A Mischief in the Snow - By Margaret Miles Page 0,105

return of that portion, if it would keep their eyes from Reed's other business, which may not have been exactly honest.”

“Possibly…”

“He did tell us both earlier that Catherine's fortune was nearly gone. But do we know where it went? You saw the way she lived, apparently on next to nothing.”

“And if he'd invested wisely twenty years ago, he would have seen her wealth grow enough to easily ride out this latest depression,” Longfellow concluded.

“He told us Mrs. Knowles decided a year ago to give Magdalene's son his due—which might have encouraged Reed to make other arrangements. Would Ned, after all, have forgiven a father who had ignored him for years?”

“A father?” Ned whispered.

“He might have taken the hatchet from the bag at Ned's feet—” said Charlotte.

“—having no idea that it was Lem's, and not Ned's,” Longfellow finished.

“Reed did come over to talk to Grandfather,” the young man added. “Asking how he was, and then, when I would take him home.”

“When he might rid himself of Alex,” said Longfellow. “He could hardly have known Lem and Alex had argued earlier. It must have been an unpleasant surprise to see his plans go wrong.”

“It could have been worse,” said Charlotte, “to find Catherine Knowles dying in my kitchen, yet still able to speak—”

“That was somewhat disheartening,” said a cool voice from the doorway. Moses Reed leaned there as they'd seen him do before, a placid expression on his smooth face. Then he brought an arm from behind his back, and aimed a cocked pistol toward the group before him.

“The story you've spun together is rather remarkable— yet only a little less than the truth. My congratulations especially to you, Mrs. Willett, although I do dislike an inquisitive woman! But what you know will make little difference. I helped young Godwin out of an embarrassing situation in Worcester, as you have guessed. I arranged to have a charge of theft ignored, and promised him a small share of an inheritance for bringing me information. And you were correct about the widow's portion. I knew it was a race between Catherine and old Peter Knowles—to see who would die first. If only I had acted sooner! One day I learned she was to have the Knowles money, after all. No doubt they would have sent someone to help her invest it, hoping it would eventually return to them. And once they'd seen she'd lost her own fortune—”

“How did you manage that?” asked Longfellow.

“Do not interrupt sir, or I may find you in contempt! You will know it all soon, very soon. You see, Godwin guessed more than I'd told him, and he became greedy. When I met him on the evening that preceded your ice party, he also told me he planned to tell you about those damned shillings! What better reason for his murder, by one of many in Bracebridge? That evening, too, the little pig threatened me, demanding one half of Catherine's fortune—which is, in fact, intact. What could I do but stop him?”

“And Catherine?” Longfellow asked warily, watching the pistol. “Did you then see to her, too?”

“Having started, it only made sense to finish the matter. I rode up the next morning and paid a visit, using the tunnel Magdalene showed me years ago. You see, unlike yesterday, when Mrs. Willett had her mysterious accident, I was once quite careless about ‘covering my tracks.’ Never expecting close scrutiny of my affairs, I'd simply kept a list of poor investments I might claim to have made; I was quite prepared to say they had drained away a little here, a little there. And while Catherine insisted on living like a hermit—Godwin assured me she very nearly covered her old bones in rags—I concocted invoices, as if she still enjoyed a life of splendor. Who, after all, would ever know? Eventually most of what I controlled for her did come to seem like mine. Considering the piddling amount I was paid to manage her estate, Catherine Knowles was a fool to imagine I'd not steal her blind. She may even have expected it—but she could never bear to come down from her eyrie to find out for sure. It seems she was satisfied with her immediate prey.”

“Why did you never go back for Magdalene?” asked Charlotte, curiosity overcoming her fear.

“Because ‘Mad Maud’ had spoiled everything for me. Once she was quite beautiful, and I was willing to marry her for any settlement John Fisher, or even Peter Knowles, would have given us. But