Too Soon for Flowers (31 page)

Yet one thing more wanted doing, to settle Montagu’s immediate curiosity. He continued through the book until he found the notation for the prescription given to Miss Morris. This, he was surprised to see, was only a simple grease salve, enhanced with pitch and camphor.

As he was about to depart, Montagu noticed a letter tucked into a nook of the desk, above the rest of its clutter. It was addressed to Dr. Tucker; however, its waxed seal
was unbroken. Surely, it had come here during the man’s recent absence, and had been placed there, in all probability, by his landlady. The captain was surprised to see, upon breaking the seal, that the sheet contained no writing, but only a second sheet, folded and sealed as well—this letter addressed to Richard Longfellow, of Bracebridge!

After giving the new matter a bit of thought, Captain Montagu slipped the second letter beneath his coat. Then he took up both of the record books and thrust them under his arm, before gladly leaving Benjamin Tucker’s pinched little world behind.

AT THE SAME
moment, Diana Longfellow sat in her chamber attempting to soothe her frayed emotions, as a new wail rose in Mrs. Willett’s kitchen. She listened to Will Sloan’s strident insistence and his mother’s flat denial—it mattered little what this new issue was, for they had found several to argue over already that morning. When the commotion settled down, the awful noise overhead could again be heard—for Lem had retreated to Diana’s former bedchamber, where he paced heavily over complaining floorboards.

The only pleasure allowed Miss Longfellow this morning was the company of David Pelham, who sat smiling at her despite the intolerable distraction all around them. But even this one pleasure, thought Diana as she frowned ominously, was beginning to pall. And as she had correctly imagined the night before when she’d seen the vile boy again, Will was to be a continuing torment to them all! She was almost sorry that a rest had lowered his fever. This, Diana thought for the twentieth time, was more than one could be expected to stomach! What was worse, her head had begun to ache fiercely, and her skin to prick
with irritation. All in all, it was not a day on which she was pleased to suffer fools gladly!

Looking to Mr. Pelham, she saw that he, too, had heard the spat—how could he help it!—although that gentleman seemed more interested in admiring her than in anything else. Which would make what she had decided to tell him all the more difficult. But she
would
do it.

“Mr. Pelham, I have decided—”

“Yes, Miss Longfellow?”

“I will leave here this morning—no matter
what
my brother has said. After all, he can have no idea! I’m sure I will rest far better at his house than in this one. Beyond that, I will then have Mrs. Willett always to talk to. Unhappily, I cannot remember if Cicero has had the smallpox; but if he has not, it is high time that he did. There seems to be nothing to the inoculation I have had, after all. So, if you will escort me, and carry the few things that I will put into this hatbox, someone can come for the rest later. There—I do feel better. But that is usually the case, once I have made up my mind.”

“I must say I will enjoy visiting you in your brother’s house, Miss Longfellow, even more than I do here,” David Pelham replied quite happily.

“Well, that is something else I meant to tell you this morning. At the moment, I think it would be best for me to retire completely from the world, and perhaps for some little time. I believe that family—and Mrs. Willett, of course—shall be my solace during the remainder of my quarantine.”

Pelham’s smile froze. “Do you really think it wise to leave, Miss Longfellow?” Suddenly remembering something else, he added, “Will you not find Captain Montagu, who is staying there as well, something of a nuisance? Perhaps he can be persuaded to leave—but will you not find you want our cheerful talks again, before long?”

“What I
want
is a little peace and quiet!” said Diana hotly. Then, with a sigh, she relented. “When we are both back in Boston, we will again share an evening. A good game of cards would be amusing, I’m sure—but I am not up to it now.”

“It is, of course, your health you must think of first; yet I do hope—”

“It is for the best. I’m certain of it,” Miss Longfellow assured him. How weary she was today, and how tired of being pursued. She prayed for an end to all banter, and for a long nap. But first, she moved about the room, tossing several small items into a banded hatbox, which she then covered and delivered into David Pelham’s waiting hands.

“There! I know Richard is gone for the morning, so he will be unable to refuse me. Once I am inside, I would like to see him try to throw me out!” Diana then led the way from Charlotte’s study. “Hannah, I am
going!”
She flung this over her shoulder in a renewal of her former grand manner; as she passed the suddenly silent pair in the kitchen. She paused to tug open the back door. Then, her cheeks flushed, Miss Longfellow hurried out into the barnyard and down through the garden with Mr. Pelham covering her retreat—on her way, she prayed, to a far better situation.

S
HORTLY BEFORE DIANA
and David Pelham entered her brother’s house through the back door, Charlotte Willett went out the front. The cool spring air played with her skirts as she walked onto the Boston-Worcester road, headed toward the village. The day appeared fair, with little in it to worry her. But worry she did, as she made her way down the long hill.

Charlotte knew that Richard Longfellow was at the moment meeting with the other selectmen, after an earlier interrogation of Will Sloan. The night before, when she returned and found her neighbor still amusing himself with an old collection of the
Spectator
, she let him know Will had come home on his own, and that he suffered from a fever. She’d also suggested that early morning would be a better time to question the boy, for he had already been put to bed exhausted. Longfellow, though surprised, had agreed.

