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. Godwin could not be bothered to pass the time of day. He was 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 some 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 brass 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 you 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.”
“Yes, dear?” the proprietress asked, leaning closer.
“Rachel Dudley, I think, has lost several silver spoons.”
“Oh, you did hear, then! And that's not all. I didn't know if I should say more… but I can hardly believe someone just walked in and took them from a locked cupboard, leaving no sign of a burglary. Things don't vanish on their own, no matter what some claim. And him the new constable!” Emily's tongue busied itself with sounds of disapproval, while she watched for the effect her words might have. Then she gazed toward the door, and in another moment it opened with a jingle. Two women entered.
Sarah Proctor nodded gravely, after she'd pulled back the hood of a heavy blue cloak. Beside her, Jemima Hurd sent them a fleeting smile.
“Good morning, ladies!” Emily called. She rose and offered her seat to the elderly Mrs. Proctor, who, though hardly infirm, took it as her due. Charlotte moved to one side, and Jemima hurried to be near the stove as well, whispering thanks for the privilege.
“We were speaking of Mrs. Dudley's spoons,” said Emily in further greeting, holding back the better news of a body in the cellar.
“Most peculiar,” Mrs. Proctor proclaimed, “as I've said before.”
“And she's not the only one!” added Jemima.
“Oh?” asked Charlotte.
“Oh, yes! First, there was my caudle bowl, which I'd put away until someone else took sick. Now I can't find it anywhere! My husband insists I can't account for anything, since—”
“What?”
“Since the change.”
“Ah,” came a trio of commiseration.
“At first, I believed him… but then last month, Miriam Spender's sugar bowl and creamer went missing. And now Mrs. Pennywort says her children have lost their christening mugs. And a woman in Concord, Mrs. Ames, cousin to Esther Pennywort, told Esther she'd lost a box full of shillings she's been saving for years for her daughter's dowry.”
“Silver, in each case?” asked Charlotte.
“Most of us have little else in our houses that's of any value,” Sarah Proctor stated bluntly. “Who would want our pewter, most of it wretched? Especially that we've recast ourselves.”
“Except for that odd man along the north road who buys scraps,” Emily reminded her. “But you know, I misplaced an old pewter porringer. Not a very good one, with pits and dents in it; I suppose that was six weeks