could get some exercise! When I escape this place, I mean to find a ball to attend, if I have to ride as far as Connecticut. By the way, it would seem Mr. Pelham would like to take me off with him, on some sort of adventure.”

“He told you so?” asked Charlotte, startled by the idea.

“Just this morning. We spoke of traveling, and of spending his money freely and gaily! He has been much maligned, Charlotte, by some in town.”

“So I gather.”

“But I find him extremely solicitous—especially in contrast with others from whom I expected more sympathy.”

“Do you mean your brother, or someone different?”

“Both of them. Lately, Edmund has been the ruder of the two.” Playing with a finger ring, Diana suddenly dropped it. She swooped gracefully to reach under the bed. Rising, she considered a second object she had also collected. “Strange,” she commented. Then she tossed it playfully to Mrs. Willett. “What do you think?”

“It seems to be a pellet of bread. The remains of a skirmish?” Charlotte asked, imagining Lem and Will Sloan at war.

“Well, it will only bring ants here. You keep it,” Diana commanded. Then she lay back, as Charlotte dropped the
small, hard object absently into her pocket. “What else did Mr. Pelham say to you?” she asked.

“He told me stories of his travels, which were odd enough to make me laugh a great deal! And we talked of you. Yes, we did! David thinks you are unusual. I imagine he is now also a little afraid of you.”

“Why?” Mrs. Willett asked with a sinking feeling.

“You know how gentlemen retreat when they discover any real intelligence in a woman. I told him you are something like the Oracle at Delphi, for suggesting things. He does not quite admit it,” Diana went on more slowly, “but I began to believe he suspects Phoebe’s death might have been something out of the ordinary.”

“Well—”Charlotte began.

“Oh, I know, of course it is. But I think he suspects she could have been
murdered!
Though I have also begun to think Mr. Pelham tends to imagine things. Certain feelings, for instance …”

“Murdered—by whom?”

“That is for you to determine, my dear
Sibylla
, if it is true. The less I know of your villagers and their doings, the happier I shall be! But perhaps it was all only a game of make-believe, after all. Heaven knows Mr. Pelham, too, finds the country dismal—except, of course, for me.”

“I’m sure,” Mrs. Willett answered lightly. But disquiet now lay beneath her ready smile. To be an oracle, she recalled from her reading, required accepting help from the underworld, perhaps in the form of vapors tinged with the smell of brimstone. Was that what her neighbors, some of them highly superstitious, now needed to hear?

But in truth, pondering a murder did take one far from the sunlight, into regions where human pain could challenge even a strong sense of goodness, by putting the inherent worth of mankind into doubt.
Was
she again prepared to investigate such a possibility? Would anyone
believe her if she should arrive at an unpleasant answer? Or, in fact, were there others, like Hannah, who felt uneasy as well, but refused to say their fears aloud?

These unsettling thoughts soon sent Charlotte Willett back across her garden, to spend another quiet hour alone.

AFTER THE SUPPER
plates were put away, Hannah heated water enough to mix a warm bath by the kitchen hearth. Then she called out to Lem that all was ready.

Obviously mortified, he left his room wearing only a shirt, which scarcely reached his knees. He had given up his hose and pants because of the torment he’d lately had to endure. Now he walked to the bath, and waited for Hannah Sloan to go away.

“Go ahead, climb in,” said Hannah, enjoying the sight before her.

The young man had not anticipated this problem. He cursed his luck, and remained where he was.

“I’ve raised five sons, and I didn’t get any of them from a chimney stork! If I haven’t seen what you’ve got, it’ll be quite a surprise for us all.”

“Turn your back, at least,” Lem pleaded, and Hannah, with a mother’s sympathy, did as she was asked. She turned again when she heard his body sink as far as his long limbs allowed, while he slopped bathwater onto a square of oilcloth laid over the pine floor.

“Now, mind what I said about scrubbing! Let the water soothe your skin awhile. You won’t need soap, since you bathed before this whole thing started. Does it feel better?”

The boy nodded, closing his eyes in blissful relief.

“Not too hot?”

Lem shook his head.

“I’ll pour more water from the kettle as you need it.”

“It’s fine!”

“All right, then. I’ll go back to my mending.”

On her way to her chair, Hannah looked with amusement at the back of the boy’s head, and watched him relax even farther into the herb-scented bath. But Lem’s contentment was not to last. In another instant, the door to the room opened and Diana Longfellow walked in, holding a tin in her hand.

“I thought you might each enjoy a shortbread,” she said. Her eyes widened when she heard a squeak and a splash. Try as he might, Lem could not manage to submerge much more of himself. He counted on one hand to do whatever duty it could in the bath, while his other frantically caught at the shirt that was scarcely within reach.

“I didn’t realize … ! But, no matter. I’ve seen my brother in the bath several times, and he never seemed to mind much, so I don’t imagine you should, either. Though washing that shirt while you’re in there is probably not a bad idea.”

“Miss—” Lem replied in a whisper, wrapping himself into what he’d decided was his best defensive position, given the bleak situation.

“Here, have a cookie. I’ll turn my head away while I come over—no, you must have one, at least. If I eat them all, I’ll be so plump when I leave I’ll rival one of your old hens, and I will have to order wider corsets to hold my stays. I really came in to talk to you, Hannah. Do you think, considering the circumstances, that we might move into the other room, and leave the man of our little household to recover himself?”

“If there’s something wrong—” said Hannah.

“No, nothing at all! I only thought that with no one else to speak to—of your own sex, at least—well, I thought you might be willing to chat for a while. If you can find the time.”