Diana, too, would now be busy, as she expected a visit from Mr. Pelham after breakfast. Captain Montagu must still be in Boston. And even Cicero had gone out with a pole, hoping to coax a few trout from Pigeon Creek with the aid of minnow or mayfly. It was an occupation she envied.

However, Charlotte had made another plan. She doubted it would have been approved by her friends, had they known of it—nor was she entirely sure her idea was a wise one. Yet she
would
know the truth, even if what she planned to do had already provoked her conscience.

Now, she passed by the Bracebridge Inn, turned off the road, and doubled back through a field that led to a copse of birch; from its shelter she could see the inn’s side door and Jonathan Pratt’s closet window. Was he there, looking out? Boldly, Mrs. Willett walked into the yard, gained the side door; entered, and stood still. No other door opened; no footsteps approached. Thus far, she was safe.

Softly, she made her way to the back stairs used by the servants, and climbed the narrow steps between whitewashed walls. At the top, she turned into the hall and listened once more. No one was about; most guests probably lingered over breakfast, or had ridden out early. The only question was, which door was David Pelham’s?

When her knock went unanswered, Charlotte turned the first knob slowly, and peered into the room beyond. Inside, she saw enough baggage to indicate occupancy by two people, and a pair of ladies’ shoes by a low chair. Closing the door gently, she moved on.

Her next knock did rouse an inhabitant, who opened the door only a crack as he scowled out. A shaved head without a wig indicated a gentleman, who was obviously not an early riser.

“I’m terribly sorry, sir,” said Charlotte, her eyes lowered.
“I’m afraid I’ve been directed to the wrong chamber: I am looking for my cousin, Mr. Pelham. Do you know him?”

“Pelham? No!” cried the man, before he slammed the door in her face.

Charlotte approached the next room with her breath quickened. This time she knocked more gently, hoping to let sleeping lodgers lie if there were any within. Again, there was no sound. She turned the brass knob and slipped the door open an inch or two, cringing as it groaned on its hinges. The chamber was deserted, with no sign of occupancy at all.

Opposite the last door in the row, Mrs. Willett paused to quiet her racing heart. Slowly, she worked the bright knob, then eased the door until she could peep through the long crack to the daylight beyond. At last, she suspected she’d found the right room. Inside, the long curtains had been opened. Hanging on a chair at the side of the ash-filled hearth was a familiar black frock-coat, and an indigo scarf. She was relieved to find the bed already made—the girl who took care of this, and other things, had done her duties, and so would not return soon.

Charlotte entered and shut the door. Swiftly, she made a survey of David Pelham’s possessions. A traveling valise, small enough to fit on the back of a horse. There was also a trunk, certainly delivered later by cart.

She knelt beside the valise. Inside, she found only silver bridle ornaments wrapped in brown paper, removed for safekeeping, no doubt, while Pelham’s horse boarded in the stable. She suspected the bag’s previous contents lay in the highboy that stood against a wall. This, indeed, held various articles of clothing and, in the bottom drawer; more that awaited the wash. She had not yet found what she came for.

The trunk proved more interesting. Here, she discovered a book of plays from London, a collection of
ballads—and a magazine sprinkled with lewd and skillful drawings of lusting gentlemen, and ladies in compromised positions. Feeling her face burn, Charlotte soon put all of these items back where she’d found them.

She next lifted out a black lacquered case, and slipped the clasp. Here was a container for medicines divided into several compartments, some containing a box or two, others with a bottle inside. Methodically, she opened or un-stoppered each one. She found dried curls of peppermint leaves next to powdered ginger; both were most likely carried to ward off indigestion. The largest bottle was labeled
ipecacuanha in wine
, a stronger remedy to combat poisoning by one’s dinner, and sometimes the flux—as its purgative action mimicked and relieved both conditions. These were prudent precautions for the sage traveler. Another bottle, her nose quickly told her, contained a decoction of witch hazel, often used to help heal bruises and scratches, or an injury to the eye. And that was all.

One more package remained inside the valise, this made of silk tied with its own attached ribbon. She loosened the bow, admiring an embroidered peacock on the ivory-colored fabric. Then she unfolded the whole, revealing several sewn pockets of golden satin, two of them full. At last, her efforts were rewarded.

Carefully, Charlotte slipped an object into her pocket, before restoring the parcel. Looking about the room, she checked to be sure that it was the same as when she’d entered. It wouldn’t do to have Mr. Pelham know of her visit. At least, not yet. When she was sure nothing was amiss, she walked to the door—and stepped back suddenly as it opened toward her.

“Mrs. Willett?” asked a perplexed voice. David Pelham looked out at the hall again, to be certain he was in the right room. But a quick glance back to his own possessions swiftly changed his demeanor.

“Mrs. Willett,” he said in quite another tone. Charlotte
continued to back away, as he entered and closed the door behind him. “To what do I owe this honor?”

“Mr. Pelham! I was just—in truth—when I came and saw that you were out … I’m afraid I became curious. Which is hardly unusual,” she laughed, “as I have always had difficulty keeping my nose, some say, out of other people’s affairs! Though I would imagine you find my presence here, in your absence, a little annoying. I do beg your pardon for my weakness.”

“I see.” David Pelham appeared to resign himself, after sensing the obvious embarrassment of the woman before him. “Your curiosity
is
something you’ve warned me of, Mrs. Willett. No matter. I’m sure you’ve found nothing that will long disturb either of us.”